Fevered Star (Between Earth and Sky, #2)(74)

It felt surprisingly formal, but Naranpa was a former priest who appreciated ceremony. She took the proffered stylus and drew her insignia. Her drawing was simple, a black-and-white replica and cruder than she would have liked, but it resembled well enough the blue flower with the three bladelike leaves that peeled back from the starburst center that was its inspiration.

Amalq nodded, looking pleased. “A handmaiden.”

“And now you have the right to call yourself the proprietor of the Handmaiden.” Sedaysa closed the book and handed it to the patiently waiting servant.

“But I don’t even have a building.”

“In time.”

Naranpa had not expected to come out of this evening as an actual Maw boss, and she understood it was only in name, but she found herself smiling anyway.

Pasko cleared his throat. “Denaochi told us you had a way to defeat Carrion Crow.”

Naranpa refocused, knowing that Handmaiden or no, she needed to convince these people to align their interests with hers. She chose her words carefully. “I hope to offer an alternative to Carrion Crow. Tova cannot go on in darkness under this weakened sun. Already, we move toward spring, but with no planting season and no flowering plants, save these.” She thought to take a nearby blossom in her hand, but after Sedaysa’s warning, she thought better of it. “I want to offer the city life. Healing. I want to be the Sun Priest it should have always had.”

The three were quiet.

Amalq spoke first. “We have also heard word of plans from our neighbor cities to the east and south. That they eye our wealth and wonder why it is not theirs.”

“Denaochi has told me the same,” Naranpa said. “That Cuecola and Hokaia see Tova as a prize worth taking and that there are those in the city who would barter us away for their own benefit.”

“Golden Eagle,” Pasko growled.

“We do not know that,” Sedaysa cautioned.

“It is clear enough to me.”

“Not to us all. Now, let her speak.”

“I suspect Golden Eagle of treason, too,” Naranpa said. “We will find the truth tomorrow, when the Sky Made matrons come. But I must ask you first. What is it you want from this? If you give of your coffers and your people in support of me. What is it you want in return?”

“A seat at the table,” Sedaysa said promptly. “The Maw should have representation on the Speakers Council, just like the Sky Made clans do.”

“It is not right that they make decisions and laws without us.”

“They have written back?” Amalq asked.

Naranpa looked to Sedaysa, who shook her head.

“Not yet,” Naranpa conceded. “But I know them, and I know they will come, if only out of curiosity.”

She had signed their letters with her sigil, the Tovan sun, and named herself Sun Priest. And her script was familiar—they would know it was her. And if they thought her an impostor, they would want to know who had the audacity to claim the title as their own. No, they would come. She was sure of it.

“And what will you say to them?” Pasko leaned in, intrigued.

She did not answer at first. Instead, she lifted her hand, letting it glow. She heard their murmurs and knew her eyes shone golden, too.

“I will show them what I have shown you,” she said. “Power.”





CHAPTER 23


CITY OF TOVA (THE CROW AVIARY)

YEAR 1 OF THE CROW

Duty is a fine thing for those whose shoulders are stooped to the yoke, but it smothers those born to the wing.

—Exhortations for a Happy Life



Okoa awoke to the sound of beating wings. He roused himself from the corner of the aviary as Benundah returned. He looked to her back, hoping to see the Odo Sedoh, but she was riderless. He slumped, disappointed. Had she not found him?

He yawned, stretching his arms over his head, and shook the sleep from his body. It was the first time he had slept well in longer than he could remember, but he still longed for more.

He had stepped from the corner when the first small crow arrived. Then there were ten, then twenty, and then fifty. They flocked before him, a great whirling wind of black feathers, and he pressed his back against the wall, arm over his face. Slowly, the whirlwind began to take form, birds morphing into man, and then the Odo Sedoh stood before him.

He was as he remembered him, in Carrion Crow black and wild hair. And to Okoa’s surprise, he still wore the feathered mantle he had gifted him that first day.

It felt like a good omen, and he smiled despite himself. “I thought you might not come.”

He turned his head toward Okoa’s voice. His movements had always been reminiscent of a bird’s, but now they seemed more pronounced. “I almost did not.” He flexed his hand, and Okoa thought he saw talons, long and black, instead of fingers.

“I have news that will interest you.” He touched the letter in his pocket but did not remove it. “But first I would ask you what happened.”

“What happened,” Serapio repeated. He felt his way toward the water barrel, dipped his hands in, and brought water to his mouth to drink.

“In the yard, when you attacked the crowd.”

Serapio paused, hands in the barrel. “Attacked.” He splashed water on his face and through his hair. “I only did what was necessary.”