Free Bloodsongs by Robin W Bailey Page B

fell around her feet, and she stepped free. She had no more use for them but to wipe the mud from between her toes. With a peculiar frown she realized she must have tracked filth over Teri’s floor.
    Lastly, she removed the jeweled halter she had worn all this time under her tunic. She’d had no chance to remove it since that night of dancing at the inn. So much had happened so fast. She laid it carefully aside, watching the light glimmer on the gems and gilt threads.
    Samidar closed the lid to her trunk. She gazed then at the belted bundle at her feet and finally bent to pick it up. Unfastening the belt, she shook the folded items loose.
    A sense of time suddenly distorted swept over her. She pulled on trousers of thin gray leather; the thighs were worn smooth from riding. There was a jacket-styled tunic; the belt wrapped around her twice and held it closed, and the sleeves fastened close at the wrists. It was also gray, but made of softer linen. She stamped her feet into the black boots; over twenty years unused, they were a bit tight, but she knew they would stretch with wear. A cloak remained, and a pair of gloves, all of fine gray leather. She tucked the gloves into her belt and draped the cloak over one arm.
    She reached for her sword. The sheath had its own weapon belt. She fastened it around her hips. After so long, the weight of it felt awkward. She adjusted it several times before giving up.
    Suddenly she covered her face with her hands, overpowered by a sense of her own age. The sword had been made for her by a man long dead. The friend who had given her the circlet also was dead. The garments belonged to someone else, another Samidar, a much younger and wilder woman.
    Samidar with another name.
    The name echoed in her head; her lips mouthed the word. She forced herself to utter it. Only the barest whisper came out, and she made herself say it out loud until she knew the name was hers once again.
    She picked up the halter and gave a last look at her neatly ordered pile of memories. In a few days they would be mingled with the rest of Amalki’s treasures, just more junk in a room full of junk. It was not easy to turn her back on twenty-three years of her life. But she did, taking the lamp with her, abandoning it all to darkness.
    Amalki and Teri were in close conversation before the fireplace. The warm log fire seemed to create a crimson halo around Teri’s belly as if to emphasize the femininity that Samidar was forever surrendering. They stopped when they noticed her. Amalki started to speak again, then stared at her garb.
    â€œSamidar—“
    She cut him off with a curt gesture. “My name is Frost.” The name sounded distant to her ears, as though it drifted across a lifetime before leaving her lips.
    Amalki swallowed. He pointed to her sword. “Do you have any idea how to use that?”
    She peered at him, and an inner voice told her she should laugh. Yet a door had closed on her heart, leaving a void where her emotions had been. She felt his concern, and a part of her was grateful for it. But she couldn’t respond to it.
    â€œWhat are you going to do?” Teri asked uncertainly from the mantel.
    Frost looked at her. The young woman’s voice was silky and deep, and their gazes met unflinchingly across the room. Teri was beautiful. Had she been as beautiful when she was pregnant with Kel? By the next new moon, Amalki had said, they would have the child.
    She approached Teri and held out the halter. “If you have a daughter, then this is for her. Teach her to dance, Teri. Nothing matters, but to dance. All of nature is a dance.” She reached out gingerly with her other hand and touched the bulging tummy, feeling the life within. Teri allowed it with a kind of unshakable calm.
    Frost looked over her shoulder at Amalki. “If it’s a boy,” she instructed, “then sell the jewels and buy him a sword. The best you can find. All of nature is a dance,