can do for you.'
She crouched beside him, her head bobbing up and down. Rather sooner than she'd expected, she pulled away, taking a couple of deep breaths and choking a little. 'Well, well,' Leino said. 'I didn't think I had it in me.'
'You certainly did.' Pekka went over to the sink and washed off her chin.
'You'll have to excuse me now,' her husband said, curling up on the bed. 'I'm going to sleep for about a week.' He offered a theatrical snore.
It made Pekka smile, but it didn't convince her. 'A likely story,' she said. 'You'll be feeling me up again before Uto gets home.'
'Who was just doing what to whom?' Leino asked, and Pekka had no good answer. He stretched out again, then said, 'I love you, you know.'
'I love you, too,' she said. 'That's probably why we've been doing all this.'
'Can you think of a better reason?' Leino said. 'This is a lot more fun than being lonely and jumping on the first halfway decent-looking person you find.'
'Aye,' Pekka said, and wished Fernao hadn't chosen that moment to cross her mind again.
Vanai poured out wine and listened to Ealstan pour out excitement. 'He is! Pybba is, by the powers above,' her husband said. 'Sure as I'm sitting here, he's funneling money into things that hurt the Algarvians.'
'Good for him,' Vanai said. 'Do you want some sausage? It's the first time in a while the butcher had some that looked even halfway decent.'
'Sausage? Oh, aye.' Ealstan's voice was far away; he'd heard what she said, but he hadn't paid much attention to it. His mind was on Pybba's accounts: 'If he's fighting the Algarvians, maybe I'll finally get the chance to fight them, too. I mean, really fight them.'
'And maybe you'll get in trouble, too,' Vanai said. 'For all you know, his accounts are like a spiderweb, set up to catch somebody who's not quite as smart as he thinks he is.' She put a length of sausage on Ealstan's plate and then set a hand on her own belly. 'Please be careful.'
'Of course I'll be careful.' But Ealstan didn't sound as if that were the first thing on his mind, or even the fourth or fifth. He sounded annoyed at Vanai for reminding him he might need to have a care.
You're a man, sure enough, Vanai thought. You'll do whatever you please and then blame me if it doesn't work out the way you want. She sighed. 'How is the sausage?' she asked.
Ealstan suddenly seemed to notice what he'd been devouring for supper. 'Oh! It's very good,' he said. Vanai sighed again. As soon as Ealstan finished eating, he started going on about Pybba some more. Short of clouting him in the head with a rock, Vanai didn't know how to make him shut up. But when he declared, 'It's practically my patriotic duty to see what's going on,' she lost patience with him.
'You are going to do this thing,' she said. 'I can tell you're going to do it, and you won't listen to me no matter what I say. But I am going to say this: don't go charging straight ahead, as if you had four legs and two big horns and no brains at all. If you do that, I have the bad feeling you'll disappear one day, and I'll never see you again.'
'Don't be silly,' he answered, which really made her want to clout him in the head with a rock. But he went on, 'I'm my father's son, after all. I don't go blindly charging into things.'
That held enough truth to give her pause, but not enough fully to reassure her. Ealstan was his father's son, but he was also a red-blooded Forthwegian. Vanai knew that without fully understanding it; Forthweg was her homeland, but she didn't love it the way Forthwegians did. Why should she? A good part of the overwhelming Forthwegian majority would have been just as well pleased if she and all the Kaunians in the kingdom disappeared. And now a lot of the Kaunians in the kingdom were disappearing, thanks to the Algarvians- and thanks to Forthwegians not sorry to see them go.
Those thoughts flashed through her mind in a moment. She hardly missed a beat in answering, 'I hope you don't. You'd better not.'
'I won't. Truly.' Ealstan sounded perfectly confident. He also sounded perfectly blockheaded.
Vanai couldn't tell him that. It wouldn't have made him pay attention to her, and would have made her angry. What she did say was, 'Remember, you've got a lot to live for here at the flat.'
She wondered if she ought to pull off her tunic and skin out of her drawers. That would remind him of what he had to live for if nothing else did. Patriot or no, he was wild for lovemaking- a good deal wilder than she was at the moment, with pregnancy making her desire fitful. But she shook her head, as if he'd asked her to strip herself naked. She had too much pride, too much dignity, for that. She'd been Major Spinello's plaything. She wouldn't make herself anyone else's, not that way.
Ealstan pointed to her. For a moment, she thought he was going to ask her to do what she'd just rejected. She took a deep breath: she was ready to scorch him. But he said, 'Your sorcery's slipped. You need to set it right. You especially need to keep it strong now. Mezentio's men have been taking a demon of a lot of people out of the Kaunian quarter lately.'
'Oh.' Vanai's anger evaporated. 'All right. Thank you.' She always kept the golden yarn and the dark brown in her handbag. She got them, twisted them together, and chanted the spell she'd devised. When she was done, she turned to Ealstan and said, 'Is it good?'
'It's fine.' Ealstan's smile was suddenly shy. 'I'm sorry you can't look like yourself- the way you're supposed to look, I mean- all the time. You're very pretty when you look like a Forthwegian- don't get me wrong- but I think you're beautiful when you look like a Kaunian. I always have, from the day I first saw you.'
'Have you?' Vanai said. Ealstan's nod was shy, too. As few things did, that little show of embarrassment reminded her she was a year older than he. He'd been fifteen when they first met in the oak wood between Oyngestun and Gromheort, his beard only darkening fuzz on his cheeks. He looked like a man now, and acted like a man… and he wanted to fight like a man. Vanai didn't know what to do about that. She feared she couldn't do anything about it.
She let him make love to her when they went to bed. It made him happy, and that made her happy, though she didn't kindle. One thing, she thought as she drifted toward sleep, I don't need to worry about whether I'm going to have a baby. Now I know.
Her spell had slipped again by the time she woke the next morning. She hastily repaired it while Ealstan ate barley porridge and gulped a morning cup of wine. As it had the night before, his smile reassured her. She could cast the spell with no one checking her, but she'd find out the hard way if she made a mistake.
Ealstan gave her an absentminded kiss and hurried out the door. By the way he hurried, Vanai was sure he was heading to Pybba's pottery works, though he didn't say so. She shook her head. She'd done everything she could to keep him safe. He would have to do something for himself, too.
She also had to go out, to the market square. While she'd kept her Kaunian looks, Ealstan had done the shopping. Getting out of the flat still seemed a miracle: so much so that she didn't mind lugging food back. Beans? Olives? Cabbages? So what? Just the chance to be out on the streets of Eoforwic, to see more than she could from her grimy window, made up for the work she had to do.
The apothecary's shop where she'd almost been caught out as a Kaunian, where the proprietor had killed himself rather than letting the Algarvians try to torment answers out of him, was open again. UNDER NEW OWNERSHIP, a sign in one window said. NEW LOWER PRICES, cried another sign, a bigger one, in the other window. I might get medicines there, Vanai thought. I'd never trust this new owner, whoever he is, with anything more. He might be in the redheads' belt pouch.
For all she knew, the new owner might be a relative of the dead apothecary. She still wouldn't trust him, and he still might be in the Algarvians' pay.
She didn't trust the butcher, either, but for different reasons: suspicion that he called mutton lamb, that he put grain in his sausages when he swore he didn't, that his scales worked in his favor. Writers had complained about such tricks in the days of the Kaunian Empire. Brivibas, no doubt, could have cited half a dozen examples, with appropriate citations. Vanai bit her lip. Her grandfather wouldn't be citing any more classical authors. Half the distress she felt was at not feeling more distress now that he was dead.
Marrow bones would flavor soup. The butcher said they were beef. They might have been horse or donkey.
