Chapter 7

Raven stood motionless next to a large redwood tree, the camouflage of her feather veil allowing her to blend in with the bracken growing at its base. The forest was warm in the late afternoon heat and she breathed in deeply, its cedar scent tickling her nose even through the thick garment that covered her entire body.

"It's Stan," Ro whispered beside her. "He's come back from town."

"Shh."

They waited until the young man was safely past them before gliding onward through the trees. They crossed the perimeter lines and headed west toward their favorite spot, far from the prying eyes and ears of the men in camp. Ro led the way to a circle of young trees that had sprouted from the rotting stump of an ancient redwood. It was quiet here and the girls sunk to the ground, curling their legs up underneath them and arranging their veils in tents to cover them up. They were almost invisible like this; the thousands of feathers that made up their veils mimicked the coloring of the terrain.

"I saw Hawk this morning on the drill grounds. He looked good," Ro said in Harath, the language of the Authority. The women rarely used English among themselves; they didn't go out among the wachees the way the men did.

Raven made a rude noise.

"Don't be like that, mica - I was just looking," Ro laughed.

"Look all you want," Raven said. "I don't care. He's not Jay and I'm not interested."

"Oh, come on. He's young, he's handsome, and he's next in line. What more could you want?"

Raven plucked at her veil. "Jay."

Ro snorted. "Why would you want to be hitched to that old wolf? He's with a different wachee girl every night. Everyone knows."

"I could fix that. A man with a wife doesn't act that way; her dishonor would reflect back on him. And who cares, anyway - it's not like I want him; it's his power I want." Raven lifted a hand under her veil to wipe the moisture from her face. It was growing uncomfortably hot under the heavy fabric.

"Sure, but what would you do with it? Jay's not one to let a wife start throwing her weight around. You can have Hawk under your thumb when it's his turn."

Raven shifted impatiently. "Jay would give me free reign in the wifleah. I don't care what the weras get up to out in the city, Ro, as long as they kill all those wachee fools in the end. But I'm sick of the way Britta and the other old crows treat us. 'Where are you going, princess? Put on your veil, princess,'" she mimicked. "As if I wouldn't. As if I would let any of the men see me uncovered. If I were Jay's wife they wouldn't dare talk to me that way. They would leave me alone, for once. By the time Hawk gets his turn, they'll be dead, anyway."

"Raven," Ro chided, but Raven heard the laughter in her voice. She puffed out an annoyed breath and the fabric in front of her face billowed out, then back, plastering itself against her cheeks. It covered her mouth, cutting off her air. She grabbed her veil with both hands and ripped it off.

"Raven, are you crazy?" Ro gasped. "Someone will see you."

"I don't care. It's suffocating me! Lord of Light, I'm sick of wearing that thing." Raven set the garment aside and plucked at a yellow strap of her shift that kept poking out from under her fuschia bodice. "This won't sit right," she complained. "Fix it, Ro, would you?"

Ro's veil rippled and her hands appeared. She tightened the offending strap and pulled the bodice material back over to hide it. She patted Raven's head. "There. Cover up."

"Give me a minute to breathe," Raven said. She leaned back, letting a shaft of sunlight warm her face. "I've decided something; I'm going to talk to Jay."

Ro laughed. "You wouldn't dare. You're going to talk to him - without a go-between?"

Raven nodded and reached up to take the pins out of her elaborate coiffure. She clawed her fingers through it until she had undone all the careful work and her glossy brown hair fell thick and wavy around her shoulders. It felt absolutely decadent to be so undressed outside the walls of the wifleah.

"You're not going right now?" Ro asked in alarm.



"Like this? Of course not. I wouldn't go to the Cyning looking like a wachee..." Raven trailed off thoughtfully. "Or maybe I will."

"You couldn't, Raven," Ro said and the ground seemed to flutter. She had gotten up and was pacing around. "Don't ruin your future by doing something desperate. He'll treat you like a wachee; then he'll say you're insane. He'll lock you up and you won't have anything."

Raven stared off into the trees, her face hard. Then she nodded. "You're right. But I'm going to get his attention, and I'm going to make him make me his wife."

"Your engagement has already been announced. He couldn't choose you now even if he wanted to."

"Sure he can. He's Cyning, Ro; he makes all the rules."

"There's a little thing called tradition, sweetie. How do you break an engagement?" Ro said. Raven could tell from the tone of her voice that her hands were on her hips.

"It's been done before," she said.

"When?" Ro demanded.

"Tarm and Starling."

"You want Jay to kill Hawk?" Ro shrieked.

"Shh!" Raven waved the idea away. "I want him to do what it takes to get me out of this. He made a mistake; he should have asked me what I wanted."

"Wives don't get asked, Raven. It's not done that way. You're acting like a spoiled brat."

Raven looked at Ro in surprise. "A minute ago you thought it was all pretty funny."

"A minute ago it was a joke. You say stuff like that but you never mean it. Don't politicise the wifleah, Raven. You start acting like a wachee and we're all put at risk. And," Ro continued, anger building in her voice, "when you start talking about getting Hawk killed, I don't know you anymore. That's not my friend speaking."

Raven took a deep breath. "You're right. I'm sorry." She looked at her hands in her lap. "It's just, it's starting to feel like a cage, Ro. All of it. The wifleah, the veil." She waved the crumpled fabric in her hand. With a swish of movment Ro was hugging her, smoothing her hair.

"It's not a cage, mica. These are the things that keep us safe. They keep the world out. You would hate life without them. We're free in the wifleah; we don't have to worry about weras or the wachees. Can you imagine living out here with them all the time? Smelly, hairy men." Her veil slipped and Ro's hands appeared again, slender and pale. "Let the men worry about everything. It's their job - it's what they're here for."

"So what are we for, mica?" Raven asked, pulling away. "What on earth use are we to anybody?It made more sense when we were in the deep forest, but not here, not with the men mixing with the wachees."

"We've got to be here with the weras, mica, or they forget themselves. We're their reminders. We keep them on the right path."

Raven laughed. "Then we're failing miserably. The men are out there every day - in the wachee cities, in wachee clothes, working wachee jobs."

"Just to get the information we need," Ro said.

"Right. And the Cyning and how many of the men spend time with wachee girls? How is that necessary?"

"More information," Ro answered, but her voice was less certain. "Look, I know they're slipping."

"They're more than slipping. How long have we been here? And what's changed? Nothing." Raven's voice raised and this time it was Ro who shushed her. "I don't care who hears me, Ro. We haven't changed them one bit. But you know what? They've changed us. We're becoming more like them every day."

"Are you so concerned with politics or is something else bothering you?" Ro asked, an edge to her voice.

Raven flushed. "You heard what they're all saying. Hawk was seen with some wachee girl. She was touching him."

"I'm sure Hawk holds you in the highest regard," Ro said stiffly.

"Of course he holds me in the highest regard," Raven snapped. "It's all Jay's fault. Hawk's emulating him; it's plain as day."

"Of course."

"So what do I do about it?"

"Ignore it."

"I'm not going to ignore it. Everyone's laughing at me."

"Raven, no one's laughing," Ro said.

"That's a bunch of crap and you know it."

Ro reared back and Raven knew she'd shocked her friend.

"I'm going to talk to Jay," she went on. "Don't look at me like that! I'll be very discreet. I won't dishonor myself. I've got Hawk to do that for me."

"Mica..." Ro began to stroke her arm, but Raven brushed her off.

"Go on, Ro. I need to sort this out."

Ro stood up with a shimmer of light and shadow. "Don't be long," she said. "And don't do anything you'll regret. Remember what we heard; the Emperor is already on the move up north. He'll put everything to rights. You'll see."

"Good-bye, Ro."



Stan watched Ro disappear among the trees as she headed back toward camp. That's one of them, he thought, but Raven was still sitting among the redwoods, so he shifted until he found a more comfortable position in which to wait her out. He was impatient to get back to the garrison, but he wouldn't leave until she was safely within the perimeter lines. He had spotted Ro and Raven the minute he left the garrison garage. They had done their best to hide from him, but a ripple of movement had betrayed their presence, so he had walked on until he was out of their sight and then doubled back. They were out of the wifleah, beyond the camp boundary where they weren't supposed to be and he always felt a duty to keep an eye on them when they pulled this trick. They took chances, these hidden women of the Authority. They seemed to think they were invisible and could get away with anything.

Stan sighed. They were nearly invisible under the camouflage of their feather veils, but he was good at tracking them. He'd been doing it for years. He'd guessed where they were headed - a circle of young redwoods growing out like spokes around the stump of an ancient tree. It was one of their favorite places and when he approached, he found that he was correct; if he looked sideways at the slope beyond the redwood ring he could see where they were sitting. The dappled feathers in their veils blended smoothly with leaf-carpeted hillside behind them, but Stan was adept at spotting the edges of their silhouettes. That one is Ro, he had thought, as he caught a ripple of gold and green. The other one was Raven. Her veil had a tinge of red.

Do the other soldiers know where the women go? he wondered. They didn't speak of it if they did, and the one time he'd brought it up to Hawk, the other boy had given him a blank look. Maybe, like Stan, he figured the girls deserved the chance to break the rules once in a while.

Come on, Raven, go home, he thought at the girl. She was pushing it, sitting uncovered like this. He'd always wondered what they looked like and when she'd pulled off her veil he'd nearly fallen over with surprise. She was stunning, with pale skin and alabaster eyebrows, her hair all done up in a complicated design of braids and curls. And the clothes she was wearing - gaudy layers of stitched and beaded fabric as elaborate as a wedding gown. Who would ever have guessed?

She'd unbound her hair and now she looked like a model in a wachee magazine with her coal-black waves hanging luxuriously down around her shoulders. He shifted again uneasily. If she were seen there'd be hell to pay. But maybe that was what she wanted. An automatic trip to see the Cyning, even if there was a chance it could end in death.

The conversation he'd overheard rang in his ears. She was unhappy with her betrothal to the point where she wished Hawk was dead rather than marry him. Stan hadn't known the girls cared one way or the other who they were linked with matrimonially. It hardly meant anything, after all - not like a wachee wedding. Just a way to keep track of people, really. He wanted to tell her that Hawk was a good guy, while Jay would give her nothing, but he kept quiet. She wouldn't recognize him as a friend. He was a man. And a Stannen. As alien from her as it got.

Raven gave a loud sigh, stood up, and pulled her veil back over her head.

Finally, Stan thought as he prepared to follow her. He let her get a head start, then trailed her through the trees back toward camp. You've done your good deed for the day, Stan, he told himself as they crossed the perimeter. Something else from the girls' conversation was bothering him, though - what Ro had said about the Emperor. He's already on the move up north. Change was in the air, but he had heard nothing from his people back east and that worried him; surely Kaminek knew about the Emperor's attacks on the northern wachee towns. Surely he was going to do something about it. Or would he? The Stannen Anwealda was known for the glacial pace of his decisions.

We can't just hang the wachees out to dry, he thought angrily. We have to let them know who we are. We have to show ourselves, for once. They were our allies before and they can be our allies again. What's Kaminek waiting for? It's time to act.



Stan caught up to Hawk just before dinner time. He had managed to get a minute alone in the barracks during which he texted a message to the Anwealda, before he showered and changed for the meal. His duty done, his thoughts had returned to Cassie and the problem of her father. He had known a Rob among the eastern Authority men many years ago when he lived in New York, and when Cassie had mentioned her father's name for an instant he had wondered if they could be one and the same. But he had shrugged it off. It couldn't be. People always said that, but this time it was true; it could not possibly be. The coincidences bothered him, though - the name, the place, the timing of it all. Didn't Rob disappear nine years ago, just after the Ost-Cyning died? He'd have to ask Hawk.

Stan found him in his barracks, sitting on his neatly made cot, his AK-47 disassembled across the blanket.

"What's up?" Stan asked, flopping down on the neighboring bed. The metal springs protested under his tremendous weight.

"Not much," Hawk said. He began to wipe the gun's barrel with a soft cloth.

Stan sighed; he ought to be doing the same thing, but he wasn't like Hawk, all gung-ho spit and polish.

"Thanks for your help today. It would have been ugly if you hadn't warned us about what was going on."

Hawk nodded. "She get home all right?"

Stan knew he meant Cassie. "Yeah, she's fine," he made himself say evenly. "A little scared, but otherwise..." He shrugged.

"Spending a lot of time with her these days, aren't you?"

Stan bristled at his tone. "What's wrong with that?"

Hawk looked up from his task. "She's a wachee girl, that's what. You know the rules."

"No one else follows the rules. Why should I?" He could tell the conversation was about to devolve into one of Hawk's lectures about traditions and morality. As if Hawk could claim the high ground. Stan had seen the way he looked at Cassie. He wanted to tell his friend to back off, but instead he said, "Remember the Ost-Cyning? The one that got killed when we were in New York?"

Hawk went back to polishing the barrel. "Will Eagle?"

"Yeah." Will Eagle. Murderous old bugger, Stan thought. You couldn't blame someone for wanting to knock him off.

"Why bring him up?"

"I don't know. I was just thinking about it. Rob killed him, right? Rob of Raven clan?"

Hawk stopped polishing abruptly and glared at him. Too late Stan remembered the connection between them, but before he could take the words back, Hawk spat out, "What of it?"

"Nothing! I'm not..." He couldn't think of what to say. Rob had been Will Eagle's heir, and Hawk had been Rob's. The rumor was Will Eagle had lived too long for Rob's taste and the man had taken matters into his own hands. "I'm not suggesting anything - I was just trying to remember what happened."

"I get enough crap from Jay and everyone else without you barging in here with your insinuations." Hawk half-rose from the bed, the AK's barrel still in his hand. "I'm not like Rob at all."

"Calm down - I'm not insinuating anything; I just want to know what happened after that."

"Jay made Vireo Ost-Cyning and I got shipped out here, that's what happened - you know that!" Hawk snapped.

"No, not to you." Stan shook his head in exasperation. He'd really stuck his foot in it this time. "To Rob. What happened to him? He disappeared, right?"

Hawk's jaw dropped open, and Stan groaned inwardly. Now what had he said?

"The lieutenant took care of Rob. What did you think - Jay promoted him for his brains?"

"The lieutenant? When? Before or after Jay got to New York?"

"Before." Hawk looked uncomfortable. "The Emperor sent the order to kill the Ost-Cyning's assassin. The lieutenant took care of it."

Several things cleared up in Stan's mind. He could remember the chaos after Will Eagle was killed and the dark glances that seemed to follow the lieutenant wherever he went. Rob might have killed the Ost-Cyning, but the other Authority men wouldn't have liked an upstart like the lieutenant stepping in and executing him.

Then Jay showed up and took things in hand. With Rob gone, Hawk had been next in line. But he was too young, and rather than risk a regency, Jay did the next best thing; he swapped heirs. Vireo, heir to the west, already more than grown, took the eastern throne. Hawk came west with Jay. And so had Stan.

Hawk's words sunk in. "That's how he got to be lieutenant? Because he got rid of Rob?" Something else occurred to him. "And Jay keeps him around...to watch you? Does he really think you'd try to assassinate him like Rob did Will Eagle?"

"Fuck off, Stannen." Hawk snatched up the pieces of his gun and stalked out of the barracks, his face set in fury. Stan knew he'd have work to do to repair their friendship, but least he'd gotten what he came for; Rob had been in New York at the lake at the right time. He'd murdered Eagle the same summer that Cassie's grandparents were killed. What had set the man off on such a killing spree?

And was he really Cassie's father? Stan shook his head. He couldn't be. He just couldn't be.

But what if he was?



Stan took his place on the perimeter in the early morning hours. He didn't mind the third watch. He didn't need sleep as much as the others did, and his position afforded him a clear view of the door to the officers' underground barracks. He kept his eye on that door the whole night. He knew the lieutenant would come through it sooner or later and when he did, he would follow him. But it wasn't until the black shadows turned to pale gray that the door edged open and a man slipped out. Stan watched him cross the grounds and melt into the woods in the direction of the detachment's garage.

This game again, Stan thought, as he shouldered his gun and followed.

He didn't bother to try to track the lieutenant since he knew where he was headed. Instead, he took a roundabout route, sticking to the shadows of trees and bushes, until he joined the main track right above the garage.

"Looking for something?"

Stan jumped. The lieutenant stepped out in front of him, his black eyes fathomless pools of darkness.

"Just...checking things out. I thought I saw something."

"Spying, more like it; you're nowhere near your post. That's dereliction of duty. We'll see what the Cyning has to say." He grabbed a fistful of fabric at the back of Stan's neck and pushed him back into the camp. At the Cyning's private quarters, the lieutenant thrust away the guard and barged through the door. Jay thrashed awake in alarm, brandishing a Glock 23 and knocking over a bedside table loaded with maps and papers.

"What the..."

"He abandoned his post - he was spying," the lieutenan growled, shoving Stan forward.

"For the love of light," Jay sputtered, but the lieutenant was already gone, slamming the door behind him, and Stan faced the Cyning alone across the room. "It's four o'clock in the God-damned morning, Stannen. Can't you save your indiscretions for a decent hour, at least?" Jay said.

"I..."

"Stow it. Where are you on the roster?"

"I get off duty at six, Cyning."

"Fine. Then you get back on duty at six. And you can stay on duty for the rest of the day. Tell Larken he's got a holiday."

"But..."

"Enough! Out!" The Cyning slumped back down on his cot and pulled the blankets up over his head.

Stan got the message. He saluted, then beat a hasty retreat.

Fuck. Fuck! he thought, kicking a dead branch as far as he could. The lieutenant was long gone and he was stuck. Now what was he supposed to do?

Be careful, Cassie, he thought with a sinking heart.