His eyes became the universe. His black pupils burned into her, violating, piercing, penetrating her shivering souls.…
She opened her mouth, but no scream came from her paralyzed lungs.
Forty-four
Blue Heron yawned and tried to collect her sleep-muddled thoughts. Her dreams had been nightmares, and in them she kept discovering Lace’s mutilated body pinned to the wall of a filthy hut, swarming with flies and crawling with maggots. She pinched her eyes shut in an attempt to force the details from her souls.
She sat in her bed, a blanket around her hips. The cup of black drink Blue Heron cradled in her hands sent warmth through her stiff fingers. Her cup was a traditional Cahokian design, the handle sticking out from the side like a yearling buffalo bull’s horn. An image of the sun decorated the outside.
She sipped, thankful for the bitter richness of the black drink. Smooth Pebble had brewed it strong, boiling the yaupon leaves into a foam before allowing it to steep.
“Feeling better?” Smooth Pebble asked as Blue Heron tossed her blanket aside and lowered her feet to the floor.
She yawned again, blinked, and took another sip of the hot tea before she said, “I needed the nap. Any news on Lace?”
“No. They are turning Cahokia upside down, but there is so much to search.”
“What about the Caddo? Is the Yellow Star sub-chief here?”
“He made it safely, Lady. He and the thief have been adding to the Tula’s unease. The captive knows that they’re biding their time, that whatever comes, it won’t be pleasant.”
Long association and familiarity told Blue Heron that Smooth Pebble was hiding something. She narrowed her eyes. “How long did I sleep? Tell me the truth. You know I’ll find out.”
“It’s afternoon, Keeper.” Smooth Pebble averted her eyes. “Do not rage at me. You’d hardly have the wits, or ability, to outthink Lace’s captor if you were stumbling around, sleep-stupid, and with your eyes swollen half-shut from fatigue.”
“You take chances, berdache.” Blue Heron tried to force all the threat she could muster into her voice, knowing all the while that Smooth Pebble was probably correct. Not that it eased her guilt.
Please, Niece, be safe. We’re coming.
She drank down the last of the hot tea, used her chamber pot, and tried to pull the wrinkles out of her woven-hemp skirt. For the sake of propriety, she draped a blue bird-feathered cape over her shoulders, and allowed Smooth Pebble to fix her hair into a copper-pinned bun. Squaring her shoulders, she nodded, and Smooth Pebble opened her door.
Blue Heron retrieved the cloth-wound bundle where it rested atop one of her boxes, and walked out into the main room. The warm air was heavy with the smells of roast venison and baking squash. Her household slaves went about their usual tasks, clearly curious about her entrance, and what it meant for the captive where he lay trussed beside the door.
Seven Skull Shield stood over the bound Tula, arms crossed, his hunting shirt bloodstained and filthy. His forehead was swollen and black with bruise. Takes Horn Fivekiller rose, bowed, and touched his chin as she walked up. The Yellow Star war second had stuck a couple of eagle feathers in the tightly wound bun atop his head. Several shell necklaces hung down on his muscular brown chest, and he wore an apron decorated with embroidery of the Hero Twins dancing around the World Tree.
“Forgive me,” she said irritably. “Smooth Pebble takes too many liberties with my schedule.”
Seven Skull Shield, lout that he was, grinned insolently. “Keeper, trust me, you needed the sleep. The way you dragged in just before dawn? You looked like the kind of refuse desperate dogs might have scratched out of a trash midden.”
She narrowed an eye, hissing, “And you take too many liberties with your guileless tongue, thief.”
His grin just widened. “Of course, I do. But down deep, a part of you enjoys the fact that at least someone is willing to talk to you like a friend.”
“The last thing I need is a common thief for a friend.”
Seven Skull Shield screwed his expression into feigned complacency and said, “If I were a common thief, I’d be lying dead in a blind passage in River Mound City with one of old Gray Mouse’s arrows sticking through my heart. And trust me, Keeper, the trap the scorpion laid was a good one. Layers within layers, carefully baited. Had it worked, it was designed to not only take out any opponent clever enough to sniff out his escape route, but to keep you off balance when yet another of the few people you can depend on was eliminated.”
She glanced at Takes Horn Fivekiller, who stood with arms crossed, his tattooed face impassive. To the side, one of his translators was whispering her and Seven Skull Shield’s words to him in Caddo.