Kuy’s head bobbed once. “I saw the great crows return, and the young warrior on his back.”
“You saw Serapio?”
Omataya scoffed. “Serapio? What kind of name is that?” The way she said it sounded like an argument previously voiced to Uncle Kuy, most likely, but Xiala hadn’t heard it and now wanted to.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“A foreign name.” The woman wagged a finger at Kuy. “A false god who has weak men addled, that’s all he is.”
“His mother was Carrion Crow,” Uncle Kuy supplied quickly, eyes darting to Xiala as if to warn her away from the debate, “and he bore the haahan and the blood teeth. He is Carrion Crow.”
Omataya huffed, unimpressed. “What does he know of Carrion Crow?”
The muscle in Xiala’s jaw tightened, anger at this woman, at all these people, crashing over her like a wave. “He killed your enemies for you.”
“A killer, then! You say so yourself. They say he did it for the Crows, but who knows his motives? And yet this one”— she gestured to Kuy—“is willing to follow him like a once-fed dog.”
“Do you know what he suffered for you?” Xiala asked, incredulous. The small room felt hot and stifling despite the winter that reigned outside. “He sacrificed everything to help you, but where were you when he needed you? When he was a boy alone in Obregi? When his mother blinded him? And now you wish to judge him because his blood is not pure enough and he bears a foreign name?”
Aishe’s hand was on her arm. “Steady, Xiala. No one’s saying that.”
“You have a responsibility to him,” she said, “not the other way around.” Her voice trembled with anger, and for a moment, Xiala wasn’t sure if she was talking about Serapio or herself.
Omataya picked a nut from a bowl at her elbow and dropped it into her mouth. She chewed silently, her only answer to Xiala’s outburst.
Uncle Kuy turned tired eyes to Xiala. “You wish to go to Odo?”
“Yes.”
“I go by way of the bridge across Sun Rock. We’ll have to pass Sky Made guards who hold vigil there. They may ask questions, be suspicious. There are stories of a foreign woman with plum-colored hair seen with the Odo Sedoh on the day before the solstice. It is not without danger for you.”
So there was already gossip about her. Yes, she did not doubt that soon enough they would come for her, more reason to leave this thrice-damned city.
Xiala straightened. “I’m not afraid.”
“But maybe you should be.” He hefted a bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Come now, or don’t come at all.” And then he was leaving.
A burst of icy wind breached the open door as he departed. Xiala shivered, at the sudden cold or at Uncle Kuy’s warning words, she wasn’t sure which. But she was chilled all the same.
“Old fool,” Omataya muttered, but Xiala heard the sadness in her voice. The older woman slammed the batten down. “And don’t come back,” she muttered.
Xiala shook her head. What was she doing arguing with this stranger? She had been too long already in Tova, she could feel it in her bones. The sea called to her, a yearning that did not quiet. She would find Serapio, and they would go. To where she didn’t know. Just away from here.
She followed Uncle Kuy out the door. She was halfway across the courtyard when she heard, “Xiala! Wait!”
Aishe was there, hurrying to catch her.
“I’m sorry about that,” Aishe said, her breath huffing white in the twilight. “Omataya was terrible.”
“But was she wrong?” Xiala asked, sounding bitter. “You Tovans are obsessed with bloodlines.”
“And the Teek aren’t?”
“No. The Teek are all bastards. No fathers, shared mothers, every one of us half something else. Kinship is what matters, not…” She waved her hand to take in the whole of the city. “Not this blood nonsense.”
“Now who’s being cruel?” Aishe sounded hurt.
Xiala’s sigh was heavy and heartfelt. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to insult you. It’s just…” She shuddered as a gust wormed through the edges of her cowl.
“Are you coming?” Uncle Kuy’s voice carried on the wind. He’d stopped to wait by the gate, but Xiala thought he wouldn’t wait long.
“One thing,” Aishe said hurriedly. “Here.” She dragged her blue fur-lined cloak from her shoulders. “Trade with me. A foreigner may draw eyes, and Uncle could be right that people have heard of you. Wear this, and keep the hood raised and your hair hidden.”