So who will I marry if I ever get home?
She was a matron and, with her mother gone, head of the White Arrow Moiety. Young, strong, and healthy, there would be suitors aplenty. She frowned as she fitted another split. Am I to be a second wife? “Not hardly,” she whispered.
“What?” Stone turned.
“I was thinking about marriage. About being a second wife.”
The boy looked over at Violet Bead’s house. The woman’s two daughters were playing at making clay bowls, their laughter carrying. He made a face.
Morning Dew lifted an eyebrow. “Exactly.”
She considered the likely candidates, boys she had known who were coming of age. The ones worthy of her rank had already been married. But there were other towns, other lineages and clans.
What if he turns out to be another Smoke Shield? That was the calculated risk of a political marriage. Fortunately for her, divorce would be an easy matter. Bless the Chahta for that.
Pale Cat appeared, stopped, said something to Violet Bead’s girls, then came on.
“Uncle!” Stone cried in delight, charging out with his clay dog in hand. Pale Cat smiled. He nodded to Morning Dew before laughing and scooping Stone up. “How’s my boy?”
“Good. Swimmer and I were playing.”
“Swimmer? Is that your dog’s name?” Pale Cat turned his attention to the clay dog.
“Yes. He’s Trader’s dog, too.”
“Trader?”
“He was here a lot yesterday.”
“Indeed?” Pale Cat said curiously.
Morning Dew stood. “He was here to see me.”
Pale Cat gave her a knowing smile. “Smart man.” He glanced at the house. “Anything to this?”
“Possibly. He has offered Trade to Heron Wing. I think for the moment, she would be one slave short.”
He gave her a probing look. “When you go, she’ll miss you.”
“As I will miss her.” A pause. “How do you stop a war, Hopaye?”
“By giving people a reason not to fight. Is my sister here?”
“A moment. I’ll go get her.”
She hurried toward the doorway, averting her face lest Pale Cat read her building concern. Inside, she knelt before Heron Wing’s bed, gently shaking her shoulder. “The Hopaye is here. He needs to talk to you.”
“Yes, what time is it?”
“Midday.”
“Gods!” Heron Wing rolled out of bed, picked up her dress, stared at it, then tossed it aside. “How did I sleep this late?”
Morning Dew picked up the discarded dress, watching Heron Wing walk stiffly over to pull a dress from one of the under-bed boxes. She tugged it on, went to the water jar, and wet her hands, scrubbing at her face. Not bothering to comb her hair, she wrapped it in a thick knot and slipped a copper pin through it.
“Do I look like I slept half my life away?”
“You’ll pass. But don’t yawn . . . it’s a dead giveaway.”
“Of course.” Heron Wing stretched one last time and walked out the door; but she seemed oddly stiff, as if tender.
Morning Dew lifted the dress to fold it, and caught the unforgettable musk of copulation. “Fire, Heron Wing. By the gods, don’t get burned.”
She fingered the fabric, frowning. Trader’s scent clung to the garment like old smoke.
What does it take to stop a war?
Twenty-five
Smoke Shield had revelations when he was in the sweat lodge. Something about the close, hot darkness and the biting steam that prickled on his skin. Here there were no distractions, just the darkness and the heat. Notions and ideas came upon him, usually to be brought to fruition later, as had happened with the White Arrow Town and the Chahta raids. Now he was considering the Prophet.
Nothing in Smoke Shield’s life had prepared him for Two Petals. The woman filled his thoughts as he spooned water onto the hot stones. It exploded as it trickled over the hot rocks, bathing his slick skin in steam.
He gasped, drawing the heat into his nose and throat. It prickled along his arms, coaxing sweat to bead. He leaned his head back in the darkness, and whispered, “Thank you, Power.”
That it had sent the woman to him was a gift, one that he still could not comprehend.
“Nephew?” his uncle’s voice called.
Rot it all, why did the man always have to interrupt him here?
“Coming.”
He reached out, muscles lax from the heat, and pulled back the hanging. He crawled out into the cool daylight to find Flying Hawk standing with his arms crossed, a dark look on his face. Smoke Shield climbed unsteadily to his feet, slicking the moisture from his wet skin.
“Blood Skull tells me that you have recalled the scouts from the Horned Serpent River Divide. Is this true?”