“Badly.”
His eyes tightened. “What else?”
Dark Rain shrugged. “Nothing. That was all I noticed.”
Cottonmouth threw out the dice.
Two white.
Dark Rain shrieked, “I don’t believe it! Are you cheating me?”
“This time,” Cottonmouth said softly. “I wager my ten-and-five red chert dart points, plus four of Standing Hollow Horn’s finest blankets.”
Blood pounded in Dark Rain’s temples. “And what do you wish in return? More information?” If she won, she could live in luxury for summers, and he knew it. She eagerly awaited his next question.
A fiery light glowed in his black eyes. “Just one thing,” he said.
“Anything. What is it you wish?”
Hanging Star had gone rigid, waiting. Dark Rain could smell his foul sweat.
“Anything?” Cottonmouth asked.
Dark Rain smiled. “Yes,” she answered seductively. “Anything.”
“Will you wager your own life?”
He had said it casually, as though asking for another cup of tea, but the question struck Dark Rain like a fist in the stomach.
She jerked to sit up. “Don’t be ridiculous! There’s nothing you could offer me—”
“Are you sure?” Cottonmouth’s fist closed around the dice.
“Yes. I’m sure! To buy a life would take more than you have, Cottonmouth. You or Standing Hollow Horn Village!”
“Really? What if I offered to match your weight with the finest stone tools that can be found.”
The very idea left her speechless. When she found her voice, she replied, “Not enough.”
“What if I match your weight with stone tools, and throw in ten tens of the most exquisite blankets ever made?”
“Ten tens?” Dark Rain laughed. He must be joking. That amount of wealth would make her the richest woman on the coast. But how could she enjoy it if she were dead?
“Ten tens,” he answered. “Would that buy a life?”
“Not mine,” she answered flippantly. “But—”
“But?”
They stared at each other. Cottonmouth smiled.
Hanging Star glanced back and forth between them, leaped to his feet, hastily bowed to Cottonmouth, and said, “I must be going. Good night.”
Dark Rain noticed only that he’d gone—she could not take her gaze from Cottonmouth’s. A strange, erotic warmth had filled his eyes. She felt its impact all over her body, like a Spirit Plant seeping through her veins.
Cottonmouth held up the dice. “If you won’t wager your own life, will you wager Beaverpaw’s?”
Dark Rain laughed. “Beaverpaw’s? He’s as worthless as my son. Why do you care about—”
“For your weight in stone tools and ten tens of the most exquisite blankets ever made. That’s the bet. Will you play with me, Dark Rain? Do you have the courage?”
“Well, I—I don’t—”
“One throw,” he said, and held out the dice. “Yours.”
Cottonmouth reached out, gripped her hand, and put the dice in it. It seemed impossible that the only point of contact between them was his hand holding hers. Euphoria possessed her, similar to the moment just before orgasm, painful and wonderful. If just his touch could do this to her …
“I want one more thing,” she boldly said.
His eyes narrowed. “What is it?”
“If I win, I want to share your bed. One night. That’s all. I assure you, you will not regret it. I can turn a man inside out, make him writhe in ecstasy, and beg me for—”
Cottonmouth held up a hand to halt her words. “I accept your terms.”
Swaying tree shadows danced over Beaverpaw’s closed eyes. In his dreams, he walked the paths between the shelters at Heartwood Village. His children hung onto his hands, laughing. Little Manatee Flipper played with his newly made dart, nocking his atlatl and casting as far as he could, then running to retrieve the dart, and doing it all over again.
“Watch me, Father!” the boy shouted. “Did you see how good I am?”
Waterbearer walked beside Beaverpaw. She smiled up at him the way she used to, with her souls in her eyes, as if giving them to him for safekeeping, because she trusted him.
“Waterbearer,” Beaverpaw said. “Forgive me. I missed you very much. I don’t know how I could have been so foolish. I—”
She put a hand to his lips. “Let’s not speak of it. I forgave you long ago, my husband. I love you. Our children love you. That is all that matters now.”
Beaverpaw reached out to touch her dark hair … .
The warclub made a dull sickening thump when it struck his head, sounding like a gourd dropped from a tall tree. At first, Beaverpaw did not understand what had happened. He rolled to his stomach and struggled to get his hands under him so he could push up. The night swam in blurred colors. He—