He touched Maaka’s shoulder, motioning for the man to follow him, and he led Maaka down the hall away from the others. Once they were well alone, he said, “I would ask that you not tell anyone what you’ve seen here.”
“And what have I seen, Lord?” His deep voice rose, indignant. “The Odo Sedoh locked in a cell like a criminal? Stabbed and left to die?”
“He was not stabbed.”
“You saw the wound on his side.”
“He wasn’t stabbed today, I mean. Esa did not do that.”
Maaka folded his arms over his barrel chest. “What did she do?”
Irritation and exhaustion flared, and he leaned in, his voice a harsh whisper. “Do not be so familiar with me. I am still your lord, and she is still your matron.” The rebuke felt sour on his tongue, but he had to make the man understand.
Maaka stiffened. He bowed, low and mocking. “My apologies, my Lord Okoa Carrion Crow.” When he looked up again, his face was closed, expression flat and unreadable.
Okoa clenched his jaw. Skies, he was stubborn and quick to offense. Just like you, he thought, but pushed that away.
“Give me time, Maaka. Before you tell the Odohaa. Before you…” What would he do? Go to the Carrion Crow council of aunties and demand Esa explain herself? Maaka had enough respect among the aunties that they would listen to him. But it would be a disaster. He could see the clan fracturing into factions before his eyes.
Maaka was unyielding. “You must understand that while I respect you for your father’s sake, the Odohaa answer to a higher cause, and that cause is the restoration of Carrion Crow.”
Okoa caught his breath. His father? No one spoke of his father. It was verboten. He wanted to say more, but Maaka was still talking.
“We are a people with hope once again, and the Odo Sedoh has brought us that.” He thrust his chin back toward the cell. “Not you. Not your matron.”
“And if you had to choose?” He knew he shouldn’t ask it, but it was the same question with which he struggled and had no answer.
Maaka’s eyes softened, but his arms stayed crossed, his face cold. “Do not ask a question whose answer you will not like, Okoa.” He said his name with compassion, as if he knew him better than he did, and Okoa found it unsettling.
“It is treason,” he warned.
“Careful, Lord, that you do not confuse fealty to the Odo Sedoh with faithlessness to your family. Your father would not make the same mistake.”
Okoa opened his mouth, shocked. Twice he had mentioned his father. “How do you know—？”
“Maaka?”
Both men turned. It was Feyou.
“Now.”
Maaka grunted and strode back to join his wife, leaving Okoa staggered. He had a sudden memory of riding a great crow for the first time. He had been twelve, still at odds with his adolescent body, awkward and gangling. Chaiya had taken him out to a blue lake beyond the city where the riders trained. The earth was vast and flat, the horizon stretching forever, blue water against a summer blue sky. When he had urged Benundah into the sky for the first time, the world had fallen away all at once. He had spun, unable to tell the heavens from the earth. His stomach had heaved as he tried to find something steady to focus on, but it had been too much, and he had fallen into the water below.
It was the same feeling he had now, unable to get his bearings, to tell up from down, destined to fall into the cold waters below.
He heard Maaka and Feyou talking and made his way back to the door. He did not enter the room but stood next to the Shield by the entrance. The other Odohaa had unwrapped his bundle. The gifts, Okoa remembered now. The first was a white staff, ornately carved with the wings of crows. He recognized its like from his time at the war college; it was a spearmaiden’s traditional weapon.
“We looked for your knives, Odo Sedoh.” Feyou pressed the staff into his hands. “But could not find them.”
The Odo Sedoh was sitting on the bed, his torso bandaged, his hand folded around the staff, his expression reverent. “The knives were likely shattered. This is gift enough, and irreplaceable.”
“When word came back of your victory, some of us dared to go to Sun Rock to see for ourselves. We retrieved this, knowing it must be yours, before Golden Eagle or any of the clans could claim it or try to destroy it.”
“I thought it lost.”
Maaka spoke. “Then it is all the more our honor.”
“And what did you think of what you saw? There on the Rock?” He addressed the Odohaa kneeling before him, but his head was cocked slightly toward Okoa.