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I smiled. If I decided to let her live that long, she wouldn’t be spending much time with her grandchildren, that was for sure. As mean as the thought was, I had a deep resentment not only for Felix, but for his mother as well. “One thing at a time, Syeira. One thing at a time." It was weird having these hateful thoughts at the forefront of my mind. The resentment had always been there, but I’d suppressed it for all my life.

Later that night, as the moon was high and everyone else was sleeping, I got out of my bed. While I wished that Jordan could have slept with me, my mother was insistent that she spend the next few nights in a private bed. "The girl needs to recover her strength," Mom told me. "Not expend it in amorous pursuits with you. Give her a little time.”

So I walked through the house well after midnight, listening to my mother and her sister snore in Charani's bedroom, sharing a bed like they did forty years earlier as little girls. Jordan was in Syeira's bed, the moonlight streaming through the window to light up her face. In the pale illumination, she looked both ethereally beautiful and fragile. She didn't really have a grasp of how much weight she'd lost during the five days she'd been inconsolable, and her cheekbones still stood out ghastly underneath her sunken eyes.

I watched her, inside knowing that I had to just keep up the charade for a few more days. Not the charade about the stress of the ascension, that was no lie at all. But still, I had to make sure that Jordan, Syeira and Charani all thought that I was broken up about Felix's supposed death. And if I was honest with myself, I was a little bit, but I had to do what I had to do.

I wondered, as the light shifted and Jordan rolled over, her face tense as another dream passed through her mind, if they would ever want to know what really happened to him. Then again, I wondered if I wanted to know what really happened to my brother myself. Despite having a deep jealous resentment for him, I still couldn’t help but have some feelings for him.

In her sleep, Jordan moaned, not in passion but in sadness. "Felix . . .” she said in a low, lost little girl's voice. "Don't go . . .”

I could have been angered, but I wasn't. Ghosts can’t hurt me, regardless of what superstitions people have. I turned and left her to her dream. Time would heal her wound, and she would be mine. Mine alone.



The rented room wasn't exactly spacious, but our town didn't have a lot of rentable conference rooms. Valence isn’t like New York, where nearly every hotel and motel has large conference rooms available for rent. Valence was more old-fashioned European, with inns and hotels that were just that, nothing more. And by Romani tradition, the men in the room wouldn’t go onto my family's property until the decision was made.

I looked around the room, noting that even with the passage of a few years, I was still the youngest family leader in the room. The men looking back at me were all in their forties and fifties, and all of them had children of their own already.

"As I said yesterday, I understand your concerns and have thought long and hard about them," I said in Romani. "To that end, I spoke with my mother and her sister. They have agreed to act as my counselors and advisors, in a role similar to what they did for my brother."

I looked around the room and continued. "For the past few years, since my grandfather became too ill, my brother acted first unofficially and then later officially as the leader of our tribe. And in those years, despite the challenges to our home nations, our tribe has flourished. We're in a more secure position economically, politically, and even culturally than we were when Felix took over."

The discussion lasted for another few hours, but as time passed, I could tell I'd made the proper points. It was time. “Gentlemen, it’s time to make your decision. If you want me to be your leader, then take the oath."

The oath is perhaps the only thing that really separates a Gypsy King from any other respected family leader. We don't carry a crown, we don't have security details or Secret Service or anything like that. There’s no money to it, my grandfather had a few years where he was as poor as any other member of the family.

The oath, on the other hand . . . that was special. It was a blood oath, the strongest there is in Romani culture, that the family leader, and, therefore, the family, would agree to the decisions of the King. It was irrevocable, with dire consequences if broken. The only way an oath could be nullified was if the King died or was deposed, and that had never happened in the history of our tribe.

The room was silent, each man looking to the other, wondering who would stand first, if any would stand at all.

Finally, one brave man stood. "I will take the oath."

With the dam broken, one by one all of the other family members stood, until I was the only one left seated. After giving anyone who wanted a chance to change their minds, I stood as well. "I accept."





Chapter 28





Jordan





"But why the markings?" I asked that night after Francois had gone to the barn to mentally prepare himself. His coronation, which would be another public declaration of loyalty, would take place at dawn the next day. Before swearing the oath, each family leader would be allowed four very carefully placed blows with a whip or a rod on Francois's back. "Why the need for the pain?"

"In the old days, there was no concept of jail in our culture," Charani said, sitting quietly, pensive. She knew what faced her son the next morning, having seen it once before. "There were three forms of punishment. You could warn, a scolding if you would. The next was corporal punishment. The third, of course, was banishment or death. The marks are to show that Francois has already paid for the mistakes he’ll make when he is King."