She gasped. “That isn’t true.” He held her in place when she tried to climb off him, his words like blows from his fists.
He winced at her distress but was relentless. “Shh. Listen to me. Listen.” She stilled, and his features grew blurry in her vision. “The people praise the spectacle, certain the gods are among them and approve the sacrifice. Your control of fire, and the illusion you create from it, makes it act in ways fire doesn’t act on its own.” He stopped, allowing time for his words to sink in.
A terrible revelation rose inside her. “The people see divine intervention, the presence of the gods among them.”
“Yes.”
She covered her mouth with a hand. Wretched sounds of grief still escaped past the barrier of her palm. What had she done? What had Beroe done these many decades? In trying to save itself, it had only made things worse for everyone subject to the tithe: itself, other villages, every family with a daughter who dreaded the coming of spring and the knowledge they might have to give up that child as a sacrifice.
Azarion’s arms slid around her and gathered her close against him. She sobbed in his arms, drenching his skin. He stroked her back, her hair, and her arms, and planted soft kisses on her temple and cheekbone. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” he whispered in her ear. “Forgive me.”
She continued to cry for several moments while he held her in silence. When there were no tears left, she squirmed out of his embrace to snatch a cloth from a table holding the washbasin and blew her nose until her ears rang.
Azarion watched her from their tumbled nest of blankets, his face pale, green eyes dark with anguish. Gilene returned to the bed and knelt in front of him. “There’s nothing to forgive,” she said. “They’re hurtful words, but that doesn’t make them less true, and I needed to hear them. I wish all of Beroe could hear them.”
“This would be a very crowded qara.” His gentle teasing made her smile, and he reached out to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. “It’s just a guess based on what I observed, Gilene. I could be wrong.”
She exhaled a tired sigh and shook her head. “I wish I could believe you were, but it makes too much sense to deny. The Empire does demand more tithes. More women stand with me each year.”
She scraped her palms across her damp cheeks to dry them, her thoughts racing. “What am I to do? I can’t just let the women burn next to me, hearing them scream as their flesh melts off their bones. And how would I escape the Pit if I didn’t create the illusion of more fire?”
“Don’t go,” Azarion said. “Stay here with me on the Sky Below.”
“That’s a wish, not a solution.” She rose to clean up and dress. A bubble of tears still lodged under her ribs, making it hard to breathe, but she didn’t succumb to it. The time for weeping was done. She needed a clear head to plan. She studied Azarion where he still reclined in their bed.
His mouth was set in a thin line, his visage dark. “Spring will be the best time to attack Kraelag. The Empire won’t expect us to march our forces while snow is on the ground and the rivers are frozen.” He captured her hand when she returned to him. “Moving an army across winter landscape is slow and difficult. Gilene, I can’t guarantee we’ll reach Kraelag in time to stop the Rites of Spring. Even if we’re standing before the gates, it may not be enough to save you and the others from the immolation.”
Gilene saw it in his eyes. Desperation. Fear. Fear for her and what she faced. She squeezed his fingers. “I’m not afraid,” she lied.
“I am,” he snapped. His expression shuttered, and he stood to yank on his clothing. “You’re determined to go back.”
She looked away. “What else can I do?”
He came to stand before her. “You can stay here! You’re an agacin now.”
Gilene chuckled, a humorless sound. “A concubine agacin.”
He was an ataman, an unmarried one with alliances to forge. His people would expect him to marry.
“Be my wife,” he argued. “Treasured and beloved.”
That bubble of tears threatened to burst inside her. Gilene closed her eyes. “Stop, please. Your words only make it harder.”
“I don’t want it to be easy, Gilene!” He gripped her arms to give her a light shake. “I want it to be so hard, you’ll change your mind.” He kissed the bridge of her nose. “I understand your devotion to your family, though I think they and the entire village are cowards. What they demand you do for them, what they expect you to do for them . . . it’s cowardice, and I can’t find sympathy for them. Are they really worth your sacrifice? Your suffering?”
“You’re about to go to war. Will you ask these questions of every Savatar warrior who follows you?”
He scowled. “Your village elders have enslaved their fire witches for how many generations?”
“For as long as any of us remember,” she said in a small voice.
Azarion’s scowl turned even more ominous than before. “Release me from my oath to leave Beroe untouched by the Savatar. It deserves a razing as much as Kraelag.”
“No it doesn’t. The village isn’t full of evil people, just a lot of frightened ones with families. Would you not put Tamura and Saruke before your clansmen’s sisters and mothers?”
He raked his fingers through his hair. “How does anyone answer that question until they’re forced to?”
“They don’t, not if they can help it.” How she wished she didn’t have to answer it now. Or ever.
Gilene caressed his jaw. “Wife of a chieftain,” she said, wistful. “I would rise up in the world.”
Azarion leaned his cheek into her palm. “And I would be made exceptional by the union, Agacin.”
“You already are, Azarion Ataman. The ancestors for whom your mother has so much reverence would be proud of her son.”
“And yet I still can’t change your mind.” She shook her head, and he growled low in his throat. “You’re a stubborn woman.”
She smiled at his accusation. “It’s why I will prevail.”
Her words made him pause, and he stared at her until the heat of a blush crawled up her neck to her cheeks. “Of that, Agacin, I have no doubt.”
Once they were both dressed, he ushered her out of the qara and across the camp where everyone had gathered around the Ataman Council to hear an abbreviated explanation of Azarion’s plan.
Erakes was as good an orator as Azarion, and in no time he had incited his warriors to such an eager state for battle, they were ready to mount their horses and ride for Kraelag in that moment to take on the Empire single-handedly.