People of the Silence(52)

Sternlight peered at her with clear brown eyes. “Nothing. He ordered us not to call any Healers. He said he hates them all, even—”

“That’s demented! Part of his fever! You believed him?”

“No, not—not really. But it was an order, Night Sun. I had no choice.”

She gripped the fabric of her cape near her throat and pulled to untie the bow. “Well,” she said through a taut exhalation, “my husband is unable to give you any more orders, great Sun-watcher. Now you take orders from me.”

“Of course.”

She removed her cape and spread it over Crow Beard. “Where is my son?”

“Snake Head stayed up all night. He only retired to his chambers to rest two hands of time ago.”

“Good. He won’t be around to bother me.”

Sternlight bowed his head obligingly. “What is it you wish me to do to help you?”

“Where are my slave women? Find them. Order them to bring bowls of hot coals and set them around Crow Beard. Tell them I want all the hides they can gather.”

“Yes, Night Sun. Is there anything else?”

She forced her exhausted mind to think. “Just one thing. I left Cloud Playing and my Healer’s pack at Deer Mother Village. A woman there took ill after her baby was born—born dead. Since I do not have my pack, I will need several things from my chambers. Tell my slave, Mourning Dove, that I need the pot of willow bark.…” She let out a breath. Weariness weighted her shoulders like a cape of stone. She had run almost all the way home. “Ask Mourning Dove to pour me a warm bath and bring my blankets here. I will sleep beside Crow Beard tonight.”

Both Ironwood and Sternlight gaped at her, as if they had not heard correctly. It had been many summers since she had slept in her husband’s chamber, or he in hers. Everyone knew it.

Night Sun glared at Sternlight. “Are you deaf? Or just defying me?”

“Neither, Aunt.” He rose to his feet. “I am on my way to deliver your orders.”

Sternlight crossed the room gracefully, his white ritual shirt swaying with each step. He exchanged a glance with Ironwood before he exited into the rusty gleam of late afternoon.

Night Sun glared at Ironwood, daring him to make a comment. As he approached, the light from the doorway threw his tall body into silhouette, highlighting the breadth of his shoulders and narrowness of his waist. He knelt beside her, searching her face. Night Sun longed to touch him, to ease the constant pain in his eyes—but she couldn’t. Not now. Not ever again.

We change what we love, she thought. We turned each other into lonely people.

Ironwood’s deep voice came softly. “What are your orders for me, Night Sun? I’ll do anything you ask.”

“Indeed? Is that why you wouldn’t let me in—”

“I did let you in, my friend.”

Their gazes held.

“Yes, you did. I thank you for that.”

He lowered his eyes to Crow Beard. “Is there anything you can do for him?”

She shook her head. “I honestly don’t know. If his fever has been this high for days—”

“It has.”

“Then I fear for his soul. It may have already begun the journey to the afterlife. Even if I can save him, he may never be the same.”

Night Sun’s eyes narrowed as she gazed upon Crow Beard. She never should have married him, never should have yielded to her family’s pleading. But there had been a catastrophe. Her older sister, Whitefly, then Matron of the First People, had been killed by raiders along with her husband, the Blessed Sun. Both of Whitefly’s daughters had vanished before they’d turned fifteen summers. The daughter left by their oldest sister, Lacewing, had been captured by the Fire Dogs, and no one knew if she lived or had been murdered. That left Night Sun, thirteen years her sister’s junior, to serve as Matron. But she could not do it, they told her, as a single woman. Though no clan laws forbade a single woman from ruling, the clan demanded that she marry. And she had, quickly, taking the man they’d selected for her.

She should have sent Crow Beard away and forced her family to search for another. If she had, she would not be torn in two now, terrified he might die—and yearning for the liberty his death would bring.

Liberty—but at such a price. Until she, or Cloud Playing, remarried, if ever, her only son Snake Head would rule as Blessed Sun, but his arrogant self-absorption would free Night Sun to do as she wished, to travel and to Heal. She could even have her fill of lovers. Despite her age, many men would gladly lie with her, just to be able to say they had bedded the great Matron of Talon Town, or to gain the Power it might bring.… No, I don’t want lovers. That time is past.