Svetkavista

Aphrodite’s Apples

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Svetkavista

This book is an original publication of Aphrodite’s Apples and has never before appeared in print. The story is fictional, any similarity to persons living or dead is purely coincedental.

Aphrodite’s Apples Press 2207 Concord Pike Suite 441 Wilmington, DE 19803-2908 www.aphroditesapples.com First ebook publish July 2006 Svetkavista Cover Art © 2006 Aphrodite’s Apples

Svetkavista

© 2006 Kayleigh Jamison

Fact, Fiction, and the Ever-Changing Line Which Divides Them A note on the factual accuracy of Svetkavista               When I first decided to write a novel about the Rom, I was blissfully unaware of the massive undertaking that my research would become.  Like most gajè, I possessed vague, preconceived notions, but knew very little about who the Rom truly are and were.              Each time I found source material about the Rom, I would later find two more sources to dismiss, discredit, or disprove the facts and theories presented by the original reference.  To borrow a saying from the Rom, Yekka buliasa nashti beshes pe done grastende.  “With one behind, you cannot sit on two horses.”  While certain cultural practices and beliefs remain more or less uniform, specific nuances in language, culture, and tradition vary greatly.  Add to this infinite array of information the reality that the Rom are a very secretive, self-contained society, and one realizes that it is impossible to achieve total understanding of this unique way of life.             Svetkavista should not be read as factual authority on Hungarian Rom.  I have strived to remain true to the Rom as I understand them, but the novel is, first and foremost, a work of fiction.   Kayleigh Jamison June 21, 2006 Acknowledgements



Infinite gratitude is owed to the following: The talented and caring women who encouraged me to dare to dream and throw my heart and soul into my

writing, as I had always hoped to do – HS Kinn, Katrina Strauss, Ivana Peters, Angela Skaggs. I could not be more proud of our collective accomplishments, or happier that what we have achieved, we have done together. My editor and friend, Alisha Steele, for her unfailing patience with and confidence in my writing. This circle is for you, dear; slightly, anyway. The Sexy Authors With Attitude - Emma Wildes, Jamie Hill, Skyler Grey, Cheri Valmont, Darragha Foster, Nicole Getridge, D. Musgrave, Jude Mason, and Michelle Houston - for simply being a fabulous group of writers and people. I’m pleased to be among your ranks.

Svetkavista

T

Chapter One he night air was damp and cool on her bare arms as she approached the flickering light of the bonfire, a distant beacon lighting her way across the field. A gentle breeze was blowing off the

waters of the Tisza, its banks hidden just beyond the swell of small hills at her back. Her feet sank into the moist, soft mud as she gingerly picked her way through the meadow, the ground swamp-like from the foul weather that had lingered for the better part of the week. It had rained throughout the day without reprieve, upsetting the horses and making travel both difficult and exhausting, but Karina was not too tired to engage in her nightly ritual. She paused in her trek to readjust the threadbare wool shawl she had casually looped through her elbows, pulling the material up over her shoulders to guard against the chill. The garment was old and ragged, but not out of place when paired with the rest of her outfit; the entirety of her meager wardrobe consisted of clothes donated, crafted, or stolen from piles of trash left in the streets of the various settlements through which they traveled.

She was Romani, a gypsy, like her mother, and her mother’s mother before her. Her family wandered the

land, living outside of society, on the fringe. Some called them vagabonds and vagrants, others called them thieves and heathens, but they were none of these things. They simply…were. Their way of life was misunderstood, their values misconstrued. The nomadic people were viewed with distrust and distain all across Eastern Europe, and lately the movement to convert or enslave them had increased in popularity.

The noose was tightening around Rom across the Kingdom of Hungary. New laws had been enacted by 

Svetkavista Empress Maria Theresa, requiring all Rom children over the age of five to be removed from their parents’ care and taken to be raised by peasants in the distant, remote villages of the countryside. They were then being forced into the Christian faith, with the relentless diligence of religious dogmatism. Rom were also forbidden to marry amongst each other, and their nomadic way of life was summarily outlawed, though they were not allowed to purchase land, and they were not permitted to own horses. Because of this, the Rom were on the run, avoiding large cities such as Pressburg and Fahlendorf, left with no option but to hide in the hills and the mountains. They were a stubborn people, and would not bend to the will of a sovereign they did not recognize as their own. The Empress, far away in Habsburg, could not impose her will on people she could not find, and political instability with the remaining Turks in Transylvania had required her to dispatch most of the Kingdom’s military forces to control border skirmishes. There was simply not enough manpower to chase the Rom.

Karina’s family was comprised of Argintari – silversmiths by trade. According to tradition, and law, she was

expected to marry Argintari, and raise her children to be the same, if she ever married at all. But Karina’s dream was to be Lăutari. She would wait until mashkari rat, long after her family was asleep, and she would sneak across the camp to where the Lăutari stayed up until the early light of dawn, laughing and playing the lavúta, the flyèta, and the tambal. And then Karina would dance, twirling in frantic circles, skirts flaring, bracelets clinking until she was breathless and giggling.

Karina’s father despised the Lăutari. Music was an important part of Rom life, but he viewed the musicians

and dancers as lower-class, without any useful, material skills. They were fanciful, frivolous, and at times downright promiscuous. Tales were reaching Hungary that in Russia the nobility were using Rom to form private choirs, which they would display at parties and society events. There were even rumors that such practices were now being adopted in Pressburg. The Lăutari who received special privileges from the Hungarian nobles were thought of as traitors. It was considered worse than being common slaves, to be mere entertainment for outsiders; it was considered, by most, a fate worse than death.

Not so for Karina. Her father called her impractical and foolish, but the Lăutari with whom she spoke in

secret called her gifted. She would hum and sing to herself when she was alone, repeating the melodies she’d heard the night before, and would feel her hips start to sway instinctively. It was as if the music overcame her when she danced. She no longer thought, or worried, about anything. She let the song wash over her, closed her eyes, and 

Svetkavista gave in to the rhythm. Karina did not have the look of a traditional Roma. Her dark blonde hair and pale skin were evidence that at least one of her ancestors had been gajè, non-Roma. Her sisters used to tell her that her eyes were too close together, her nose too aquiline, and her lips too thin –they said she looked like a hawk that had caught a sick mouse for its meal. Neither her two sisters, nor her brother, all younger than she, shared her gajè characteristics, and they had teased her about it their entire lives. It was a forbidden subject in the presence of her parents, and the one time Karina had broached the topic with her father he’d told her that God had not chosen to be kind to her, in more ways than one. The answer had frightened her so deeply that she’d never asked again.

The music drifted to her across the plain as she drew closer to her destination; the delicate clink of the

bells within the tambal, and the deep, sonorous melody of the lavùta. Brishen had the violin tonight, she could tell even from this distance – no one else played quite like him. His flesh seemed to meld with the black, polished fingerboard, to fuse with the catgut strings stretched taut across the bridge. The instrument was an extension of his body–wood of his flesh, of his blood. When he played, he owned the music; he was the music.

The other musicians called him an angel. Karina thought he was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen

when he was playing. When he wasn’t, well, that was another matter. Though Karina did not have much interaction with him other than to dance to his music, she’d heard the stories of his arrogance, his insolence, and his frightful temper. He was the epitome of the Lăutari stereotype. In fact, he was precisely the reason her father forbade her from associating with the musicians and dancers of their tribe.

Sometimes, she thought she saw Brishen watching her through slitted eyes as he played. Often, she was

certain that she could feel his eyes on her back as she danced or moved about the camp. But each time she turned to face him, his attention was elsewhere.

Finally, she reached the small clearing where a bonfire had been set, the wet grass pressed down by the

trample of horses and boots to create a circular stage. Wooden crates had been unloaded from the wagons and placed on the ground as makeshift chairs. Brishen stood atop one of them, violin tucked under his chin, eyes closed, lips slightly parted, body swaying to the rhythm of his song. His shoulder-length hair, rich brown in color, was tied loosely at the nape of his neck with a slip of twine. He had a strong, masculine jaw, angular cheekbones, and a light brown complexion that had been dramatically darkened by the sun’s rays. He was tall and broad

Svetkavista shouldered – larger in stature than most of the other Lăutari men in the tribe-- but the violin suited him perfectly, nonetheless. It was a traditional gypsy dirge that he played, one normally accompanied by a female voice, but no one dared sing. Not when Brishen was playing. The melody began slow, the horse-tail bow drawing across the G and D strings in a leisurely glissando that transitioned into a grating, dissonant chord. He held the notes, drawing them out, tormenting his audience with the unsavory sound before sliding his ring finger up a half-step, reconciling the note with harmony once more. Karina swore she saw him smirk, but his eyes never opened, his expression never changed. Without warning, the mournful tone disappeared as Brishen’s tempo increased. He played faster with each passing bar until all traces of the mulengi djilia had disappeared, transforming into a fast-paced cante jondo. His fingers danced across the strings, his right arm a blur as he moved the bow in frenzied, staccato strokes. Several members of the informal audience began to clap in time. A few were inspired to stand and dance.

Karina caught sight of her friend, Papusza, on the other side of the clearing, and picked her way through

the crowd. Papusza was two years older than Karina, and had been married for nearly ten years before her husband was killed by the Hungarian militia, several months ago. He had resisted them when they’d tried to take away his son. His body had been hung from the gallows in Pressburg as a warning to other Rom, and Papusza’s son was taken anyway.

“Karina, we weren’t certain we’d see you tonight,” Papusza commented, approaching her with a grin. She

embraced the younger girl with one arm, and offered up a flask of liquor with the other.

“But we’re glad for it,” one of the older men interjected from his crate, not far away. “Papusza’s dancing

isn’t half as entertaining as yers.”

“And your singing, Uncle, is about the worst thing I’ve ever heard!” the tiny woman shot back, but she was

still smiling, and so was her tormentor. Her name meant ‘doll’ in Romany, and it suited her perfectly. She had long, raven-colored hair that framed her face in tight corkscrew curls, offsetting full, red lips that reminded Karina of a heart when she pursed them together.

Karina smiled broadly and accepted the proffered flask, taking a tentative swig of the rich, brown liquid

before passing it to Papusza’s uncle, Vesh. 

Svetkavista

“How long have ye been associating with us, shebari, and ye still can’t hold yer liquor?” he grunted, downing

a considerable portion.

“If Dat suspects I’ve been to see you, Kako, he’ll have my head,” she explained, shaking her head at his offer

of a second draught.

“Li’ ha’ eer, Karina, we need to find you a husband so that you won’t have to be so frightened of your father

anymore!” Papusza exclaimed, earning a sharp glance of reproval from her uncle. A woman had no place saying such things, certainly not in mixed company.

Karina blushed and dropped her gaze. Papusza was constantly talking about arranging a suitable marriage

for her, and the subject was a sore one. Much to her family’s dismay, Karina was čhaj, unmarried, despite her age. Her younger sisters had married at twelve and thirteen, and her brother took a wife at fifteen. She was now twenty-three, and still under her parents’ care. None of the young Argintari men of her tribe had ever expressed an interest in her hand, and her father had not, to her knowledge, done much in the way of finding her a husband either. Her family blamed her misfortune on prikàza, a form of karmic backlash. Cosmic bad luck. But, in many ways, her unmarried status was fortunate. It kept her safe from the harsh legislation of the Empress. “Dosta!” Vesh said, raising his hands firmly above his head. “Leave her alone, Papusza, and let her dance. She doesn’t come here for yer scheming.” The two women smiled at each other, and Karina nodded her head slightly in the direction of the fire, where several women were already dancing, the gold and silver of their jewelry flashing in the reflective light of the flames. The music’s frenetic pace began to subside; the song winding down, growing softer, fading to a piano, then to a pianissimo, and then… to nothing. Brishen froze, eyes closed, bow poised in mid-air, fingers curled around the neck of the violin. The crowd paused also, turning to acknowledge him, waiting anxiously for his next song. The performer seemed to savor the temporary silence before lowering the instrument to his side, cradling it under his arm. Then he raised his bow and pointed it directly at Karina, singling her out amongst the dozen or so women that watched him. “Bring me the rakia!” he bellowed, and his voice was deep and melodious, much like the sound of his violin. 

Svetkavista For a moment she simply gaped at him; in part because he’d singled her out, and in part because to give orders to a woman not your daughter or wife was just not permitted. “Here,” Papusza said, pressing the flask of brandy into her hand and giving her a nudge on the shoulder with the other. “No, Papusza!” she hissed, digging her heels into the mud. “Just take him the drink, girl,” an anonymous voice yelled. “Or else we’ll not hear another song tonight!” Karina bit her lip, drawing blood, and closed her fingers around the neck of the flask, shooting her friend a dismayed look before stepping forward. She kept her gaze lowered, studying the ground, and stopped in front of the crate upon which Brishen stood. She raised the flask above her head, waiting for him to take it from her. Strong fingers closed over her hand and she looked up, startled at the brazenness. Brishen bent down and brought his face close to hers. “Chindilan?” he asked softly. ‘Are you weary?’ She shook her head slightly and mumbled, “No.” “Then dance for me.” He winked and raised the flask to his lips. “And I’ll play for you.” “I’ll dance,” she said curtly, suddenly angered by his arrogance. “For me?” he pressed. “No, it won’t be for you.” “I think it will be,” he replied with a grin, before straightening and tossing the flask of liquor into the crowd. She opened her mouth to retort; then shut it again. Instead, she raised her head and met his gaze for the first time, glaring at him through narrowed eyes. Before he could comment she turned and walked back to her place next to Papusza, keeping her back to him. She heard several “tuts” of disapproval from the crowd, but the rakia had lowered her inhibitions, and if Brishen could defy custom and modesty, then so could she. “Come, Karina, let’s dance,” Papusza said gently, resting her hand lightly on the younger girl’s arm. “I don’t want to dance tonight. I think I’ll go back to camp now. I’m tired.” “Liar.” “Just leave me be, please.” She pulled out of her friend’s grasp and walked away from the bonfire, back into the darkness and chill of the field. She could feel Brishen’s eyes on her, knew he was watching her retreat, and she 

Svetkavista suspected he was smiling. “He likes you,” Papusza called after her, quick on her heels. “Shh! Don’t say such things!” “He asked you to dance for him, didn’t he? He likes you!” “He’s an arrogant fool! He’s lucky I didn’t bring my skirts to his cheek!” Karina whirled around to face her friend, hands clenched at her sides. “You’d never do such a thing. You like him too.” “I do not!” she exclaimed, a little too quickly. “Karina, I have watched you watching him. When he plays, you don’t see anything but him,” the ravenhaired woman persisted. “Then I enjoy his playing, nothing more.” “You are too stubborn for your own good. You’re just like your father, Chey,” Papusza said, a bit gentler now, using the nickname she’d given Karina when they were children. Reaching out with one slender hand, she brushed the flaxen curls back from her friend’s flushed face. “I can’t imagine you would allow anyone to disrespect you, Papusza. You’re čhaj now, too, after all.” She regretted the observation the instant the words left her lips. “True, but I’m glad for it. I don’t want to remarry.” “You don’t?” It was a strange thing to want in Karina’s opinion, she had spent her entire life being prepared for marriage and now, at twenty-three, she might never have the chance. “No, I don’t. My uncle looks after me, and Cherhaj’s parents help when they can, but I don’t need much. The Lăutari are my familíja now. That’s all I need.” “Then why are you always talking about finding me a husband?” Karina hid a smile as her anger faded. “Because you want to be married, and I want you to be happy. You’re my friend.” Karina considered this. It was true, she did want to be married, if only to escape the oppressive shadow of her father. “Go get some sleep now, Chey,” Papusza said tenderly, pressing one hand to Karina’s cheek. “But come 

Svetkavista back tomorrow night and dance. Not for him, but for yourself.”



Svetkavista

Chapter Two

K

arina woke at dawn the next morning, before her family, and long before the rest of the camp would be up to make breakfast, pack, and depart. Normally, she would be sneaking back to her

tent at this time, hoping to catch an hour or two of sleep before breakfast. In happier times, the kumpa’nia would not travel quite so much, staying in the same place for a week, or perhaps two, before moving on. They couldn’t afford to do so now. The tribe also used to be much smaller, but varying factions of Rom had banded together, united in disgust and fear of the Empress’ laws. She made her way down to the banks of the Tisza to quickly bathe in private. Stripping down to her white undergarment she stepped gingerly into the water, moving forward until she was knee-deep in the icy current. She paused to allow herself to adjust to the chill before wading out farther. Half a dozen more steps, and the water was up to her elbows. Karina dipped her head back, soaking her hair, and closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of weightlessness as she rested in the water’s embrace. When she began to shiver from the cold she straightened and glanced down at her torso – the white slip was plastered against her pale form, the flesh underneath covered with goosebumps. She gazed at her reflection in the water, murky and imperfect, and sighed. Papusza had said that Brishen liked her. How could that be? She was a half-breed, and an unattractive one at that. Her one redeeming feature 

Svetkavista was that she could dance; and if her father had his way she’d never dance for anyone, except in secret, midnight rendezvous’ with people she was supposed to look down upon. She slipped back down into the river with a sigh and relaxed her arms, allowing them to float on the buoyancy of the water. She drifted this way for a time before standing and glancing up to the sky. The first rays of sunlight were peaking out from between the hills. The others would be waking soon. Karina waded back to the bank, pausing to wring out her hair and undergown. She laid down on the grass, stretching out beneath the creeping warmth of the dawn sun. There were clouds just beyond the horizon, suggesting that the day would soon turn gloomy and damp, and she wanted to enjoy the sun for as long as it lasted. She would go and dance tonight, Karina decided – for herself, for Papusza, and to prove to Brishen that she wasn’t unnerved by him. Maybe, to prove it to herself as well. When she was dried, she stood and shuffled over to where she’d left her clothes. She pulled the skirts up over her hips, and was about to shrug into her shirt, when she heard a voice behind her. “Droboy tume Romale.” Karina whirled around and saw Brishen leaning against a tree, not far away, with his arms crossed loosely over his chest. She narrowed her eyes and looked away, but stayed silent. “I offended you last night,” he stated, without remorse. “You did,” she answered curtly, avoiding his gaze. “It was a compliment, wanting to watch you dance. Truly.” “Then there are lies more believable than the truth,” she quoted. He grinned. “I don’t believe I’ve ever known a woman who couldn’t accept a compliment before.” “And I’ve never known a man with such a perverse notion of compliments,” she countered, gathering the rest of her clothing in her arms. She made a motion to walk past him, to get back to the camp where he wouldn’t dare try to speak with her, moving with a calm that belied her nervousness. Brishen’s hand shot out as soon as she was close enough, latching onto her elbow and halting her progress. His grip was firm. “Let go of me!” she exclaimed, twisting away from him. In response, he brought his other arm up to circle her waist, pulling her against his body. Her armful of clothes was the only thing separating them. 10

Svetkavista “I’ll scream,” Karina whispered. “I’ll scream at the top of my lungs, and they’ll all come.” “No, you won’t.” “Yes, I will.” He pulled her even closer, crushing her against him, and brought his face within inches of hers. She could feel the lean, hard muscles of his chest through the thin fabric of his shirt, could feel the strain of his forearm against her waist. His other hand released its grip on her elbow and came up to stroke her cheek. “Then go ahead and scream,” he murmured. She opened her mouth to do just that and he covered her lips with his own, kissing her hard and fast. His tongue pushed into her mouth, tracing the line of her teeth, and thrusting with a rhythm that, to her horror, her body seemed to recognize. When he released her he was smiling. “I told you you wouldn’t scream,” he said with a smirk. “You are a pig!” she spat, wrenching free of his grasp. His chestnut eyes sparkled. “A pig? Perhaps, but a pig that you like.” “Don’t flatter yourself, Brishen. I’d sooner kiss a real swine than kiss you again!” she said, turning away from him before he could respond. “Next time, I will scream,” she called over her shoulder.



The camp was just beginning to stir when she returned, shirt hastily donned, hair rumpled, cheeks flushed. She’d hoped to make it back inside her tent without being noticed, but her youngest sister, who was standing by the fire with their mother preparing their meal, glanced up at her approach. “Karina!” Mala called, trotting over. “Where have you been?” “At the river,” she answered, gesturing to her still-wet hair. “Why, what’s wrong?” “Wrong? Oh, sister, you are always so negative!” “Then what is it, Mala?” Karina asked wearily. “I’ve been feeling funny the past few days. Mama says…” she trailed off and lowered her voice, looking around before smiling shyly. “Mama says I’m with child.” 11

Svetkavista Oh. Karina forced a smile. “That’s wonderful!” Another thing her fifteen-year-old sister had now achieved before her. Wonderful, indeed. She wasn’t the only unmarried woman in the camp, but she was the only one in her family. “I haven’t told Aladar yet. Mama said to wait a bit longer, to be certain.” “Mama does know best about these things,” Karina said, not without a trace of sarcasm. “She says they’ll find you a husband soon, Karina. Don’t be so sour.” “I’m not sour. I’m happy for you.” “You are so sour. Your face scrunches up like a wet hog,” Mala giggled. “Anyway, don’t tell anyone! Just you, me, and Mama for now!” she whispered conspiratorially, before moving back to stand beside their mother again. Karina’s smile dropped almost immediately into a scowl, and she headed for her tent. She would stay there until it was time to leave. She wanted to be alone. She was disturbed by her sister’s news, but her encounter with Brishen was what truly had her so shaken. She couldn’t tell anyone what had happened, at least not right now. Perhaps she would confide in Papusza when she saw her, but that would not be until tonight, at the earliest.



Karina’s family positioned themselves at the head of the kumpa’nia when they traveled, so that they were always the first seen when encountering other Rom, or stray travelers. That meant they were the first to show their wares, and they had a distinct advantage over the other tradesmen because of it. It was a place of respect that had been earned by her grandfather decades before. The Lăutari always traveled at the tail of the convoy. Often straggling behind, sometimes losing sight of the others for hours at a time. For once, Karina was grateful for the distance. She typically sat at the rear of the cart, working with her mother and sister-in-law assembling the various necklaces, bracelets, and earrings that they would peddle to any interested passersby. When the other women were distracted, she would sneak glances at the back of the caravan, hoping for a glimpse of her friends. Today, she sat quietly in the front of the cart, huddled against the large, wooden box that held their wares. It had indeed begun to rain, not long after they’d departed the camp, and she’d pulled her shawl over her hair in a 12

Svetkavista feeble attempt to escape the elements. The garment provided little protection, however, and within an hour she was thoroughly soaked, her hair plastered to her cheeks; uncomfortable and miserable. Her mother and her brother’s wife, Valentina, had climbed beneath the thick wool tarp that they used to cover their belongings, but Karina was in no mood to join them. Instead, she sat and watched her father and brother. They were on horseback, guiding the oxen that pulled the cart, leading the kumpa’nia deeper into the hills, and farther away from Pressburg. Her sisters traveled behind them with their husband’s families, and Karina could hear Mala’s laugh – highpitched and delicate – drift to her from time to time, happy despite the grimness of the day, and their situation. Around lunchtime, she thought she heard the sound of a violin, deep and mournful, carried on the wind. She ignored it.



Karina did not sneak over to the Lăutari camp that night. She was afraid of what Brishen would do, and afraid of how she would react. She didn’t want to see him – to see any of them, and, for only the second time in her life, she did not want to be dancing. She stayed in her tent, on the other side of the camp, the morning’s encounter with Brishen playing repeatedly through her mind.

She ignored the rustle of movement outside until she heard the folds of her tent being lifted back. Brishen,

she thought angrily, and sat up, reaching for something – anything – that she could throw at him.

Her hand closed around one worn, dirt-covered shoe and she heaved it at the shadowed form. “Ka jav te

xenav tut!” she hissed angrily.

The intruder let out a startled yelp and jumped backwards. “Karina! Karina, it’s me!”



“Papusza?”



“Who did you think it was?” she whispered.



“I…” Karina trailed off, then shook her head. “We can’t talk here, we’ll wake my father.” She shooed her

friend out of the tent and crawled out behind her, then walked into the blackness of the field, towards the Lăutari camp, where the bonfire was burning brightly. When they were half-way between the two camps, she turned toward the other woman. “What are you doing here?” 13

Svetkavista

“You said you would come dance tonight. I told you not to let him keep you away.”



“He found me this morning, by the river. He…” she trailed off, her cheeks reddening in both shame and

anger.

“He what?”



“He kissed me.”



“Oh. And you didn’t like it?”



“I didn’t want him to. I was trying to walk away and he grabbed me.”



“Oh,” Papusza said again, brow furrowing. “Was it your first kiss?”



Karina sighed and sat down in the grass, cross-legged. “Yes.”



“Have you told anyone else?” Her friend knelt beside her, put a hand on her shoulder.



“No. No one.” She picked a handful of grass and flung it back to the ground angrily. “Why are we the

ones who are unclean? Men are far more marhimé than you or I!”

Papusza smiled sadly and reached out to trace her cheek with one slender finger. “I didn’t make the rules,

Chey, and neither did you. We do have power, as women, but like so much of ourselves, we hide it. We control from the shadows, and bow our heads in public.”

Karina inhaled sharply as her friend’s finger dipped lower, tracing the delicate ridge of her collarbone, then

slipped beneath her blouse, passing over the skin of her shoulder before dancing back up to circle the soft flesh of her earlobe.

“I see why he likes you so much,” Papusza murmured, uncurling her palm and caressing the nape of

Karina’s neck, stroking with a steady, constant pressure. “You’re very pretty, Chey.”

The faint sound of the violin drifted to them across the clearing, carried by the wind. Brishen had chosen a

mulengi djilia to play first, as he so often did, and the slow, haunting lament matched the rhythm of Papusza’s touch, as if the two were indivisible; the same.

“Men are weak and foolish, but necessary. There are things a man cannot do, though,” the raven-haired

woman continued. “And for those things, we have each other.”

Karina closed her eyes, letting her head fall back against her shoulder, and felt her friend brush away her hair

and lean in to kiss the tender hollow of her throat. 14

Svetkavista

“What about the others?” Karina asked, panting softly. “They’ll know.”



“How will they know?” Papusza countered, unfazed, as she continued to plant soft kisses along her friend’s

neck, pausing occasionally to nip at the taut, exposed skin.

“If neither of us comes to dance, they’ll know,” Karina insisted, even as she tilted her head back farther.



“They won’t know, Chey,” Papusza soothed, one hand brushing over Karina’s breast, where it paused to

gently tweak her hardening nipple.

“If they find out…” Karina trailed off, her words transitioning into a low, barely-audible moan. She arched

her back, pressing into the caress.

“They won’t find out, it’s our secret,” Papusza insisted, sliding Karina’s blouse off her shoulders and

lowering her head to lick at the skin that was being exposed, tracing patterns across the swell of her friend’s breasts.

“But, I…” the flaxen-haired girl bit her lip, embarrassment flushing her pale skin a rosy pink. “I don’t know

how,” she finished with a whisper.

Papusza raised her head and smiled affectionately at her, bringing her face in close. “I’ll show you.”



The kiss was gentle and unhurried. Soft. Papusza’s hands busied themselves undoing the laces of Karina’s

blouse, slipping the garment off and spreading it out over the damp grass. She didn’t break their kiss for an instant.

Karina allowed her friend to ease her down onto the grass, shivering as the wind picked up and chilled her,

causing her already-hard nipples to constrict even further. Papusza ran one hand down her side before bending her head to the delicate peaks. She licked a trail across Karina’s torso, tracing concentric circles around first one breast, and then the other, before taking one tiny nipple into her mouth. She suckled the sensitive nub, flicking her tongue lazily.

Karina’s eyes popped open and her mouth formed a surprised “oh” as she felt a rush of fluid between her

thighs, her body reacting instantly to the unfamiliar, but welcome, sensations. She reached down and ran trembling fingertips across her friend’s cheek before moving her hands lower, exploring with virgin curiosity. When her hand first brushed against the swell of a firm, rounded breast she paused and pulled away, once again reminded of the taboo of her actions.

Papusza, however, continued her ministrations, withdrawing only to turn her attention to Karina’s other

nipple. She took Karina’s hand in her own and guided it – gently but resolutely – back to her breast. Emboldened, 15

Svetkavista Karina ran her hands over her friend’s body, down to her waist and back up to her breasts, brushing two fingers across the peaks of Papusza’s nipples, marveling at the way they tightened under her touch. Fascinated, she continued to rub her fingers in tiny circles over the hardened flesh. The other woman moaned loudly and increased the pressure of her suckling.

Every place Karina touched was soft, supple, and inviting – a stark contrast to the hard, rigid contours of

Brishen’s lean body. The kisses, too, were gentle and delicate, unlike her experience that morning. She knew it was wrong, but Del, it felt so good. Her hands ghosted over Papusza’s sides, then moved to the flat, smooth expanse of her stomach, before coming to rest on the swell of her ass.

The raven-haired woman let her own hands drift lower, stroking Karina’s thighs through her skirts before

pulling up the layers of fabric to glide a finger through the curls between her legs.

“Oooh,” Karina sighed, letting her eyes drift closed.



“Does that feel good?” Papusza asked softly, dipping a finger into the warm, wet folds before bringing her

hand up to the level of her eyes. She used that finger to trace Karina’s nipple. “Yesss!” Karina moaned.

With a soft smile Papusza proceeded to lean in and lick off the creamy essence she’d left there.



“Yes,” murmured Karina again.



Papusza gently pushed Karina’s legs apart and positioned herself between them, inhaling the heady scent of

her friend’s arousal. Karina tensed and tried to back away, but Papusza laid one hand on her stomach, holding her in place. Karina had always been taught that women were unclean, tainted, below the waist. For someone to even touch her there, let alone put their mouth…

“You’re so pretty, Chey,” Papusza whispered reverently, her breath stirring the pale curls of Karina’s sex.

Then she lowered her head, her tongue snaking out to trace the already-wet folds.

Karina’s hips bucked reflexively at the first light, airy touch, as the wet warmth of her friend’s tongue just

barely grazed her skin. She whimpered at the second stroke. This time Papusza delved deeper, gliding over the sensitive, hidden bundle of nerves at the apex of her sex before moving away again; pausing to gauge Karina’s reaction. She was breathing hard, each exhale of breathe accompanied by a tiny moan. 16

Svetkavista

Karina experienced a brief flicker of panic when she felt a slender finger slide into her slick heat, but her

apprehension was replaced almost immediately with pleasure. The other woman’s tongue was back on her clit again, lapping at the unsheathed bud with slow, loving strokes. Karina’s legs began to tremble and she squeezed her eyes shut, biting back the scream that coiled in her throat.

Papusza began to pump her finger, short strokes at first that grew longer and faster as Karina’s body

adjusted to the sensations. She felt the first, fluttering contractions of climax and inserted a second finger, hooking them upwards to stroke at the girl’s g-spot.

Karina’s moans were continuous, transitioning into desperate cries. Her entire body was shuddering, the

heat inside her abdomen building to an unbearable rumble. Papusza’s lips locked onto her clitoris and began to suck, tongue flicking with a rhythm that matched her fingers. The sound of the violin was louder now, almost shrill, with high-pitched, syncopated notes that harmonized with Karina’s hap-hazard cries.

Then Karina’s world exploded. The edges of her vision greyed, and faded, and for a moment, she worried

that she would lose consciousness. Papusza continued to tease and lick at the soft folds, guiding her through her climax and bringing a second orgasm swiftly on the heels of the first. When she felt Karina’s trembling subside, she slid up her friend’s lithe body, planting gentle kisses across her stomach, and breasts, and finally her lips.

The two women clung to each other against the chill, deep night and, for a time, the music of the violin was

forgotten.

17

Svetkavista

Chapter Three

D

awn found Karina snugly hidden away in Papusza’s tent. Her limbs were intimately entwined with the dark haired girl’s, their bodies nestled together. They had made love long

into the night. Karina’s shyness had slowly, but surely, melted away, with curiosity and desire rising to take its place. She had wanted to please her friend – to make her scream as she’d screamed, moan as she’d moaned, to repay pleasure with pleasure. And she had.

Her touch had been clumsy at first, nervous and unrefined, but Papusza had been patient with her. She’d

allowed Karina to explore her body, to experiment, rewarding the younger girl with mewls and cries as she was slowly but steadily brought to climax. It reminded Karina of the time, several years before, when Papusza had taught her the steps of the Czardas.

The raven-haired beauty had shown her the intricate footwork, step by step, over and over, pausing to let

Karina try each move herself. She’d felt a rush of triumph each time she replicated a maneuver perfectly. Now, she felt the same, each time her lips, tongue, and hands, had caused a moan, a yelp, a sigh. She’d been awakened to a new world of desire. Karina felt as if a fire had been lit deep inside of her, and by the night’s end the flicker was a blaze, impossible to extinguish, if even she’d wanted to.

Karina shifted in Papusza’s arms, squeezing her eyes shut momentarily before slitting them open to gauge 18

Svetkavista the time. The sun was once again hidden beneath a heavy layer of clouds, but the light grey tint to the sky, as seen through the folds of the tent, indicated that dawn had already arrived.

“Xenav!” she cursed, sitting up and running a hand nervously through the tangled mess of her hair.



“Hmm?” Papusza stirred and tightened her grip on Karina’s waist, trying to pull her back down onto the

mat.

“It’s already past dawn! I have to go!”



“No, Chey, stay with me,” she mumbled, still half-asleep. Her hands were caressing the soft flesh of Karina’s

stomach, drifting lower to slip between the other girl’s thighs.

“I can’t,” Karina said regretfully, pushing the hand away and reaching for her clothes, jumbled in a pile at the

tent’s entrance. She hastily pulled on her skirts, pausing to brush her fingers across Papusza’s cheek.

“You worry too much,” her friend grumbled.



“If my father is already awake, I’m done for,” Karina lamented, searching frantically for her shoes.



“It’s still early, Chey.” Papusza smiled at her and produced one loafer from beneath the pile of her own

rumpled clothing. She held up the shoe, then tossed it to the other side of the tent. Her other hand was slipping across Karina’s waist, attempting to pull loose the ties of her skirt. She bent forward and took one small, pink nipple into her mouth. Her fingers dipped lower, under the voluminous skirt, to circle through the patch of curls between her friend’s legs. “You’ve got time.”

Karina’s pale skin flushed and her protests disappeared in the harmony of her own moans.





Karina heard the steady rumble of the horse’s hooves before she saw the steed, approaching at a gallop

from the rear of the convoy. They’d decided to stop traveling midday, both because of the increasingly foul weather, and because of the vurma they’d found – fresh tracks from another kumpa’nia of Rom who had passed through not long before. As the sleek, grey animal drew nearer, she was able to identify its rider through the haze of fog and rain. Long, chocolate colored hair, pulled back into a loose ponytail, strong, chiseled jaw, mouth set in a firm line as he 19

Svetkavista steered the horse in her direction. Karina’s heart began to pound with such intensity that the thumping in her chest drowned out the cadence of the horse’s gait.

Karina’s father recognized the visitor too, and he stood just in front of his smithing anvil, legs spread

slightly apart, hammer gripped casually in his left hand. At first glance he appeared relaxed, even tranquil, but the rigid line of his shoulders betrayed that he was ready, and willing, to use the tool as a weapon in an instant.

Don’t come over here, Karina pleaded silently. Please don’t come over here.



Brishen gave the reigns a sharp tug, slowing the horse to a trot and then to a stop, before turning to face

Karina’s father. He dismounted and approached the older man with a gesture that was not quite a bow, and not quite a nod.

“I’d like permission to speak with your daughter, Phurò,” he said smoothly, casting a sideways glance in

Karina’s direction.

The older man’s eyes narrowed and he said nothing for several, tension-filled moments before letting out a

snort and turning around to face the fire once more. Speaking over his shoulder, he waved the hammer in his hand for emphasis, “Try anything improper, violin player, and I’ll see you brought to krìs for it. Understand?”

Brishen smirked and winked at Karina, who was watching, horrified. “Of course, Phurò.”



Karina’s father snorted a second time. “Stay within my sight,” he cautioned.



Brishen walked over to where Karina was standing by the cart, cleaning the jewelry her father had already

made with a soft cloth. She pretended to be unaffected by his presence, but the pit of nerves within her abdomen squirmed and writhed like snakes.

“No ‘hello’, Karina?” he asked, amused.



“You dare come speak to me after what you did!” she hissed.



“What did I do?” he asked, his arrogant smirk still firmly in place.



She glared at him and pursed her lips. “You know damn well what you did.”



He leaned in close, breath hot against her ear as it stirred the tendrils of blonde hair that had fallen free of

her diklo. “Soon enough you’ll be begging me to kiss you again.”

“You insult my family with your presumption. You insult me!”



“Oh, yes. You still claim to be pure, even after you spend all night within the tent of a kúrva,” he spat, using 20

Svetkavista the Romany word for “whore”.

“You spy on me now?” She felt the bile racing up the back of her throat, and experienced a brief moment

of panic as she fought the urge to vomit. To her surprise, though, it wasn’t shame that she felt. It was anger. He had now violated her twice. The first had been an assault upon her body, but the second assault, upon her privacy, seemed much worse. Worse than a pig, she thought furiously, he is the devil. “I could declare you marhimè for this, Brishen. One touch of my skirts and you would be shunned by the entire tribe!”

“Yes,” he conceded. According to Romany tradition, he would be declared impure, and no man would speak

to him until his case had been heard by the krisnitóri. “But what do you think I would tell them at my krìs? How would you defend your own actions?”

“You are cruel, Brishen!”



“Am I?” he grinned at her. For the briefest of moments, she thought she saw his arrogance waiver, thought

she saw actual emotion behind his eyes. “I only wish to protect you.”

“Protect me?” she struggled to keep her voice low, lest she draw the attention of her family.



“If it had been another man you were with, I’d be speaking to your father right now, not you. Consider

yourself fortunate in that regard, but if it happens again – and I will know if it does – you’ll regret it. I won’t have my future wife defiling herself with the likes of that woman, Karina,” Brishen warned. He made a move to grab her elbow, but thought better of it, noticing Karina’s father watching them out of the corner of his eye.

“Your future wife? Your arrogance has blinded you, Brishen. My father would never agree to that, and

neither would I.”

His lips curled into a sneer, baring his teeth. “You’ll make him agree to it. And I think you’re willing

enough.”

“I hate you!” she seethed.



“Is that why you’re trembling? Or is there another reason?”



Her eyes narrowed. She glared at him for a moment before turning away to resume the task of cleaning the

large, silver chain in her hands. Talking to him was clearly only encouraging his arrogance. The more she fought him, the more confident he seemed to become.

“Nothing witty to say, Karina?” 21

Svetkavista

“I’m finished with you. Stay or leave, it’s your choice, but I’m done talking.”



She heard Brishen’s sharp inhalation of breath, waited for his retort. To her surprise, he stayed silent.

Instead he brushed his fingertips lightly across the back of her neck before walking back to his steed. The grass crunched beneath the heel of his tall, black boots. Karina remained steadfast, and neither turned around nor spoke.

Only when the sound of the horse’s retreating hooves filled her ears did she release the breath she’d been

holding, and drop the necklace back into the open chest.

Then she lowered her face into her hands, and began to cry. 



“What is it?” Papusza asked by way of greeting that night.



“Nothing.” Karina shook her head, taking the rakia from her friend. A quick glance around the bonfire

failed to reveal Brishen’s location, but he was there. She knew he was.

The Lăutari camp was rife with activity, despite the fine layer of mist that hovered just above the ground,

and the occasional raindrop that fell from the sky. A young girl, about Mala’s age, was standing before the crowd with a wooden flute pressed tightly against her lips. She was playing a simple dance melody. The notes were tentative, awkward, and the girl’s expression was one of sheer terror.

“Something’s wrong.” Papusza was watching Karina intently, concern evident on her delicate features.



“No, I’m fine.” Karina drained the contents of the flask in lengthy, eager swallows, nearly choking as the

potent liquid burned a path down to her stomach, swirled, and threatened to return the way it’d come.

“Well, that was impressive,” Papusza remarked with a snort.



“Perhaps I should have saved some for poor Tshaya. She looks scared to death.” Karina changed the

subject and gestured with the flask at the young musician, still fighting her stomach’s urge to toss its contents.

“Feel the music, girl!” a male voice, possibly the child’s father, bellowed from the crowd.



“No life to it,” another muttered disappointedly.



Tshaya’s eyes welled, and her shoulders gave a visible heave as she fought the tears that threatened. Tiny

drops of moisture sparkled like diamonds on her lower lashes with the reflection of the bonfire’s orange flame. The 22

Svetkavista note that she held wavered, drifting grossly out of tune.

Karina felt a pang of pity for the young girl, who continued to play despite her obvious distress.



“Her father has been talking up her performance for the better part of three days,” Papusza supplied,

shaking her head sadly. Her hair was covered in a brightly-colored diklo. An intricate chain of silver coins was woven into the edge of the kerchief, and they chimed softly when she moved her head. “Probably was hoping to find her a husband tonight, though he can’t have much hope of that now.”

“Why not? She’s pretty enough, and still young. Her playing will improve with time.”



“There’s no emotion to her music, no life. Better not to play at all, than to create something that is dead.”



“Better to have no life, than one of pain,” Karina countered.



“You think so?”



“I don’t know. Sometimes.”



“What if you were given a choice? A life of happiness, with everything you’ve ever wanted, a husband,

children, freedom… but you couldn’t dance. Not in secret, not ever. Would you take it?”

Karina fell silent as she considered this. The churning in her stomach had ceased, but the alcohol was now

taking effect, and her thoughts swam within her head. She found it difficult to concentrate. “If I couldn’t dance,” she said finally, “it wouldn’t be a life of happiness.”

“But the inspiration that you use for your dance is, in part, your sorrow.” It wasn’t a question. It didn’t need

to be.

“Yes.”



“When you’re dancing, it’s the only time you feel free.”



“Yes.” Karina nodded and was fascinated at the dizziness it invoked.



Papusza smiled. “That is what it means to be Lăutari, Chey. We embrace our pain, because our pain is our

inspiration.”

It was true, and Karina knew it. She saw the world differently than her family. She was different, always

had been. And, for the first time, she felt as if she belonged. “It doesn’t seem fair, though, that we should have to suffer.”

“Perhaps not. But in order to see beauty, we have to see the ugliness as well. Without sorrow, how would 23

Svetkavista we know happiness? It’s both a blessing and a curse, Chey, I agree. But I don’t know of any Lăutari who would want to live any other way.”

Karina nodded mutely. Papusza’s features shifted out of focus; the flames behind her seemed somehow

muted, distorting as they twisted skywards. “He knows.” She blurted out the words before she could stop herself.

“Who knows what?” Papusza’s brow furrowed.



“You know who, and you know what.”



The raven-haired woman sighed and brought her hands up to rub her temples. She didn’t seem that

surprised by the news. “What does he want?” she asked finally, crossing her arms over her chest.

“He wants me to stay away from you,” Karina confessed. “He said he’ll tell my father about us if I don’t.”

They were on the outskirts of the crowd, but she was nevertheless conscious of the need to keep her voice low. She still couldn’t find Brishen.

Papusza scowled. “It’s not up to him.”



“No, and I told him as much.”



“Good,” her features softened as she forced a smile. “They’re just threats, Chey. Nothing more.”



“I’m not afraid of him,” Karina stated, more to herself than to her friend. “If he tries to disgrace me, I’ll

make certain he’s exposed as well.”

“Ah, so it’s become a challenge then.”



She clenched her fists, held tightly at her sides. “He had no right! First he follows me when I go to bathe,

then he spies on me at night -- and dares to threaten me with his spying!”

“He likes you more than I realized,” Papusza mused.



“He’d like to control me.”



“He’s a man, Chey. It’s what they do.”



Scattered applause sounded from within the crowd, signaling the end of Tshaya’s performance. Karina

and Papusza turned to watch the young girl scurry out of the spotlight, over to where her father was standing. He was at least three times the size of Tshaya, and he snatched the flute from her hands, then brought the wooden instrument down across the girl’s shoulder with a sharp “crack”. Tshaya dutifully bowed her head and remained 24

Svetkavista silent, enduring the stern reprimand for her failure. Her father’s words were inaudible over the roar of the fire, and the din of the crowd, but it wasn’t difficult to guess what he was saying as the girl cringed and shrunk away from him.

Karina shook her head and fought back her own tears. “This is wrong,” she said angrily. “That poor girl!”

She started to walk towards Tshaya, intent on putting an end to the punishment.

She felt a strong hand close over her arm and pull her back. At first, she thought it was Papusza who held

her.

“Don’t,” Brishen spoke into her ear. His voice was soft but firm, his breath warm against her cheek. “It’s

not your place.”

“Curse my place!” The liquor had loosened her tongue considerably and had indeed given her the courage

she’d wished for.

“If you try to interfere, Rajko will speak with your father for sure.”



“That’s the second time you’ve threatened me today, Brishen,” Karina challenged. “I’m growing rather tired

of it.” She saw Papusza out of the corner of her eye shake her head slightly. ‘Don’t,’ she mouthed. “I’m not threatening you, love,” Brishen said, giving her arm a squeeze. His thumb stroked over the soft flesh of her inner tricep, moving in small circles. “I’m trying to warn you.” “Warn me of what?” She whirled around to face her captor. Their faces were inches apart, and she smelled rakia on his breath. For one brief, irrational moment, she wondered if he would kiss her again. “Come, Chey,” Papusza interjected, pulling Karina back and stepping between the pair. She tilted her head up to meet Brishen’s gaze, chin jutting out defiantly, eyes a steel blue. “Let’s go dance.” Brishen’s own eyes narrowed. “You object, Kako?” the raven beauty asked smoothly. Her uncle, Vesh, stood several paces away and, having noticed the exchange, was watching it closely. “No,” Brishen said finally. “I thought not.” The pair made their way toward the open space before the fire, pausing briefly to greet Vesh, who seemed 25

Svetkavista pleased that they planned to dance. “Brishen!” Vesh bellowed, “Bring your violin! The best music for my girls, nothing less!” Karina stifled a groan, wobbling slightly on unsteady legs. Brishen pushed through the press of people behind the women. His violin magically materialized in the crowd, and was passed to him with careful hands. “Wait, Karina,” he murmured. “What?” she asked, annoyed, tossing her flaxen curls over her shoulder. “For you.” He produced a small cloth bundle from beneath his vest. Karina glared at him. “I don’t want it.” “Please, take it.” Papusza nudged her in the side and, with a sigh and another glare, Karina took the bundle. She unwrapped the cloth to reveal a slim gold chain, wide enough to fit around her waist. It was adorned with gálbi, gold coins used for both currency and decoration. “Do you like it?” he asked softly. He seemed almost eager, the question completely out of character. “No,” she lied, tracing the pattern of links in the chain with one finger. Papusza leaned forward and nudged her again. “Yes she does.” She plucked the chain from Karina’s palm and fastened it around her waist. “There. Lovely.” “I agree,” Brishen said, flashing Karina a disarming smile before turning and jogging to the impromptu stage, violin in one hand, bow in the other. Someone pushed a crate out into the cleared space and he hopped onto it, extending his arms with typical showman’s bravado. God, but he is handsome, Karina thought idly. “What shall I play?” he asked the crowd. “The mulengi djilia!” someone shouted. “No,” Brishen waved his bow, affecting a prima dona stance, “too slow!” “A cante jondo!” “Too boring!” he said with a laugh, and a chuckle rippled through the press of people. “The glasso,” Karina suggested quietly, tilting her head upwards. “Ahhh!” Brishen pointed at her with the scroll of his violin. “Finally, a worthy suggestion.” 26

Svetkavista “What will you dance?” Vesh yelled from the crowd. “The czardas,” Karina announced, and cast a shy smile in Papusza’s direction. “The glasso it is!” Brishen winked at her, raising the violin to his shoulder and tucking it under his chin. He brought his right arm up, bow poised just above the strings, and waited. The two women faced each other briefly, then turned to the crowd, standing side by side, left foot extended, toes pointed, arms frozen just slightly away from their sides, elbows bent at right angles. Karina closed her eyes and took a deep breath before the music began. The melody was simple, and moderately paced to start, the notes deep and resonant as the bow moved over the lower strings of the instrument. Karina matched the pace of her movement to that of the song, concentrating on the position of her arms as they swept above her head, fingers snapping in time, and then returned to her sides. Brishen increased the tempo, and the notes grew higher, louder, more insistent. Karina tossed a smile over her shoulder when she realized that he was trying to throw off her rhythm, to trick her into faltering. She didn’t. Somewhere in the crowd a woman began to sing, her voice a high, lofty soprano. Before long another joined her – an alto this time – followed by a mezzo-soprano. The trio sang in harmony. “Oh Love give me some remedy …” Karina leaned to her right, allowing her arms to follow gravity’s natural inclination, hanging away from her torso, and swayed her hips, swinging her body around in a circle. As she turned, her arms moved with her, circling up her body until they were held high above her head. “For my sorrow, for my sighs…” She brought her hands together and clapped twice in time with the music, before bringing her arms down again, in a motion opposite the one they’d taken on their upward path. When she turned she caught glimpses of Brishen, atop his makeshift podium, eyes wide open, focused only on her. “…Either give me back my darling…” Arms flung out from her sides, Karina twirled in a tight circle, again, and again, and again. As she spun she drew her hands close to her body, placed them over her heart, and closed her eyes. She could feel her skirts and her hair fan out away from her body, could hear the soft metallic chiming of the coins fastened around her waist. “…or at least let me die.”

27

Svetkavista

“I

Chapter Four ’ll

walk you home, Chey,” Papusza said, linking her arm through Karina’s and leading her into the

darkness, away from the bonfire. There were still a few hours left before dawn, but the crowd had

dispersed, people returning to their tents to dry off and hide from the foul weather. “In case a certain violin player decides to follow you,” she said with a grin. Karina giggled and patted her friend’s arm. “Is that the only reason?” she asked in a hushed voice, a hint of conspiracy in her tone. “Of course! What other reason would I have?” She giggled again. “I can think of at least one.” They slowed to a stop and turned to face each other. “Is that so?” Papusza teased. “Mm, hmm,” Karina put her arms around Papusza’s shoulders, drawing her closer. Their lips met, briefly; a soft, light touch, tinged with the taste of liquor. “He said he’d know if we…but I want you. Oh, please, Papusza, I want you,” Karina moaned breathlessly, stroking her friend’s cheek.

“Then I dare him to try anything,” Papusza challenged. “I’m not afraid. And I want you too, Chey.”



“If you aren’t afraid,” she let her hands trail down to caress the tiny curve of her friend’s waist, “then

neither am I.”

“That’s my girl,” Papusza whispered, before kissing her again. She took Karina’s lower lip between her 28

Svetkavista teeth, running her tongue over the sensitive flesh, sucking with a steady, gentle rhythm.

The kiss lasted for some time. Tongues twined together, as Karina’s hands roamed over Papusza’s body,

massaging her breasts, and occasionally moving to tug at her stiff nipples.

“You’re sure about this?” Papusza asked when they finally pulled apart, breathing heavy, eyes hooded with

lust.

In response, Karina dropped to her knees. Her hands trailed down Papusza’s sides, grasping the waist of

the other woman’s skirt and sliding it down to pool at her feet. She ran her palms over the soft skin, smoothing the goosebumps that had appeared from the chill. She then slid one finger through the slick folds of Papusza’s sex, teasing her open.

Karina sat back on her heels and admired her friend – the dark patch of curls, the swollen, pink lips,

glistening in the light of the distant bonfire, and the firm, sheathed bud hidden at their apex. She sighed as she felt her own sex grow wet, relishing the brief moment of anticipation. Then she leaned forward, hooking one of Papusza’s legs over her shoulder. Her tongue snaked out and traced a delicate path along the outer lips, up one side and down the other, before moving inward to lick at the soft, moist inner lips.

Papusza let out a low moan, and one of her hands came to rest atop Karina’s head. Karina used two fingers

to spread her, delving into the tight heat with her tongue. She thrust her tongue into the silky depths, felt the walls contract in response to the first, satisfying sensations of fullness. The hand gripping her hair tightened reflexively, tugging at her flaxen curls.

Karina shifted her attention to Papusza’s clit, coaxing the firm bud out from beneath its hood. The other

woman began to tremble. Her whimpers floated downward, sparking a rush of triumph within Karina, and a renewed heat between her own legs.

Karina’s fingers slipped inside Papusza’s sex, moving with slow strokes. The grip Papusza had on her hair

was almost painful now, desperate. She hooked her fingers, searching for the hard kernel that she’d discovered the night before. When she found it, she was rewarded by a frantic shriek of need from her lover, and a rush of fluid on her palm. She closed her mouth over the tiny bud under her lips, and began to suck, while swirling her tongue in little circles. Her fingers continued to firmly massage Papusza’s g-spot, bringing her to climax.

When she felt Papusza’s hand relax in her hair, she reluctantly withdrew, pausing to lick her fingers clean, 29

Svetkavista before planting a final, loving kiss on her friend’s sex.

Papusza wobbled on unsteady legs, taking a few deep breaths to regain her composure. She smiled at

Karina and dropped to her knees so that they were face to face. Leaning forward, she captured her friend’s lips, tasting herself on the other girl’s tongue. “My turn,” she murmured with a smile. “Lie back.”

Karina dutifully complied, laying back against the grass and spreading her thighs wide. A shiver of

anticipation ran through her as she felt slim fingers part her, exposing the sensitive, pink flesh to the cool, nighttime air.

She moaned loudly at the first sweep of warm tongue, relishing the contrast. Her muscles clenched in

expectation and she pushed her hips upwards.

Papusza surprised her by plunging her tongue deep. Her fingers settled over the swollen nub of Karina’s

clit, and she rubbed it firmly. Karina was overwhelmed by the desire to share her pleasure with her lover, to give as much as she received.

“I want to taste you now,” she moaned desperately, tugging on Papusza’s dark curls.



Papusza raised her head slightly and grinned. She swiveled her body on top of Karina’s, lowering herself

onto the other girl’s face.

Karina immediately slid her tongue into Papusza’s sex, mimicking her lover’s movements, pumping in and

out in a deliberate, maddening rhythm. Her fingers brushed over the other girl’s clit, stroking it with a motion identical to the one she herself was being treated to.

Both women began to moan, sending delicious vibrations through each other’s bodies. Each moan caused

another wave of pleasure, which in turn caused another moan. The pattern continued, the pleasure building to a low rumble before escalating into a nearly unbearable reverberation. They trembled against each other as they came, wave after wave of ecstasy surging through them. Neither slowed their movements, neither relented, until the sensations were unbearable, until their nerves jangled with an intensity that was almost painful.

Finally, they surrendered, lifting their mouths away to pant against each others’ moist thighs. They clung to

one another until they’d regained some measure of control.

 30

Svetkavista



“Maybe he’s not so bad,” Karina said with a shrug as they walked back to her tent.



Papusza chuckled. “No, he’s not. It took an entire flask of rakia for you to figure that out?”



“No!” she felt her cheeks redden. “Well…I suppose the drink did have something to do with it. I’d have

never thought to confront Tshaya’s father otherwise. And he did stop me from doing something very foolish.”

“I would have stopped you, had he not.” Papusza sounded slightly hurt.



“I know that.” Karina pulled her arm free and smacked the other girl lightly across her ass, eliciting a

startled yelp. She giggled. “I know you would have, Papusza. But I already know that you care about me.”

The other woman smiled and fought back her jealousy. “Beneath his arrogance, he cares for you too,

Karina. And beneath your anger, you care for him. This game that you two play is not so unusual.”

Karina furrowed her brow and pursed her lips. “Game? He derides me endlessly!”



“Yes. And, in turn, you become angry with him. But secretly you are both content. He receives attention

from you, and you receive the same from him. It unites you.”

They were close enough now to the Argintari camp that Karina could hear the loud, obnoxious rumble of

her father’s snoring. She rolled her eyes and sighed.

“Now I realize why you find it so easy to stay out all night, and then work all day. You wouldn’t be getting

any sleep even if you did stay in your tent,” Papusza remarked.

“Precisely. It’s also why I’ve never been caught.” She slowed their pace. “I’ll go the rest of the way alone.

Sometimes his snoring keeps others awake as well.”

“Sleep well, Chey.” She smiled as she watched her friend disappear behind the curtain of mist and fog.

31

Svetkavista



“I

Chapter Five want to marry Karina.” It was a statement, not a request, and Brishen made no attempt to appear humble as

he said it. He’d ridden into the Argintari camp several minutes before, dressed in his finest clothes – the ones usually kept packed away in his trunk, beneath his violin. Tucked into the waist of his pants was a brightly patterned diklo – if her father agreed, Brishen would offer the kerchief to her. If she accepted, their courtship would begin. He’d also brought a large flask of rakia, and had approached Karina’s father with a steady, confident stride.

Karina, standing by the fire with her mother, Mala, and Valentina, dropped the clay jug she’d been holding.

It shattered against the logs that stoked the flames.

“Is that so, violin player?” Nicolae’s eyes narrowed.



“Yes, Phurò, it is. I’m a good match for her.” Brishen held out the flask and Nicolae snatched it from him,

taking a large swig.

“You think so, do you?”



“With respect, Phurò, I know so.”



At this Nicolae laughed outright. “Respect? What do you Lăutari know of respect? Or of responsibility

for that matter? To be a husband is no easy feat.” “No, particularly not to one as strong-willed as your daughter,” Brishen conceded. 32

Svetkavista The women, who were listening carefully from a distance, making no attempt at discretion, let out a collective gasp. Mala grabbed Karina’s hand and squeezed it hard enough to bruise. Karina, however, bit back a smile. “If you think this is the way to win favor with me, violin player, you are more foolish than I thought.” He laughed again, but it was a hollow sound, menacing rather than joyful. “Phurò,” Karina’s suitor was, as yet, unfazed by the disdainful treatment. “Your daughter is twenty-three. The longer you wait to arrange a match, the harder your task will be. How many of your Argintari brothers have asked for her hand?” Nicolae froze, mouth pressed into a firm line, his breathing hard and fast with barely controlled anger. “Marriage amongst our people is outlawed. If the gàje learn of it, she’ll be punished. As will you.” “We’ve not seen any gàje in weeks. I will keep her safe.” “My daughter is deserving of a life better than yours. What can you offer her, other than a dalliance?” Brishen reached for a small rawhide pouch that hung from his waist. He tossed the bundle at Nicolae, who caught it deftly in one large, meaty fist. Karina’s father untied the drawstring and dumped the bag’s contents into his palm. His hand filled quickly, overflowing with gálbi. He snorted, feigning indifference. “With that chovexani in charge of our land,” he used the Romany for “witch” to refer to the Empress, “this won’t last more than a fortnight. How will you feed yourself then, Lăutari?” Brishen grinned. “You misunderstand me, Phurò. Those are my earnings from this week.” Nicolae scowled. “Xoxamnò!” he hissed. Liar. “Ask anyone who knows me, Phurò, and they will tell you that is one thing I am not. You may not respect me or my music, but many within the kumpa’nia do.” Brishen gestured towards the Lăutari camp. “Now, more than ever, they wish to hear me play. If they have food, they make sure I am not hungry before they eat. If they have clothes, they ask if I am cold before they warm themselves. I will never want for anything, and neither will Karina if she is with me.” Nicolae said nothing. Several tension-filled moments passed. “Perhaps you should ask Karina what her wishes are,” Brishen suggested. “I will decide what is best for my child,” Nicolae said, but much of the indignation was gone from his voice. 33

Svetkavista “She’s not a child.” There was another pause. “Phen,” Nicolae called, “come here.” Karina swallowed hard and looked to her mother, who nodded. She lowered her head and approached the two men. Her heart was racing and conflicting thoughts warred inside her head – hope and despair, exhilaration and disappointment, fear and courage. “Father?” Karina asked by way of greeting, coming to stand beside the broad shouldered man. She pointedly avoided Brishen’s gaze, studying the patch of ground at her feet, tracing small patterns in the mud with the toe of her shoe. “Do you know why the violin player has come to see me?” Nicolae asked, coming straight to the point. “No, Dat,” she muttered. “He’s asked for your hand.” It wasn’t a question, so she didn’t reply. She simply waited. “Your father is not much inclined to grant my request, Karina,” Brishen said. “But I wished to ask your opinion.” For a moment she thought she might be sick. “Do you want to marry this Lăutari?” “I…” she trailed off. Her hesitation wasn’t only from fear of her father; it was because she honestly didn’t know. “Karina?” Brishen asked gently. “I want to be married,” she said finally. “To him?” Nicolae pressed. “I don’t know.” “Do you think he could care for you?” “Yes, Father,” she replied truthfully. “Go back to your mother now,” he nodded to the fire. When Karina was far enough away, the two men faced each other once more. “Don’t let yourself think I approve of you, violin player,” Nicolae growled. “And don’t think I respect you, 34

Svetkavista either. You’ll have to earn that.”





Early that evening, Karina visited the Lăutari camp, with her father’s knowledge, for the first time. Her

mother and sisters had fussed over her for the better part of the afternoon, making sure her skirts and ketrìnca were clean, her blouse well fitted, her shoes polished. They made her scrub her teeth with coarse, heavy salt – twice – and brushed her golden locks with a stiff, horse-tail brush until it crackled and shone in the firelight. She wore two chains of gálbi around her waist. Around her neck was a large, intricately crafted silver chain, and from her ears a pair of graceful, multi-tiered earrings cascaded. Fastened over the crown of her head was Brishen’s diklo. It was tied at the nape of her neck, allowing her blonde tresses to fall free down her back.

Despite his gruffness, Nicolae seemed proud to send his daughter across the camp, giving her appearance a

grunt of approval before nodding and waving her away.

The Lăutari camp bustled with activity in the fading light of the evening sun. The women were gathered

around several small cooking fires, kindled close to their respective wagons. The men were at work erecting tents, engaged in a lively debate over setting up a more permanent camp. Some men wanted to rest for a few days – there was a small village not far away, which might be good for trade. Others thought it was best to stay mobile.

Karina approached the fire where Papusza and her late husband’s family had assembled to prepare supper.

In the distance, she heard the faint melody of Tshaya’s flute.

“Droboy tume Romale,” Karina greeted the women with a shy smile.



Papusza looked up, startled, and dropped the wooden spoon she held. “Karina! You’ve come early today.”



“With Dat’s permission,” she replied, offering up the bundle of grains and dried meat her mother had

prepared.

“He acted quicker than I expected,” Papusza observed quietly, nodding towards the diklo. “As did you.”



“He spoke with my father today. If I’d waited to accept, Dat might have changed his mind.” Her eyes

scanned the crowd for Brishen. She was both nervous and excited. “I thought you’d be happy.”

“Of course I’m happy.” She sounded slightly indignant. “It’s just sooner than I expected, as I said.” She 35

Svetkavista looked down at her hands and changed the subject. “Will you be jumping the broom tonight, then?”

“I suppose so. Mother says we should, but it’s up to him.”



“Wrong, Chey, it’s your decision as well.”



“I haven’t seen him yet,” she said anxiously, continuing her search of the crowd.



“He’s around,” Papusza smirked. “In fact, I just saw him.”



“Where?”



“Behind you,” the dark-haired woman revealed with a laugh.



Karina whirled around, nearly losing her balance in the process. Strong arms shot out to steady her, one

circling round her waist, the other taking hold of her arm. She heard several of the women – Papusza included – snicker in the background.

“Hello,” Brishen murmured. The beginnings of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He was still

dressed in his finest, with his dark hair pulled back tightly against the nape of his neck. Tied to the collar of his shirt was another diklo, identical to the one Karina now wore on her hair. He wanted there to be no doubt, it seemed, that she now belonged to him, and he to her.

“Hello,” she whispered.



“I wasn’t certain you’d come,” Brishen said. His demeanor was uncharacteristically hesitant, almost nervous.



“I kept expecting Father to change his mind,” she replied, not exactly answering the question he’d implied.



He grinned, and his thumb stroked light circles over her arm. “I wasn’t worried about your father. He

knows I will care for you.”

“I don’t believe he does.” She moved to disengage from his embrace. While she doubted anyone would

comment on the familiarity, it was not entirely proper. The Lăutari were more laid back than the Argintari, but she didn’t want to risk stories getting back to her father.

“Then I’ll prove it to him.” He took her hand and led her away from the fire, his confidence returning. “I

can charm anyone.” He winked at her and she couldn’t help but smile, despite herself.

They walked to the outskirts of the encampment, pausing occasionally to greet others with a quick word or

nod. One woman broke out into song as they passed, others shouted happy wishes for their future, and predictions about their offspring. Everyone appeared to be pleased with the match. Everyone except Papusza, who kept her 36

Svetkavista back turned, concentrating on the bokòli that was cooking on the fire.

“Shall we place our tent here?” Brishen asked, giving her hand a squeeze. In Rom tradition, the pair would

live together for three days, to see if they suited each other. If the three days passed in happiness, they would be wed. “It’s closest to your family.”

“This is a fine spot,” Karina said. She’d always thought Brishen to be entirely self-centered. His actions the

night before and his consideration of her comfort now made her think she’d misjudged him.

“I’m not a bad person, Karina,” he told her softly, sensing her thoughts. “I know you think I’ve been cruel

in the past, but I will take care of you. I’ll make you love me.”

“You can’t force love, Brishen,” she stated. “Even I know that.”



“But you’re willing to try, aren’t you?” he tipped her chin up to meet his gaze. His dark brown eyes were

wide, almost childlike.

“Yes. I will try.”

37

Svetkavista

A

Chapter Six formal announcement of the betrothal was made after the bonfire had been lit, though most everyone within the camp had already heard the news. The younger members of the tribe

celebrated with music and dance, the elders with drink. Brishen and Karina themselves remained fairly subdued. They were perched on a pair of wooden crates at the forefront of the circle, closest to the fire, simply watching the festivities.

The wives and mothers brought them food – plate after plate of it, until Karina thought she’d be sick.

Brishen had been truthful with Nicolae earlier that day; the other Lăutari offered their meals with eagerness and honesty. Because of his talent, Brishen was almost like royalty amongst them, and now Karina was as well.

Papusza, for the most part, stayed away. Karina was both relieved and bothered by her avoidance of

them. Admittedly, it would have been awkward to be around her future husband and her lover at once, but she was disappointed all the same, wanting to share her excitement with her best friend.

For once, no one pestered Brishen to play his violin. He was to stay at Karina’s side for the entire night.

After they’d finished eating, and their bowls had been cleared away, he slipped one arm around her waist and drew her closer against his side. His hand rested on the curve of her hip. It was a simple gesture, entirely chaste, but it sent shivers up Karina’s spine, and her cheeks flushed at the thought of him touching her elsewhere.

She remembered the kiss they’d shared by the river. She was no longer the shy, prudish girl she’d been that 38

Svetkavista day, and she no longer thought of Brishen as a scoundrel. He was arrogant, yes, and insatiable, but she was excited, rather than angered by it now. At the thought of him kissing her again she felt not shame, but desire. Thought it would undoubtedly annoy him to know it, he had Papusza to thank for the change in her.

They retired early. It had been an exhausting day for both of them, and Karina was eager to survey her new

quarters. The tent was larger than the one she inhabited with her family. It was made of strong ox hide, and there was even a covering on the bottom, spread over the mud. Brishen had laid out two bed mats, but he’d placed the two close enough together that his expectations for the evening were clear.

He kissed her the moment the flap dropped shut behind them.



“Brishen, we can’t. We aren’t yet married,” Karina breathed, running one hand through his dark hair,

tugging it loose. Her heart beat a frantic rhythm within her chest, one that whispered, Oh, but don’t stop.

“We will be,” he said against her lips.



She was once again reminded of the differences between Brishen and Papusza – one soft, the other hard.

His touch was wholly dissimilar, though not unwelcome. His caresses were feather-soft, and her skin came alive everywhere he touched. The feel of his fingers was electric. He moved to the curve of her breasts, brushing across her nipples. They hardened instantly. His other hand drifted lower to run along her thigh, stroking her through the fabric of her ample skirts. Each time he came closer, but stopped just short of the growing heat between her legs. Her breath was coming in soft, shallow gasps. Karina held onto his shoulder to remain standing. “You’re going to drive me mad,” she finally gasped.

“Do you want more, then?” he asked with an impish grin.



“Yes.”



“But we aren’t yet married,” he teased, dropping his hands. “Perhaps we shouldn’t…”



“Oh, to hell with the rules!” she exclaimed, taking his face between her palms and pressing her lips against

his. His strong hands rose to caress the small of her back as Brishen returned the kiss. It was gentle and unhurried, each of them savoring the new experience. Karina responded to him with innocence, and something akin to abandon, and he grew bolder, more forceful. His tongue snaked out, tracing the curve of her lips, before 39

Svetkavista slipping inside her mouth. Brishen trailed his fingers up her sides then circled around to her back once more, pulling her close. She whimpered against his lips and hungrily sucked on his tongue, opening her mouth wider to receive more of the delicious sensation. He groaned and slid his hands lower, grasping her bottom to grind himself against her. Karina instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck. Brishen continued to thrust his tongue into her mouth in a slow, intimate rhythm as he turned his body and maneuvered them back toward the pile of blankets that lay spread across the ground. He eased them down, with Karina straddling his lap. She could feel the swell of his cock through their clothes and she moaned into his mouth, rotating her hips. He groaned at the friction and pulled away. “Now who’s driving who mad, love?”

“Fair’s fair, after all,” she replied, grasping the hem of his shirt and pulling it up. He obediently raised his

arms and allowed her to remove the garment. It was quickly tossed aside as he leaned in to capture her lips once more.

Her fingers explored the contours of his torso, tracing the hard, smooth muscles of his pecs, the grooves of

his abdomen. Her hands brushed over one of his nipples and she circled back to pinch it lightly, just as she would Papusza’s. He groaned in approval and she repeated the gesture, harder this time, before dipping her head to take the tiny nub between her teeth.

Brishen hissed, and ran a hand through her hair. She looked up at him with a mischievous smile. “Take

these off,” he urged, tugging at her skirts, and then her blouse. “Let me see you.”

She hesitated, some of her shyness returning.



“Fair’s fair, after all,” he quoted.



Karina opened her mouth to speak, hesitated, and just looked at him for a moment. His expression, though

darkened with desire, was one of complete patience -- of acceptance. Whatever her choice, he would accept it. She was in control. “Okay,” she said finally.

She let him remove her clothes, lifting her bottom slightly as he slid the loose fabric over her hips. He took

his time, pressing tiny kisses to each new patch of skin revealed. His palms ran over every inch of her, cataloguing each swell, dip, and curve of her near-perfect form. When she was entirely nude, his hands grasped her waist to lay 40

Svetkavista her down on the nest of blankets. He drew back to observe her, his eyes sweeping over her naked body, drinking her in. His cock swelled even harder, straining against his breeches. Karina spread her legs apart and reached for his free hand, pushing it against her damp pubic curls. They’d gone this far, and they would be married soon. What did it really matter? He gently traced the length of her, running one finger through the soft blonde locks. Her entire body trembled when he parted her folds and brushed his thumb against her clit; once, twice, before slipping a single finger inside her slick heat. She let out a long, low moan and rotated her hips, pressing herself into his hand. “What would you have me do?” he asked, easing a second finger into her and pumping them at a slow, leisurely pace. Her body stretched to accept the unfamiliar intrusion. “More,” was all she could manage. She was writhing against his hand making soft, whimpering sounds. He wasn’t sure he’d ever heard anything quite so sexy. “Are you sure?” he asked with a sly grin. A trace of arrogance had returned to his voice as he watched her react to him. “God, yes, please,” she begged. She was fumbling clumsily with the waistband of his breeches. Her hand brushed over his cock and he drew in a deep breath, fighting not to lose control. His free hand closed over hers and helped her loosen the ties. The fabric slid down his legs. When the lower half of his body was revealed Karina saw that it was much like his torso – lean, muscular, and well defined. His cock curved upwards, away from his body. It was a gorgeous, long pink shaft, with a darker, flared head. The wide base was hidden in a nest of chocolate curls. Karina felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment. She reached for him, wanting to feel his weight on top of her, wanting him to fill her; wanting a distraction from the discomfort of her ignorance. Brishen took her outstretched hand and allowed her to pull him down. She tentatively ran her hand along his length, marveling at the velvety smoothness. As her palm passed over the silken, mushroom head she felt a drop of liquid seep out of the teardrop-shaped opening. He groaned and jerked in her hand. Brishen laid her back down and covered her body with his, allowing her to feel the delicious sensation of a man’s weight atop her for the first time. She spread her legs for him, felt the tip of his cock nudge against her clit. 41

Svetkavista He bent his head to lap at her pulse point, then bit gently at the exposed tendon of her neck. “Are you sure?” he whispered against her ear, kissing her neck. “We can stop.” “I’m sure,” she told him shakily. Karina did her best not to cry, twisting her head to the side to muffle her scream against the blankets. He pushed into her slowly, stroking her hair when she tensed beneath him. When he felt her tear, he kissed her cheek and murmured soft encouragement in her ear. She was sobbing silently, afraid to move, lest he split her in two. “It’ll pass, Karina,” he soothed. He kept himself absolutely still, continuing to kiss her lightly, waiting for her to relax. It was all he could do to keep immobile. The tight heat of her called to him, invoking the primal urge to dominate, to make her his. The pain began to recede as she expanded to fit him and he started to slowly move his hips. She whimpered as he gradually lengthened his thrusts, but it wasn’t in pain. Her body trembled when the sensation of pleasure returned, and her walls contracted around him. He was unable to stop the moan that escaped his lips. Brishen withdrew, pulling away until only the tip of his prick remained inside her, and then pushed forward, hilting once more.

“Oh god,” she cried.



“Do you like that?” he asked, sinking into her again.



“Yes,” she gasped, holding tight to his shoulders.



“Is it better than being with her?” He muffled a groan against her shoulder as he circled his hips and

increased his pace.

“Don’t ask me that!” Karina pleaded. She rose up to meet him again.



“I want to know,” he insisted.



“I can’t,” she moaned, squeezing her eyes shut against the onslaught of sensation.



“Tell me,” he breathed into her ear.



“It’s different,” she answered honestly.



“Better?”



“I don’t know.”



“Yes, you do.” Relentless, he continued to pound against her. His hands gripped her waist hard enough to 42

Svetkavista leave bruises.

“Yes,” she answered finally.



“Say it!” “Better!” she moaned helplessly. That now-familiar rumble in her abdomen was back, threatening to

overwhelm her. Her pleasure continued to build until it was a constant roar within her. Karina threw both arms around his neck, clutching him desperately. She was making low, keening sounds, somewhere between whimpers and gasps of pleasure.

A scream ripped itself from her throat as the orgasm crashed through her, raising her up and over the

blinding zenith of pleasure, in a way she’d never experienced before.

Her climax was the trigger for Brishen’s own, and his release tore through him, its intensity unrelenting. He

wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his chest, cradling her head to his shoulder as he came.

When the waves of pleasure had subsided he eased her back down to the ground, kissing her and gently

stroking her hair. He rolled onto his side and gathered her into his arms, holding her tight against his chest.

“You’re mine now, love,” he told her softly. “Mine.”





Karina woke the next morning within the comfortable circle of her lover’s arms. She was on her side, back

against Brishen’s chest. Her head rested on his muscular bicep, tucked snugly beneath his chin. Her fingers were laced through his, and his other arm was wrapped possessively around her slender waist, holding her close. For a brief moment she forgot where she was, but a rush of fluid between her thighs as she shifted positions, and the dull throb that followed, brought back the events of the previous night.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, noting the angle of the light that seeped in through the tent seams. The sun was well

above the horizon.

“What’s wrong?” Brishen murmured, still mostly asleep. He tightened his embrace and nuzzled her neck.



“Look how late it is!” She tried to pull away, but he held her firm. “We’ll be the gossip of the tribe if we

don’t get up.” 43

Svetkavista

He smiled against her hair. “No one’s up yet, trust me. We’re not early birds like you Argintari. Besides,” he

added with a yawn, “they know already, love. You made enough noise to wake the mulè last night.”

Her cheeks burned. “I did not!”



“Actually, yes, you did,” he planted a trail of kisses up the side of her neck and took her earlobe between his

teeth. “It was the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“You’re horrible,” she said, but her indignation had melted away at his touch, and there was no anger behind

her words. She sighed and turned her head sideways, offering her lips up for a kiss, an invitation that Brishen hurriedly accepted.

His hand stroked the flat, smooth skin of her stomach before moving up to ghost over the curved underside

of her breasts. She felt herself grow wet, and his desire was very evident from the tell-tale hardness pressed against her buttocks.

“We should go bathe,” she said breathily between kisses.



“No, we should stay right here,” he countered, sliding one hand down her side and along the inside of her

thigh. Grasping her knee, he lifted her leg and hooked it over his waist.

Karina whimpered when his fingers parted the lips of her sex to brush over her clit. She began to move her

hips and Brishen held still, allowing her to take control. She covered his hand with her own, increased the pressure of his touch, holding his fingers over the sensitive bud. She could feel the length of his cock nudging against her slick folds.

Her breath was coming in shallow, ragged gasps. Her eyes closed, and her lips parted as she neared release.

Her head rested limply against his chest. When he felt her begin to tremble he thrust forward, hilting in one swift, fluid motion.

Karina’s hips bucked and she cried out at the sudden fullness. Though she was sore from the night before,

the orgasm overtook her before the pain could fully register.

Brishen held her close, kissing her neck softly, enjoying the feel of her, and her reaction to his touch. The

first time he’d watched her dance, he’d seen the incredible passion within her, kept hidden, though barely restrained, beneath the surface. He’d longed to coax it from her, to show her who she was meant to be. As Karina rode out the waves she continued to rock against him, inevitably bringing him to his own climax. 44

Svetkavista

His body jerked and shuddered as he came, pulsing deep within her until, finally, he relaxed. He rested his

cheek against the silken curls of her hair.

“Now,” he said with a smile, “we should probably get up.”





As chance would have it, Karina and Brishen’s belated appearance that morning went unnoticed. The elder

members of the kumpa’nia spent the first few hours of the day convened around Nicolae’s wagon, debating a course of action. For the last two fortnights the tribe had traveled nonstop, following the Tisza. The terrain was gradually changing, becoming mountainous as they moved further north, away from Habsburg, Pressburg, and Fahlendorf. Save the vurma they’d encountered two days earlier, they’d seen little evidence of anyone else inhabiting the region, Rom or gàje. Many were tired. Their food supplies were low.

Vesh and the other Lăutari wanted to rest; to send a paguba to search the area for villages or farms from

which they could barter food and clothing. The Argintari, led by Nicolae, insisted that they keep traveling, averring that it was not safe to stay in one place, despite the peace and solitude they’d enjoyed thus far. He cautioned the tribe on becoming too complacent, on losing the vigilance they’d developed. The Kalderash and Ferari tribe members sided with Nicolae, while the Potcovari agreed with Vesh. Several men became angry enough to suggest that the kumpa’nia separate, each tribe going its own way. Nicolae himself might have suggested the same thing, had he not just given his daughter to the Lăutari.

The younger men, not invited to join the elders, lingered at a safe distance, where they could eavesdrop and

not be obvious about it. The women, for the most part, pretended not to notice the conflict. They continued with business as usual, washing clothes by the river, cooking the midday meal. But really they were just waiting, waiting to be told if they would stay, or go.

Karina stayed close to Papusza and her friend’s mother-in-law. She picked through the contents of her

new dwelling and found several shirts and a pair of breeches that needed washing. She gathered them, along with her own skirts, and took them down to the river. The two women spoke little. An awkward tension hung between them. Neither of them wanted to broach the subject of the night before, and neither knew what else to say. 45

Svetkavista

“Where’s Brishen’s family?” Karina asked Papusza finally. “He’s introduced me to no one.”



“There is no one,” Papusza replied, scrubbing the dirt from one of her uncle’s white shirts.



“What happened to them?”



She shrugged. “He doesn’t talk about it. We don’t ask. When he joined our tribe, he was alone.”



“When was that?” Karina had always assumed Brishen had been born and raised within the tribe.



“About seventeen years ago, I think. I barely remember it, but I was around eight.”



Karina’s tribe of Argintari had joined with the Lăutari tribe eleven years before, when the Empress had

begun to vigorously enforce her anti-gypsy laws. “I never knew…”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s one of us. So are you. And you’re going to wear a hole in that shirt if you scrub it

any more,” Papusza commented with a snort.

Karina dropped the soap back into the bucket and pursed her lips tightly as she rinsed the garment. She

then began to ring out as much of the cold water as she could. Twice she moved to speak and lost her nerve. When the shirt was satisfactorily damp, she gathered the other clothes in her arms and prepared to head back to her tent.

At the last second she hesitated, and turned back around. “Papusza,” she said, leaning in close to her

friend’s ear. “He isn’t going to keep us apart. I won’t let him.”

Papusza tilted her head to meet the other girl’s gaze. Karina saw that her eyes were moist with tears. “Don’t

make promises you can’t keep, Chey.”

“I do promise, Papusza. Find me tonight, and I’ll show you.”



“And Brishen? Where will he be?”



Karina smiled. “I’ll take care of him.”





She was hanging the clothes to dry outside of their tent when Brishen appeared behind her, wrapping his

arms around her waist.

“They’ve made a decision. We stay here, for a few days, anyway,” he announced, resting his chin on the top 46

Svetkavista of her head.

“Good,” she replied. “It will be nice to rest for a while.”



“I don’t plan on getting much rest, love,” he whispered mischievously.



“Shh!” she hissed. “Behave yourself, or we’ll have the entire tribe calling me a whore.”



“Alright.” He released her with a sigh and came to stand beside her. “You washed my clothes?” he asked,

surprised. He’d finally noticed the garments that were hung in front of them.

“I did,” she confirmed with a hint of pride, pleased by his reaction. “They were filthy.”



“Agreed.” He brushed a stray curl of hair behind her ear.



“Have you eaten?” she asked, walking over to the small fire she’d kindled and stirring the pot of gruel that

was sizzling there.

“You like this, don’t you?”



“What?” she was filling two bowls with the warm, thick substance.



“Taking care of me,” he gave her an impish grin and took a seat on one of the wooden crates she’d set out.



“Del knows someone must,” she teased, handing him a bowl, and taking the seat beside him.



“How are you?” he asked suddenly, lowering his voice.



“What do you mean?”



“Are you…sore?”



Oh. “A bit,” she confessed.



“Bad?” he took her hand and gave it a squeeze.



“No,” she shook her head and smiled at him. “Not bad.”



“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” The concern in his voice was genuine.



“According to my sisters,” Karina said wryly, “that’s unavoidable a woman’s first time.”



“It bothers you that they were married first,” he observed, noting the way her expression had darkened at

the mention of her younger siblings.

“Have you noticed,” she asked, changing the subject, “that the sun is out today for the first time in weeks?”



Brishen tipped his face up to study the sky. In truth he hadn’t noticed. He’d been too focused on his

bride-to-be. A few small, puffy clouds dotted the otherwise clear, blue sky. The sun burned brightly above them, a 47

Svetkavista triumphant return after nearly a fortnight of being banished behind the clouds.

“It’s a good sign,” he declared with a wink in her direction.



“Do you think so?”



“I know so!” he exclaimed, some of his showman’s bravado creeping into his tone. Setting down his bowl

he stood and grabbed her by the waist, swinging her around before lifting her, giggling and breathless, high into the air. The sunlight reflected off her golden hair, making it shine like a halo. “It means we will always be happy.”

“Always?” she asked hopefully. Her arms wrapped around his neck as he lowered her back to the ground.



“Always.”

48

Svetkavista

T

Chapter Seven he fair weather did not last. By late evening, the blue expanse of sky began to shrink as large, ominous thunderclouds pushed in from the west. The vibrant thrum of nature dulled in

anticipation of the storm. Karina could not help but wonder at the significance of the sun’s disappearance. In the distance, on the edge of hearing, was the slightest rumble of thunder, an indication that the night’s weather could be very foul indeed. Though it had rained often of late, there had been no storm clouds to be seen, merely the gloomy, omnipresent rain and fog. If the blue sky had been a sign of happiness, was the rumble of thunder a hint of troubles brewing? She kept her worries to herself, but her betrothed sensed her concern. He felt her spine stiffen at each growl of thunder, saw the crease of worry between her brows. Brishen was undeterred. “I’ll chase away the storm with my music,” he told her with a smile. “And you will welcome back the moon with your dance.” She was sitting in his lap inside their tent. Her head rested on his shoulder as he showed her how to clean his violin, wiping a smooth, thin polish over the wood with a bit of soft, wool cloth. He’d promised to teach her how to care for the instrument and also how to replace the strings when they became worn or snapped. She saw this as another of her duties as his wife, and it was one that seemed to mean as much to him as it did to her. 49

Svetkavista She loved watching him stroke the creamy polish across the glossy surface of the instrument, in the direction of the grain. His touch was gentle, loving, it brought back images of the night before, his hands on her skin, him moving within her. Karina suppressed a shudder at the phantom touch as she remembered their lovemaking.

“You’ll play tonight, then?” she asked, leaning sideways to glance up at him. Several strands of his hair had

come free of the leather tie and she brushed them back behind his ear, lingering to caress his cheek.

He turned his head and pressed a kiss to her palm. “For you?”



“For me,” she nodded.



He set the violin down beside him and wrapped his arms around her waist, repositioning her small frame so

that she was lying sideways in his lap, her head cradled against his elbow like an infant. “What will I get in return?”

“What would you like?” she asked teasingly, tracing the line of his jaw with her fingers.



“You.”



“You already have me,” she answered with a laugh. How had she ever thought him course and uncaring?



“No,” his expression was serious. “I want you as my wife. Tomorrow.”



“Tomorrow?” she repeated softly. “Isn’t it better to wait?”



“I’ve waited long enough for you.”



“My father will have a fit when we tell him. He won’t have my dàrro prepared in time.”



“I don’t plan on accepting a dowry, love,” he leaned in to kiss her forehead lightly.



Karina’s hand slipped past his ear and grasped the back of his neck when he began to pull away, pressing

her lips to his. The kiss began gentle and soft, a light sweep of tongue through parted lips. A small, satisfied sigh escaped her. A muted grunt of approval was his response.

Her hands drifted lower, resting against his pecs, then sliding down lower still to trace the bulge of his hard-

on through his breeches.

“God, Karina,” he gasped, pulling away from her. His eyes were dark and clouded with lust. His hand covered hers briefly before untying his breeches and freeing his prick. Her fingers instantly closed

around his shaft, and she stroked him tenderly. He groaned and pushed his hips forward, aiding her. “You’re too sore, love,” he said, his voice strained. He was fighting his own need, desperate for her, but not 50

Svetkavista wanting to harm her. “Not for this,” she said, giving him a soft kiss. With a shy smile, Karina slid off his lap and knelt between his legs. He caressed her face as she lowered her mouth to his cock. The tip was already glistening with the first pearly drops of his need. Her tongue drew lazy paths up one side of him and down the other. She took the swollen head between her lips and suckled. He groaned again and dropped his head back against his shoulders. Slowly, teasingly, she increased the pressure as she moved downward, taking in more of his length. She went as far as she was able, stopping before she gagged, and then withdrew, scraping her teeth lightly against his sensitive skin. A wave of triumph washed through her when she felt him buck against her. His hands tangled desperately in her curls. She repeated the gesture, each time managing to swallow more. She swept her tongue from side to side along the bottom of his shaft, feeling the rhythmic pulse of blood through the vein hidden there. With one hand pressed against his stomach, Karina reached with the other to cup his sac, rolling the fleshy orbs in her palm. Unable to keep himself in check any longer, he pushed forward into her warm, wet mouth, ignoring her gags as he pressed against the back of her throat. He took her free hand from his stomach and brought her fingertips to his mouth, sucking them in a slow, steady rhythm that matched hers. She moaned against his flesh, sending a delicious shiver up his spine. Brishen’s eyes rolled back into his head. His seed spilled down her throat. At first she was startled by the hot, salty liquid, but she swallowed every drop, and continued to suck even when his shudders had subsided and his cock no longer pulsed in her mouth. She only released him when she felt him begin to soften, pulling away and looking up at him anxiously. “Was it…okay?” she asked, embarrassed. He chuckled and drew her into his arms, cradling her head against his shoulder. “My little wife,” he replied, “it was perfect.”



51

Svetkavista

As she had predicted, Karina’s father was not pleased with their decision to marry the following day. They’d

gone to see him early in the afternoon to inform him of their plans.

“So you’ve taken to him,” Nicolae had grunted with disapproval.



“Yes, Dat,” she’d said quietly. “He has treated me well.”



The discussion had been brief. Though Nicolae made it clear he was unhappy, he did not try to change their

minds.

Brishen had wanted to ride across the camp on horseback – he enjoyed ‘making an entrance’, as he called it

– but Karina had wanted to go on foot, so that they could talk. She didn’t particularly want to broach the subject with him, but she’d made a promise; she knew it had to be discussed, and the longer she waited, the tougher it would be.

They walked slowly, despite the impending storm. Her hand rested on his upper arm. At times she laid her

head against his shoulder, breathing in his scent – a heady, earthen smell.

“Brishen,” she said finally, “Papusza is my closest friend.”



“She’s more than that, Karina. Or do you think me stupid?”



“Of course I don’t think that.” She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “You are my betrothed.

Tomorrow I’ll be pledged to you before God, for always. What I have with her…it could never be what I have with you. I want you to understand that.”

She felt him stiffen. “Am I not good enough for you, then?”



“It’s not that,” she pleaded with him, desperate to make him understand. “It’s just…there are…” she

recalled Papusza’s words, “there are things a man cannot understand.”

“Don’t you mean cannot do?” he spat angrily.



Her cheeks burned. “No.”



“Do you love me?” he demanded, halting and pulling her around to face him.



“Yes.” She meant it. The realization came so naturally it barely registered at first. She’d expected something

more palpable – an explosion, lightening. Instead, all she felt was growing warmth inside her chest and a sense of freedom.

“Do you love her?” His eyes roamed her face, scouring her expression for…something. 52

Svetkavista

“I love her as a friend.”



“Then why is she your lover?”



It was a valid question. One she didn’t know exactly how to answer. Could her relationship with Papusza

return to being a platonic one? Did she want it to? “I love you,” she said finally in way of an answer. The words still seemed awkward, so she said them again. “Brishen, I love you.”

“And I love you, Karina,” he said with a sigh. “I always have.”



“Can we focus on that, then? On our love?” She touched his face lightly. “What else matters?”



He regarded her for a moment before his face softened. “That’s a fine idea, love,” he kissed her forehead,

pulling her into a tight embrace.



It had begun to rain by the time the couple returned to the Lăutari side of the camp. Karina had wanted to prepare their dinner herself, but upon learning that the wedding would be held the following day, the other women of the tribe insisted on cooking for them. The bonfire was lit, despite the rain and, with some effort, kept ablaze. As they ate, Brishen and Karina discussed the impending wedding ceremony. They both wanted it to be as simple as possible, while still keeping with the traditions of their respective tribes. Karina would wear a dress of pure red – the first and only time in her life that wearing the bold, sensual color was considered proper. She’d sewn her dress when she was sixteen, with the help of her mother, in anticipation of marriage at an early age. They’d retrieved it today from where it was folded carefully, packed in a cloth sack at the bottom of her trunk. Amazingly, it had needed only a few alterations, which her mother had begun work on immediately. Brishen had recruited several of his companions to provide the music, hand-selecting each of them based upon his knowledge of their talent, with one exception. Karina wanted Tshaya to play her flute. It was important to her, so Brishen approached the girl’s father. At first he’d been skeptical, thinking the request a cruel prank, or a joke of some kind. It wasn’t until Karina intervened that he’d agreed. Tshaya’s soft, doe eyes had become impossibly wide when Karina and Brishen had asked her. “I couldn’t possibly,” she’d said, voice trembling, “There’s no life to my music. It isn’t nearly good enough 53

Svetkavista for a marriage, especially not yours.” “Nonsense,” Karina had responded with a gentle smile. “Do you like to play?” “Yes.” “Then nothing should stop you,” Brishen had interjected, stooping down to be eye-level with Tshaya. “And if your father agrees, I will help teach you.” The girl’s eyes had widened even further. “Do you promise?” she’d whispered. “I promise.” The thunder and rain had intensified by the end of their meal, and the occasional flash of lightening over the hills promised the storm would likely worsen before it improved. After the bowls were cleared away, the men brought out the rakia. Having finalized the hastily made plans, they dragged Brishen up to the front of the crowd. One of the older women explained to Karina that it was Lăutari tradition for the men to drink with the groom the night before the wedding. Upon reaching the front, Brishen automatically motioned for his violin, a broad sweep of his arm and a minute curl of his fingertips; the gesture he made night after night when summoned to the stage. “No playing for you tonight, Brother,” Vesh bellowed, already drunk off the brandy he’d imbibed with his meal. “Instead, we play for you and your pretty bride!” Brishen smiled at that. “Bring her to me, then, instead of my violin!” He winked at Karina, and she blushed. “Ye’ll be with her the rest of your life, starting tomorrow,” the man next to Vesh called, sending a ripple of laughter through the crowd. “Ye can tear yerself away for a few hours this final night!” “You say that as if it’s a bad thing, Fyodr!” Even without his violin, Brishen was every bit the entertainer, eliciting a cheer of encouragement from the women that were gathered. “Ah, the ignorance of youth!” “Perhaps, Gyorg,” Brishen countered, “I simply chose wiser than you!” The crowd erupted into cheers at that, and Vesh clamped a meaty hand across the younger man’s back. “We admire your enthusiasm, brother.” As the banter between the men continued, Karina began to search the crowd for Papusza. She caught sight 54

Svetkavista of the raven-haired beauty in the middle of the crowd, looking almost bored. Karina attempted to catch her eye, to send her a signal of some kind, but she couldn’t grab hold of her friend’s attention. At first Brishen made frequent eye contact with his bride, flashing her winks and the occasional, winning smile. As the night wore on, however, and the liquor dulled his senses, he seemed to notice her less. Karina watched him carefully, waiting for her opportunity. When she was certain Brishen was distracted by the festivities, she slipped through the crowd, grabbing Papusza’s hand as she walked past and leading the other woman away from the gathering. “Where are we going?” Papusza asked. Karina said nothing until they were far from the fire, and she was confident no one had noticed their disappearance. “To my tent. I made you a promise.” “You don’t have to, Chey,” she said as they entered the warmth and shelter of the tent. “I want to. I want to prove that things won’t change.” She caressed the other woman’s cheek gently. “I won’t let them.” Papusza’s resolve melted. She smiled and leaned in to capture Karina’s lips in a soft kiss. Karina slid her hands across Papusza’s shoulders and down her arms, pushing away the stiff, blue fabric to reveal the smooth, olive skin beneath. Her lips followed the path of her hands, tracing the taut, exposed tendon of her lover’s neck, the tiny hollow of her throat, and the curve of her collarbone. The girl’s full, rounded breasts swung into view and Karina greedily bent her head to lick the pebbled flesh of Papusza’s nipples. Covering each breast with a hand, she pressed the two curved orbs together, and flicked her tongue over both of the hardened peaks at once.

Papusza groaned loudly and threw her head back. One of her hands snaked under Karina’s skirts and

cupped her mons, already moist with desire. “Lay down, Chey,” she whispered urgently.

Karina needed no convincing. She laid down on the pile of blankets and allowed Papusza to pull off her

shirt and push her skirts up around her hips. She watched her friend nudge apart her legs and kneel between them, leaning forward instantly to plunge her tongue into the silky folds of her sex.

Neither woman heard the rustling of footsteps outside the tent, nor the “whoosh” of air as the tent flap

was pulled aside. 55

Svetkavista

Brishen stood frozen in place at the entranceway, watching with growing horror as his bride made love

to someone else. Whether it was the brandy dulling his head, or the anger roiling within his heart that held him immobile, he couldn’t say. It wasn’t until he heard her moan – the same low, delicate sound she’d made for him – that he found his voice.

“Get away from her, whore,” he growled.



Karina’s head snapped up and her eyes popped open, widening at the sight of him. Papusza spun around

on her knees, tongue snaking out to lick away the juices that slicked her lips.

“Karina,” Brishen said through clenched teeth, barely restrained fury evident in the rigid line of his broad

shoulders. “Get out.”

She gathered her blouse, holding it to her chest in an attempt to cover herself. “Brishen, don’t--“



“Get out,” he hissed. “I will speak to this kúrva alone.”



Karina began to protest again, but Papusza stopped her.



“Go, Chey,” she said, staring at Brishen through narrowed eyes, her normally soft mouth set in a firm, thin

line.

“No, I can’t—”



“You can, and you will. I have a few things I’d like to say as well.” Her voice was flat, almost lifeless.



Karina looked from Brishen to Papusza and lowered her head, the tears that had threatened finally spilling

forth. She nodded and, still clutching her blouse against her, left the tent, heading away from the center of camp.

The cold, nighttime rain stung as it struck her bare shoulders and back. She hastily pulled her blouse over

her head and then turned her head skyward, letting the rain mix with her tears. Karina wandered through the field, eyes clenched shut. Shuddering sobs wracked her entire body. For a moment she thought she would be physically ill and she dropped to her knees, pressing her face against the cool mud as she fought the bile that had risen in the back of her throat. “Shebari?” It was Vesh, likely searching for a place to relieve himself away from camp. He’d nearly tripped over her tiny, trembling form. Karina didn’t respond, nor did she raise her head to acknowledge him. 56

Svetkavista “Karina, what’s wrong?” he asked, his concern growing. Strong, bulky hands gripped her waist and lifted her into a standing position. Almost immediately, she slumped forward. She would have fallen had he not caught her, leaning her against his expansive shoulder. “What happened?” “I can’t,” she sobbed. “Come on, Shebari, let’s get you back to yer tent, okay?” They were halfway back when she realized what Vesh was likely to find if he set foot inside her tent. “No,” she whispered. “What?” “We can’t go back there,” she took a deep, shuddering breath and attempted to calm herself. “Why not?” “We can’t!” she tried to pull away from him. They were on the outskirts of camp, and several others who were making their way to their own tents caught sight of the pair. “Vesh, what’s wrong?” a female voice asked. “I don’t know. I found her like this out in the field.” “Where’s Brishen?” another man asked, coming to investigate. Karina felt Vesh shrug his shoulders. “I’m trying to take her to their tent.” “No,” Karina interrupted, “we can’t.” “It’s okay, Shebari,” Vesh insisted, tugging her with him. “If he’s done something to you, we’ll see him punished for it.” When the small crowd pulled back the flap of the tent, Vesh froze and Karina, hanging limply within his arms, heard his sharp intake of breath. Papusza was standing in the tent’s center, naked from the waist up. Her hair was a tangled mess, and her eyes were wet with tears. Brishen stood before her, fully clothed. He held her upper arm in a vice-like grip. “What’s this?” Vesh demanded, his voice rising in outrage. Neither Brishen nor Papusza spoke. After a moment Brishen released his hold on her, revealing the beginnings of an angry, red bruise where his hand had been. “Papusza!” Vesh exclaimed. “What has he done to you?” 57

Svetkavista “Uncle,” she said finally, eyes locked on Karina’s. “Did he attack you?” Papusza seemed to think about it for a moment. “Yes,” she said finally, and looked away before whispering, “Rrestisàvav.” I accuse.

58

Svetkavista

Chapter Eight

K

arina remembered little of what had transpired inside the tent after Papusza’s accusation. She remembered someone screaming, and she’d heard someone crying, and then her world

had gone black. She’d awoken, wrapped in blankets in Vesh’s tent with his wife, Elsbeth, peering at her. The older woman had confided that the screams and the sobs had come from Karina herself.

At first, she hadn’t understood where she was, or why she was there. It had been a dream, hadn’t it? A

horrific nightmare brought about by pre-wedding jitters.

But then her eyes had locked onto the tiny, shuddering figure in the back of the tent. With her knees drawn

up to her chest and her face stained with tears, Papusza had looked at her, drawn in a shaky breath, and mouthed the words, “I’m sorry.”

It had all come crashing back then: the bonfire, the dancing…the celebration for Brishen -- her and

Papusza’s secret tryst, and Brishen’s fury at discovering them. Papusza’s lifeless expression when she’d spoken her accusation. Brishen’s equally blank stare as he’d calmly accepted the declaration of the tribe’s elders.

Marhimè. Tainted.



Not every crime resulted in a pronouncement of marhimè, but the nature of Brishen’s charges was such that

the declaration was warranted. He was accused of violating Papusza’s purity, a most grievous crime. Women were 59

Svetkavista marhimè by their very makeup. A man, once declared such, was shunned by the other men of the tribe. They were not permitted to speak with Brishen at all. He was kept secluded, placed in a tent outside the boundaries of the camp.

As Karina’s father, Nicolae had the right to speak with Brishen, but he decided against it. Nicolae avoided

confronting Brishen, lest his temper get the best of him, and he find himself facing a krìs of his own. Instead, he took his rage out on his daughter, banning her from the family’s camp. It had been her choice, he stated flatly, to dirty herself with the violin player, and since no Argintari would take her now, she could stay with the Lăutari.

She continued to live inside the tent that Brishen had erected – the one that had been meant for them both.

Most of his belongings, including his violin, had been removed and placed in his new tent, but Karina found several small things of Brishen’s; a kerchief, a vest, one of the cloths he used to clean his instrument. She kept them close to her bedroll, where she could hold them at night. They still carried his scent, and they comforted her as she slept, though it wasn’t often that she did. When she did manage to sleep, her dreams were fitful and tortured, her guilt overwhelming as her subconscious forced her to relieve the scene of her inaction over and over. As to why she had not interfered and defended Brishen, Karina wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was shock – she’d lost consciousness fairly quickly. But it was also, at least in part, self-preservation. What would she have said? Sexual relations of any kind were viewed with disdain by Rom, and were not spoken of or acknowledged in any way. Relations between two women simply did not happen, and would never be accepted. And so Karina had said nothing, hoping that it was a dream, a mistake, anything but reality. She loved Brishen, but she loved Papusza as well. She’d been unable to choose between them. She kept wishing that one or the other of them would come forward and tell the truth, but neither did so. It seemed they, too, were more concerned with protecting her than themselves. Papusza stopped by several times, but Karina sent her away. She didn’t want to face her. Not yet. Not until she had some idea of what to say. Four days passed before Karina found the courage to sneak away from camp and see Brishen. She’d rationalized her hesitation with the fact that everyone had kept a close watch on her, concerned over her obvious, and understandable, distress at the situation. But the truth was that she was afraid to see him – afraid of what he’d say to her. It was her fault, after all. Did he now hate her as much as she hated herself ? 60

Svetkavista

Brishen didn’t bother glancing up at the sound of the tent flaps drawing back. Various older women in the

tribe had taken turns bringing his meals over the past few days, and although most of them offered sympathetic smiles, they were obviously nervous around him. Some seemed almost frightened.

“Brishen,” Karina said softly.



His head shot up, his eyes widening at the sight of her. “Karina.” The flicker of a smile crossed his features

before his face darkened with worry. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Neither should you.”



He said nothing, his gaze dropping to his lap where he studied his hands with feigned interest.



“Brishen,” Karina stepped further into the tent and came to kneel before him. “Why?” “I was angry,” he still wouldn’t look at her. “I was angry, and I was jealous.” She touched his chin and tipped his face to meet her gaze. “But you’re innocent. Why haven’t you told them

that?” “I’m not innocent,” he replied mournfully. Her breath hitched in her throat. “You took her?” she asked, her voice lowered in a horrified whisper. The mixed emotions of shock, rage, sorrow, and jealousy made her realize for the first time how Brishen must have felt. “What? No! Of course not!” he seemed shocked that she would even mention such a thing. “No, I struck her.” “But…” she trailed off and cupped his cheek. “Brishen, have they not told you what you’re accused of ?” “No.” Her eyes filled with tears, and it was her turn to look down. “What did she say, Karina?” he asked. His heart seemed to have taken up residence in his throat. She didn’t, couldn’t, answer. She took his hand and began to cry. “She says I forced myself on her?” She nodded wordlessly. “Xenav!” he cursed, and his heart dropped to the bottom of his stomach. “Karina, I swear on my life, I didn’t. I would never.” “I know,” she whispered through her tears. 61

Svetkavista Brishen’s grip on her hand tightened, and he took several deep breaths, fighting back his own tears, and his anger. “You have to tell them what happened.” She looked at him again with pleading eyes. “I will admit to striking her.” “No. You have to tell them what happened before. What led to that.” “No,” he was firm. “No. Never.” “You have to. Who would blame you for being angry?” “At what consequence, though?” he took her face between his palms and peered at her. “To be vindicated only to have you declared an outcast? No, Karina. The price is too high.” “The price is perfectly justified,” she answered matter-of-factly. “You sit here because of me. It’s only right that the price be my punishment. It’s what I deserve.” He pulled her into his chest and held her, his embrace so fierce it was almost painful. “Never,” he said again. “You’re not to blame, love. Don’t you see?” “No,” she mumbled against his shirt, crying freely. “It’s her. The čoxajì,” he hissed angrily. “She entranced you.” Karina didn’t answer. Part of her wanted to believe his words, believe that she had been bewitched and was not truly to blame. If only it were so, she lamented. “You are my wife. Both in my heart, and in the eyes of God,” he told her, his anger diminished, his embrace gentle once more. “I am honor-bound to protect you at all costs. And so I shall.”

“I’ve shamed you,” she said sullenly. “You have no obligation to me.” His hands stroked her hair – gentle, but firm and possessive. Then his touch drifted lower, caressing her

neck, her back, the swell of her bottom. She sniffed back her tears and sighed contentedly, melting into his touch as his hands grazed her sides, making her shiver. Yes, this was what she needed, what she wanted. To forget, if only for a little while. Brishen found his own inner turmoil quelled also, simply by touching her, by delighting in the way she responded to his caress. It only strengthened his resolve to protect her, his belief that they were meant to be together. 62

Svetkavista “My Karina,” he murmured against her hair. He smoothed her hips and then his hands rose. He let his thumbs trace the underside of her breasts. He knew he was supposed to be comforting her, not attempting to seduce her, but he couldn’t still his fingers, couldn’t stop touching her. And he didn’t want to. Her hands, curled into tight fists against his chest, relaxed and unfurled. Her fingers began to trace delicate patterns across his torso. She whimpered against his neck, her soft lips grazing his flesh and he squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the urge to push her down against the bedroll and take her. “I don’t deserve you,” she whispered. “I know that I don’t. But please, Brishen…please, love me.” With that statement she ended the war he’d been waging within himself. He wound one hand through her hair and guided her mouth to his. She whimpered again when he kissed her, sending a wave of delight through him. He was dimly aware of the fact that she was still crying. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she kissed him back with something akin to desperation. His tongue explored her mouth as his hands explored her body, memorizing every part of her. They kissed as if they might never have the chance again. He pulled back slightly and licked at her tear-stained cheeks, tasting the salty sweetness of her sorrow, wishing he could draw her pain into himself, that he could absorb her sadness. His lips followed the path of her tears down her neck, dipping into the hollow of her throat, and the valley between her breasts. He pushed her blouse out of the way, pausing only long enough to pull the garment up over her head and toss it to the floor beside them. His tongue drew concentric circles around her breast, each smaller than the last, until finally his lips closed around the tiny, rose-colored bud. Then he suckled her, using his fingers to mimic the movements of his mouth on her other breast. She moaned and arched her back, holding onto his shoulders. When he drew back, he saw that her normally pale alabaster skin was red and mottled. Karina seemed not to notice, or to care. She untied his shirt and slipped it off his shoulders, leaning forward to kiss his chest. He could feel the heat of her mouth mixing with the chill of her tears. He shuddered. “Take me,” she whispered. It was not quite a request, and not exactly a demand. “Make me yours again.” He stood quickly and removed his breeches, then knelt beside her, pulling off her skirts in a swift, urgent motion. She moved to lie on her back, legs spreading for him, but he stopped her, pulling her forward instead, into 63

Svetkavista his lap. He slowly lowered her onto his cock, groaning as he entered her tight heat. With his hands gripping her hips, he reclined backwards until she straddled him. Her palms rested on his chest. Karina hesitated, unsure of the new position, but her hips, seemingly of their own accord, started to rock leisurely back and forth. She allowed her instinct to take over. Brishen thrust his hips, helping her, and they both groaned. He reached up and grasped her breasts, kneading the flesh. She cried out and threw her head back, her long hair brushing his thighs. “Love you…love you,” she was sobbing between moans. Before long she came, head thrashing from side to side. Tears streamed down her face. She was the perfect picture of tragic ecstasy. Brishen’s heart ached at the sight of her, so small and vulnerable, but then he felt her womb flutter, drawing him back into the haze of pleasure, and he began to come as well. With one more thrust he released himself deep inside her. When the pulses stopped, he pulled her forward to lie atop his chest, holding her tight and stroking her back. Brishen hummed to her until finally her tears subsided, and she fell asleep against him.





She didn’t want to leave him. He’d let her sleep for a brief while before kissing her awake. She stubbornly

kept her eyes closed, clinging to him and nuzzling his shoulder.

“Karina, I can’t let you stay,” he murmured regretfully.



“There’s nothing in the law that says I can’t,” she replied.



It was true. But it would only hurt her. “No one will marry us now, not while I’m marhimè, love. And you

have to keep yourself out of this.”

She did not want to think about that. All she wanted was to lose herself in his arms and forget. She

brushed her lips across his neck.

“Karina…” he protested, but she kissed him again and his resolve fractured. If she kept that up, he’d be

lost.

Karina traced the ridge of his collarbone, and then moved lower to kiss his bared chest. Her tongue laved

the tiny bud of one nipple and she felt him shudder. Her fingers danced along the rigid length of his cock, eagerly 64

Svetkavista hard again, as she suckled the pebbled flesh before biting lightly.

“Karina,” he said again, his voice a strained whisper.



Her palm glided over his prick, teasing the first pearly drops of liquid from the swollen head. She dipped

one fingertip into the moisture, brought it to her lips and, locking her eyes with his, slowly sucked the finger into her mouth. Her cheeks hollowed and she moaned. She parted her lips slightly so that he could see her tongue sweeping along the underside of her finger.

Oh, God, he thought, where had she learned that?



She grinned and pulled her body back from his, just enough so that she could slip her hand between her legs

and bring it back to the level of his eyes. It sparkled with her own arousal, and the evidence of the love they had just shared. Then she slipped her finger back inside her mouth.

“God,” he said, aloud this time. “You are a Goddess.” It was his last coherent thought as he pushed her

onto her back and again succumbed to temptation.

65

Svetkavista

I

Chapter Nine t was Elsbeth who brought Brishen his evening meal and found the couple together, buried beneath a thick pile of blankets and furs. She entered the tent, humming softly. She’d told herself that she

would not look at the young man who’d been her hero, would not interact with him in any way, lest compassion and regret overtake her. She nearly tripped over the lovers, who were naked and sleeping soundly. Were it not for the bright shock of blonde hair fanned out over his bared, sculpted chest, Elsbeth would have thought Brishen was alone. “Oh!” she exclaimed softly, nearly dropping the bowl of soup in her hands. Brishen stirred. When his eyes focused on the elder woman he cursed under his breath and nudged Karina awake. “Time to go, love,” he murmured against her ear. She whimpered and pressed her face into the wiry curls of his armpit, breathing in the musky scent of him. “Karina,” he said again. When she reluctantly opened her eyes, her gaze settled on Elsbeth and she gasped, horrified. “Phurì,” she said softly. “I will wait outside,” Elsbeth declared, setting down the bowl and backing out of the tent. “But we must speak.” The lovers dressed in silence, neither daring to voice their fears. If Elsbeth told her husband what she’d 66

Svetkavista seen, Vesh would be incensed. He would tell the entire tribe what had occurred, and Brishen’s situation would only worsen. “I’ll talk to her,” Karina said finally, securing the diklò over her hair. “Perhaps I can make her understand.” Brishen brushed an errant curl from her face. “I love you,” he answered. “And I love you,” she replied. “Maybe this is a good thing. They will have to acknowledge our union if they know we’ve lain together.” She spoke the truth, but it pained him to think about how the tribe would view her. It was not uncommon for two lovers to run off and consummate their relationship; to force a marriage by consent on their families, but shame would follow them the rest of their lives. How had something so perfect deteriorated so rapidly, so completely? Didn’t they deserve happiness? Was God truly so cruel? Reading his expression, she gave him a wan smile. “Do you remember that just a few moons ago we had never spoken? And that after we spoke the first time, I hated you?” He smirked. “Yes, but I wasn’t about to give up until I had you.” “Don’t give up now, either.”



Elsbeth was a rather stout older woman, who blended in quite well amongst the barrels of rakìa that she dragged tirelessly around the camp for her husband who was, by his own admission, something of a lush. Her face, hardened and weathered by a life spent outdoors beneath the sun, hid her compassionate demeanor. Though she had no children of her own, she was mother to all the Lăutari. Karina had not interacted with her much until recently. Elsbeth was so busy during the nightly bonfire gatherings, waddling to and fro delivering liquor, that she’d never spoken to the young Argintari other than to share a passing ‘hello’. Still, Karina liked the older woman, and hoped that she would be able to appeal to her compassion now. Emerging from the tent fully, if not hastily, clothed she found Elsbeth standing a few yards away, nervously wringing her apron between her hands. 67

Svetkavista “Karina, what were you thinking?” she lamented. “Elsbeth,” Karina said mournfully, “I love him. I love him so much it hurts. How can I stay away from him when the only time this aching subsides is in his arms?” The older woman’s brow furrowed. She closed her eyes and sighed, her head bowed. “If these accusations had come but a day later, no one would question your remaining with him.” Karina nodded and chewed her bottom lip, eyes welling with tears. It was true. Perhaps her family had been right about her prikàza. She was cursed with bad luck. “He is already my husband in my heart, Phurì,” she replied softly. Elsbeth was waging an internal war. Papusza was her niece by marriage, her family. She loved and trusted the young woman. But as she looked at Karina, so vulnerable and innocent, Elsbeth realized that she loved her as well. The petite, flaxen-haired beauty had been something of a mystery to most Lăutari, with how she came and went amongst them at night, always disappearing just before dawn, always pretending not to know them as they traveled by day. “You are young and in love, Karina.” “I’m not that young. Twenty-three is far too old to be čhaj.” Dear God, thought Elsbeth, twenty-three? She looked eighteen, at the oldest. Eventually the older woman sighed. She remembered herself at that age – she’d been very much in lust with Vesh, and would have done anything for him. “Has Brishen ever hurt you, child?” “No,” Karina answered firmly. The memory of their confrontation by the river swam forward in her consciousness, but she pushed it away. Not the same, she told herself. “Has he ever threatened you?” “God no!” Another memory tried to break through – this time of their conversation by her family’s wagon, with her father looking on. Again she pushed the images back into her subconscious. “I trust him with my life.” The older woman was clearly torn. Karina took a deep breath and continued. “I don’t know what happened that night.” Partially true. “I wish to God I did. I wish to God they’d never been left alone.” Entirely true. “You can’t let the others knows you’re porradì,” Elsbeth said finally. 68

Svetkavista “I didn’t even want you to know, Phurì, but I can hardly deny that I’ve lain with him now.” “Vesh would be incensed,” she continued. “He’s quite fond of you. And he has always been fond of Brishen as well…but Papusza is his flesh and blood. He’s cared for her since she was a child. She’s like a daughter to him – to both of us.” Karina felt a stab of pain at the mention of her friend. “I understand, Elsbeth. She’s always been very dear to me, too.” Her pale, hazel eyes were round and innocent, and filled with tears. “No, no, no,” Elsbeth said, holding out her arms, maternal instinct taking hold. Karina went into them willingly, let herself be swallowed by the embrace. She pressed her face against the woman’s ample bosom and felt coarse, fleshy fingers stroking her hair. “Don’t cry, shebari,” the older woman soothed. “It’ll all be set right. You simply must be more careful, is all.” “Please don’t make me stop seeing him,” Karina whispered. “You must only go at night, then,” Elsbeth declared. “I will see to it that I am the one who brings his meal each morning. And you should try to be back in your own tent before the others wake, but in case you aren’t, no one else will discover you here.” Karina raised her head, wiping at her eyes with the heel of her palm. “You would really help us?” “If you’ll do one thing for me.” “What?” Not that it mattered -- she’d do anything. “Talk to Papusza. You’re so dear to her. She’s devastated that you continue to send her away.” Anything except that. “Phurì, I don’t know that I can.” “You can,” Elsbeth stated. “I’m not going to blackmail you, Karina. If you choose not to do this, I will still keep your secret, but I will not help you beyond today. Just talk to her, shebari, that’s all I ask. Talk to her.”





Despite Elsbeth’s promise, Karina felt she had little choice when it came to speaking with Papusza. She

needed the elder woman’s help to continue seeing Brishen.

It had been a fairly simple thing to avoid her lover and friend in the days since the accusation. It was, in 69

Svetkavista fact, much easier to avoid the situation entirely, as best she could. She’d been able to convince herself – at least momentarily – that none of it had happened at all.

To her credit, Elsbeth seemed to understand this, and saw to it that Karina had imbibed a considerable

amount of rakia before walking with her to the tent.

“Just a chance, shebari,” she whispered, giving her a tiny shove towards the entrance. “That’s all I ask.”



Karina nodded. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and stepped inside.



Papusza’s face brightened at the sight of her and she moved to embrace the tiny blonde, holding out her

arms.

In response, Karina backed away and shook her head. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, jaw

locked. Her entire stance was one of confrontation. “I want to know why you did it,” she said matter-of-factly.

Papusza eyed her warily. Her Karina…had she really changed so much? Did she understand nothing at all?

“Chey--” she began.

Karina scowled at her and held up one hand. “Don’t call me that anymore. I’m not a little girl.”



The raven-haired woman blanched, hurt obvious on her face. It had been her nickname for Karina ever

since she’d first snuck to the Lăutari side of camp as a girl. To deny her that familiarity now was to deny the friendship they’d both cherished for years. “Alright, Karina,” she said finally.

“Tell me why you did it.”



“I had no choice,” Papusza said.



“Yes, you did.” The scowl deepened. The reality was that each of them had faced a choice. And none of

them had chosen wisely. “I want the truth. You owe me that, at least.”

“I did it to protect you!” she cried.



“Protect me?” Karina was incredulous. “Don’t you mean protect yourself ?”



“What should I have told them?” Papusza demanded, her own anger rising. She’d expected her lover to be

angry. But she’d also expected her to understand.

“The truth! The truth about us both!”



“I could not have done that – not without bringing the entire tribe down upon your head for our actions!”



“Yes,” Karina answered bitterly. “And how very convenient it is that in protecting me, you also protect 70

Svetkavista yourself.”

“You honestly think I care more about myself than I do you?” She laughed, the sound harsh and grating.

“You think I care what the tribe thinks of me now that Cherhaj is dead and Kalò is gone?” It was the first time she’d mentioned her son since his kidnapping.

Karina’s face softened a bit. “If that truly is the case, there were other ways to handle the situation. Other

ways to keep me out of it.”

“Perhaps.” Papusza’s own emotions raged now; anger at having been forced to mention her child, bitterness

at her friend’s failure to understand or to sympathize. “But he deserves punishment.” There. She’d said it.

“What?” the other woman seethed, eyes widening.



“I said, he deserves to be punished.” She pulled back her hair to reveal an ugly, discolored bruise just

behind her right eye. Then she pushed up the sleeve of her blouse to reveal the bruises on her arm – five, perfectly preserved markings, one for each of Brishen’s long, smooth fingers.

Karina recalled his words. I’m not innocent…I struck her. “Yes, he told me that he hit you,” she said slowly.

“And was willing to accept punishment for it. Instead you accused him of…of forcing himself on you.”

“No,” Papusza corrected. “No, I never did. My uncle and the elders, they drew that conclusion on their

own.”

“And you never thought to correct them? Is one lie so much easier to tell than another? Or do you not

consider your silence a lie? Surely I do, Papusza.”

“Whatever he gets,” she hissed, eyes narrowed, “he deserves.”



Karina was taken aback by her friend’s ferocity. After a lengthy, pregnant pause, she turned and made her

way to the tent’s exit. Though she sought to leave before things could deteriorate further, she could not resist having the final word. “My husband says,” she stated flatly over her shoulder, “that you are a witch and a whore. I think perhaps he is right, on both counts.”

71

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T

Chapter Ten he tribe had a dilemma on their hands. They had no baro. Their previous baro, the oldest and most respected member of the kumpa’nia, had passed last winter, and they had not selected

another. It had been years since they’d had a phuri-dae, the baro’s female counterpart, for much the same reasons. The oppression of the Hungarian government had united the tribe’s various factions, and had silenced much of the typical infighting and petty squabbles. But now Brishen would face trial, and a trial required a judge.

They had to find a baro, or choose one from amongst themselves. Their choice of elders within the tribe

was limited – Nicolae, practically father-in-law of the accused, could not be objective. Neither could Vesh, as kin of the accuser. There were other elders, of course, but none willing to take on the task of judging Brishen at krìs. In fact, the eligible men all flatly refused, though the title of Baro was the most honorable amongst the Rom. If it meant dealing with this mess, they said, it wasn’t worth the trouble.

As the accuser, Papusza had the right to choose the kristnitorya, or judging panel. However, as the accused,

Brishen had the right to veto any of her choices. It was possible for them to select up to five judges for the krìs, but all would be presided over by the baro. The elders called a meeting to discuss the selection of the kristnitorya and the baro. Papusza, though invited, protested illness and sent Vesh in her stead. Brishen was present, with Karina at his side. Since he was marhimè, he could not speak with any men in the tribe until his krìs. Karina, therefore, was his emissary. 72

Svetkavista

“We send out scouts,” one elder proposed, “to follow the vurma we passed two days ago. We find out if this

other kumpa’nia has a baro who can preside over this matter.”

Nicolae nodded. “Objectivity would not be in question.” His perpetually gruff manner never wavered, but

Karina knew from the fact that he’d spoken at all, that he was in support of Brishen, albeit grudgingly.

“How would we know anything of his objectivity?” It was Vesh who spoke next. “They could be a tribe of

Argintari, for all we know, and we’re well aware of how the Argintari within our own kumpa’nia view the Lăutari.” He punctuated this declaration with a sharp glance at Nicolae.

“He betrothed his daughter to a Lăutari, did he not, Vesh?” the first man, Malko, spoke again.



“He pledged her to a rapist and a lecher!”



Nicolae rose from his seat, fuming. “Watch your tongue, you drunken pig,” he seethed.



Vesh stood as well, kicking the crate upon which he’d sat and sending it flying behind him. “You, who

disown yer own daughter, and will not welcome her back to yer camp, call me a pig?”

“I did not disown her, you fool!” Nicolae bellowed.



“Ah, but who cares for her now? My wife!” Vesh shot back.



“I have to stop this,” Karina murmured to Brishen. They sat beside each other, but were careful not to

touch in any way.

“It’s not your place, love,” he whispered back, out of the corner of his mouth. “Let them go.”



“I can’t.”



At that Brishen grabbed her hand and squeezed.



“Dosta!” Karina shouted, ignoring Brishen’s pleas to remain silent. “That’s enough!”



“Mind your place, shebari,” Malko cautioned, though he seemed grateful for her intervention. “And both of

you,” he nodded to the two men who were standing, “hold your tongues. This solves nothing.”

“So the accuser objects to bringing in a baro from another tribe?” asked the Kalderash elder, speaking up for

the first time.

“Not necessarily,” Vesh conceded. “She would like to speak with him, to discover if he is suitable.”



“And the accused? What is his opinion?”



Brishen mumbled something to Karina hurriedly. She bowed her head and spoke. “He finds the plan 73

Svetkavista a favorable one. An outsider would, perhaps, not divide the kumpa’nia any farther than it is now. He wishes to maintain peace.” At that she braved a pointed look at her father, who gave a slight nod of his head.

“He should have thought of that before he raped my niece,” Vesh snarled. Then his features softened and

he looked to Karina. “How can ye be so blinded, child?”

“How can you?” Nicolae countered.



“Enough!” Malko bellowed, throwing his cup to the ground. “It’s clear we are too divided on the matter to

handle it ourselves. The party will leave tonight. Surely no other kumpa’nia has been as foolish as ours in failing to keep a baro.”





“I’m cursed,” Karina announced later that evening. She was in Brishen’s tent on the outskirts of camp,

having snuck through the bordering woods as soon as she thought it safe to slip away.

“That’s nonsense, love,” he replied around a mouthful of chicken sorrel soup. Karina had made it, with

Elsbeth’s help, and had brought it with her. She’d watched him intently as he took his first bites. When she was satisfied that he found it acceptable, she began brushing out her long, blonde hair with a small handmade brush crafted of coarse boar bristles.

“My family always said that I was. To be čhaj at twenty-three? Of course,” she paused her grooming and

cocked her head to one side, “I know why no one wanted to marry me, looking as I do, but that doesn’t explain why I’m the only one of my sisters who looks like a half-breed.”

Brishen chuckled. Finishing the soup, he set the bowl on a small stool and leaned back on one elbow to

watch her.

She picked up a handful of her curls and looked at them in disgust. “What do you see in me, anyway?”



At this he laughed outright.



“It isn’t funny,” she pouted.



Brishen roared with laughter, head thrown back, tears glistening in the corners of his eyes.



“It isn’t!” she cried, crossing the tent and throwing herself in his lap, her thighs spread to straddle his. She 74

Svetkavista smacked his shoulder lightly in mock anger.

Without missing a beat, Brishen put his arms around her waist and flipped her onto her back, laying her

down next to him. “I find it very funny, love,” he told her, brushing his lips across her forehead.

“You’re awful,” she said, turning her face away.



“Mmm, hmm, I know.” He planted a trail of soft kisses down her neck, pausing to nip at the exposed

tendon. “I’m quite the rogue.”

“Hmpph!” She closed her eyes and willed her body rigid, determined not to react to his touch.



His kisses drifted lower, to the soft skin below her throat, and his free hand pushed the stiff fabric of her

blouse downwards to expose her breasts.

“You’re a fiend is what you are,” she said, biting back a sigh as he took one stiff peak between his lips.



“Yes, a fiend,” he agreed against her flesh. He grasped her skirts just above her knee and pulled them north

until her clothing was a mass of fabric bunched around her middle, leaving her most sensitive areas exposed to the cool air…and his heated gaze. “Do you like it that I’m a fiend?”

“No,” she lied, but her body was betraying her. Her back arched, pushing her up to meet his mouth, her

legs spread wide to welcome his touch.

“No?” His hand slipped down her stomach and his thumb settled atop the bundle of nerves between her

thighs, teasing her with firm strokes. Karina bit her lip to keep from crying out. She drew blood.

“No.” Her voice cracked.



He chuckled and pulled his hand away. “Alright then.”



She let out a frustrated cry and finally looked at him. He was grinning at her. “You are a fiend,” she snarled,

sitting up. Her hands busied themselves untying his breeches and jerking the fabric down over his thighs. “And I do like it. But even a fiend must finish what he has started.”

“That’s my girl.” He helped her tug his pants off and then finished removing her skirts. “No,” he said

when she tried to pull his body over hers. “Not yet.” His voice had deepened, thickening with lust. He knelt between her thighs and hooked her legs over his shoulders, turning his head to graze his teeth against the skin of her inner thigh.

She inhaled sharply when his warm breath stirred the curls of her sex, felt her womb flutter in anticipation. 75

Svetkavista He then traced the length of her with his tongue, slow, teasing strokes. His hands held her waist firmly, keeping her still when she tried to press herself against him. He teased her further, pushing gently into her slick heat before moving to her clit, now swollen and exposed.

Karina felt one finger slide into her. It began to stroke in and out as Brishen closed his mouth over the tiny

bud of her clit. She felt a second finger enter her, and then he was suckling the hard little kernel, swirling his tongue in a hypnotic rhythm. “Brishen…Brishen…” she was moaning his name over and over, gripping the blankets in frantic fists.

His fingers curled upward while his tongue increased its pressure against her. He was rewarded with a rush

of fluid as she climaxed. Her moans transitioned into wordless cries and her hips bucked wildly.

He moved himself up her body, but didn’t remove his fingers from her creamy sex, didn’t allow her to come

down from the plateau of her orgasm. She kissed him greedily, tasting herself on his tongue. Finally, with one more gliding caress, he withdrew his fingers, and replaced them with his cock. He was not gentle – in one swift, motion he hilted. Allowing no time for either of them to catch their breath, he began to thrust. She immediately came again, her muscles milking his prick with enough force that he almost climaxed as well.

Brishen stopped and held himself perfectly still, wrapping his arms around her back, crushing her against

him. She mewled and tried to move her hips, but he stopped her. “Don’t. Move,” he ordered, his words an agonized whisper against her ear.

Karina obediently froze. His breath was ragged and he remained immobile for a second or two until he felt

he’d regained some small measure of control. Gradually he began to move within her again, but slowly this time, gently. He wanted it to last.

She locked her ankles around the small of his back, rising up eagerly to meet each stroke. It was inevitable,

though, that the pleasure would continue to build, and again they approached release. Brishen’s rhythm became faster, rougher. He didn’t want to give in completely, didn’t want to hurt her if he lost all control, but God, the temptation.

“Don’t,” she gasped. “Don’t hold back.”



He groaned and grabbed one of her legs, hooking it over the crook of his elbow. Karina’s ass angled up off

the ground as he slammed into her. The change in position was subtle, but effective. Every thrust stroked her just 76

Svetkavista right. She began to tremble uncontrollably, started to make the low, keening sounds that he now knew signaled her imminent release.

When he felt her muscles contract around him, his cock swelled with the approach of his own orgasm.

Bending his head to her breast he took one tight nipple into his mouth and bit down – hard.

She screamed as her orgasm began, half-pleasure, half-pain. The conflicting sensations seemed to feed off

of one another until they became indivisible. She didn’t fight either one. She simply…gave in.

Her surrender was the trigger for Brishen’s own orgasm, and his release tore through him with stunning

ferocity.

When the waves of pleasure subsided he eased her back down to the blankets and kissed her, stroking her

hair, gentle once more. Karina could taste her blood in his mouth, could feel a dull throb of pain in her breast where he’d bitten her. That was sure to leave a mark – which was, she realized, likely the point.

“How badly did I hurt you?” he asked, pulling away from her and rolling onto his back.



“You didn’t,” she lied, settling her head against his heartbeat.



“Karina,” he admonished.



“Okay, it hurt,” she confessed, then added truthfully, “but I didn’t mind.”



Brishen smiled and kissed her forehead.



“I love you,” she whispered.



“I know,” he replied.



“What if we just ran away?” she asked, snuggled against his shoulder, one arm hugging his chest.



“And went where, my love?”



She shrugged. “To another tribe? Or just somewhere on our own.”



He kissed her hair and petted the soft skin of her back. “I wish it were that easy.”



“Why isn’t it? This tribe took you in, another would as well.”



He stiffened beneath her. “Who told you that?”



“Papusza, actually,” she confessed. “I asked her about…about your family. You’ve never spoken of them.”



“Ah.” His hands continued tracing lazy patterns across her skin. “And what did she tell you? That I had no

blood family? That I’d come to them on my own, and they’d accepted me?” 77

Svetkavista

“Yes. That’s precisely what she said.”



He fell silent.



Karina raised her head to gaze at him. He was chewing his bottom lip, a look of indecision on his face. She

cupped his cheek lightly. “You can tell me,” she said.

He looked at her for a long moment and then nodded in decision. He patted her hip, indicating that he

wanted to rise. She sat up obediently, folding her legs beneath her. He sat across from her and took both of her hands in his.

“You and I are not so different, love,” Brishen began. “I look Rom, but I’m not -- not fully. My father was

gajè. My mother was Rom, though I don’t know what tribe she came from. She never told me. Or, more accurately, I never asked. I didn’t know, at the time, the importance of such things.

“We had a small house, on a tiny bit of land, with one old horse and a small corral of livestock. My father

didn’t own the land, but he had built the house himself. He worked around the large manor house on the hill. The lord of the manor was an older man with a pleasant disposition. I remember him well. He was a large fellow, and I’d run to him and hug him whenever I saw him. I remember being smothered by the big, fancy robe he always wore. “My mother earned her place, as well, by entertaining at the parties the old man and his wife held. She could sing, my mother, and play the violin like an angel which, of course, is where I learned the craft. She must have been Lăutari, but again, she never told me, and I never knew to ask.” Karina sat close to him, listening with rapt attention to his story, watching his face in fascination as he described his previous life. He held her hands within his, but his eyes showed that he was far away from her, lost in his own memories. “When I was about six, I think, I started performing at parties as well. All of the noblewomen fawned over me. I would sometimes hear them whispering to each other as I played. ‘So talented for a little half-breed,’ they said. ‘So fortunate that his mother was wise enough to leave behind a life of thievery.’ “I asked my mother what they’d meant by that, what it meant that I was a half-breed. She ruffled my hair and knelt down to kiss my cheek, saying, ‘It means you are the best of everything. And most of all, that you’re free.’ I didn’t understand that she was Rom until much later. And I never knew why she’d left her tribe. Perhaps she’d 78

Svetkavista been forced to leave by the Empress’ regulations – made to marry a gajè, but I don’t think so. She was happy with us. She was in love with my father. “I don’t remember much else, other than that I was happy, and that I loved to play my violin. I played whenever I could. My parents would have to take it away from me at night, because I’d sit in my small bed and pluck away at the strings for hours, thinking I was being very secretive and stealthy about it.” His smile was wistful. “When I turned eight I convinced them I was old enough to keep it with me at night, promising I would not play after bedtime. I slept with it in bed, my arm wrapped carefully around the body, just so.” He released one of Karina’s hands and reached for the violin where it rested on a nearby stack of blankets. His fingers traced the smooth curve of the instrument’s rib, following the dip of the wood near the f-holes. “My father swore I’d crush it in my sleep, but my mother indulged me. She said I had respect for the instrument. That it was in my blood.” He set it down and took Karina’s hand in his again. “One night, a band of Rom snuck onto our land, intent on taking what they could -- what they needed. My parents heard the commotion caused by the swine in the pens, and my mother immediately recognized who was outside our home, and what they meant to do. She wanted my father to leave them be. They wouldn’t take anymore than they needed; they’d take the sick pig that we would likely have to put down anyway. But my father was angry at the intrusion. He was intent upon them leaving with nothing. “My father hissed at me to stay put in my room. He told me I was likely to hear things that would make me want to run, but that I was to remain where I was no matter what. “I obeyed him. I ran to my room and picked up my violin, then sat on my bed, closed my eyes, and waited. I heard shouting. I heard my mother scream. I heard loud, rough voices speaking in a language I didn’t understand. Then, for a long time, I heard nothing. “I thought the men had gone, but my father hadn’t come to tell me it was safe, so I didn’t dare move. When I heard footsteps in the hall, I expected it to be him. “Two men appeared in my doorway. One was large -- round and very tall, taller than I am now, I think. The other was a small man, short and thin. They were both filthy, from what I could see in the dim light of the candle the larger one held. And their clothes were very strange. “They smiled when they saw me. ‘You belong with us,’ the large one said. ‘You’re Rom, like we are. You 79

Svetkavista were stolen from us. We’re here to bring you back to where you rightfully belong.’ ‘Where is Dat?’ I asked, clutching my violin to my chest as if it were my life-force, as if they would steal it from me and I would be lost and broken without it. ‘Where is Ma?’ ‘They left you,’ the smaller one said, and though his tone was friendly, even caring, I knew he was lying. ‘They left you and now we will care for you.’” Brishen scowled. Karina stared at him aghast. “Did they kill them?” “I think so. They never told me so, but I saw no trace of my mother or father as they led me through the house and to their horses, tied to a tree just beyond the edge of our property. The large one sat me in front of him on his horse and then we left, me still holding tight to my violin. We rode for a long time, until we finally came upon the camp. They were not a large tribe, but they had a large amount of horses with them, at least two for every person. “Several of the women immediately rushed forward to claim me. They doted on me. They fed me until I cried, for fear I would be sick. And then they made me play. I remember being happy about that, being allowed to play. Many of the women danced, and a few of the men joined them as I played. I played every song I knew, and then I played them again. They recognized most of what I performed – it seemed my mother, despite her unwillingness to tell me about her culture, had taught me songs that were almost exclusively Romani. “I stayed with them for two years. But I never forgot my parents, my house, or the old nobleman in the manor on the hill. When I asked why I was taken away, I could never get an answer, so eventually I stopped asking.” Karina was spellbound. She moved to his side and placed her head on his shoulder in a comforting gesture. He brought one arm around her waist and continued to speak. “Then one day we came across a vurma. And shortly after that, we met with another tribe. They were Lăutari. They were these Lăutari. We stopped and greeted them. Our tribe’s elders declined the invitation to camp with them, but they agreed to a feast and celebration. And so, the bonfire was lit, the rakia was passed around, and someone began to play the violin. “I was captivated. I had never heard anyone play but myself and my mother; there were no musicians amongst the tribe that had become my family. I was enthralled by the realization that I was not the only one who 80

Svetkavista loved to play. And I decided that, while these Lăutari could never be to me what my mother had been, they were better suited for me than the horse-traders were. I waited until we’d moved on and set up camp for the night, not far away from where the Lăutari were. I stayed awake when all the others slept, and then I took my violin and I ran, following our own trail, retracing the path we’d taken. “The Lăutari, of course, were awake when I found them. I thought perhaps I could simply blend in amongst them, but I was discovered almost at once, and taken before the Baro. It was he who would decide what to do with me. “I told him everything. I told him about my mother, and the house, and the nobleman in the manor on the hill. I told him about the large man, and the small one. And I begged him to let me stay with them, begged him not to send me back to the other tribe. “He called a krisnitòri and discussed my case with several of the others. I don’t know if Papusza is aware of all that transpired – she may not be – but her uncle surely is. He was one of the men the Baro spoke with. “They decided they would not send me back to the other tribe. I was allowed to stay with them, and though I had no family, they all became my family. And before long, I loved them. Then our tribe merged with yours, to be better protected against the Empress. And I saw you, with your golden hair and white skin. And I knew I would marry you, and that you would love me. I was still a child, but I knew.” “How did you know?” she asked, lifting her head to look into his eyes. “Because we’re the same. Different from the others. And who best to understand me than another outsider?” He touched his knuckles lightly to her cheek. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” She twisted her head and kissed his fingers. “I was waiting for the right time,” he stated simply.

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Chapter Eleven he small group of scouts had been gone for nearly a fortnight. There was talk of sending another party after them, concern that the four men originally sent in search of the other, mysterious tribe

had gotten lost, or that they had not received a friendly welcome. Or perhaps they’d encountered the Empress’ soldiers along the way. As the days passed, the mood of the kumpa’nia grew increasingly melancholy. Everyone was on edge – afraid of staying in the same place, but unwilling to migrate in case the scouts did return. Each evening, Karina snuck along the outskirts of the camp and slipped inside Brishen’s tent. Some nights they would make love repeatedly, until she was breathless and trembling and begging him to stop from the sheer, overwhelming pleasure of it all. Other nights he would simply hold her in his arms, humming to her softly as she drifted off to sleep. Each morning she roused herself early, dressed and returned to her own tent before the rest of the camp stirred. It reminded her of the not-so distant past when she’d sneak from the Argintari camp to that of the Lăutari, only now instead of hiding from her father, she was hiding from the entire tribe. Instead of turning to the musicians for support, she avoided them. Karina stood outside her large, empty tent, hanging her clothes, damp from washing, to dry in the intermittent midday sun. She saw Papusza’s hesitant approach; watched warily out of the corner of her eye as her one time lover and friend walked slowly towards her. She stopped a short distance away and waited to be acknowledged, knowing that she’d been seen, unsure of what to say. 82

Svetkavista “Droboy tume Romale,” Karina said, giving the formal greeting for lack of anything better to say. “I brought you some sarma,” Papusza said, holding up the small, wooden dish packed with cabbage rolls. “Elsbeth and I made too many of them and, believe it or not, Uncle Vesh says he’s full.” Karina smirked in spite of herself. Vesh rejecting food was a rather humorous image. “Have you eaten?” she asked awkwardly. “No. I haven’t had much of an appetite of late.” “Well, come inside. We’ll share. It looks like you brought enough for two.” They shuffled into Karina’s tent and automatically took up positions on opposite sides of the dwelling, as far away from each other as possible. Papusza set down the sarma on the bench by the door. She appeared ready to bolt at the first sign of hostility. The two women eyed each other like a pair of predatory animals attempting to coexist in a shared territory. “We need to talk, Che…Karina,” Papusza shook her head and corrected herself, remembering Karina’s outburst over the nickname the last time they’d spoken. “I’m not certain that’s a good idea,” Karina responded, not looking up. “Surely your uncle has told you that I spoke for Brishen at the council yesterday.” “He did,” Papusza confirmed. “As you should.” “Ah, so now you support our relationship?” She snorted. “A little late for that, don’t you think?” “I always supported it, Karina. I just…” she trailed off and held out her hands in supplication. “I just didn’t like him trying to keep us apart. He took you from me.” “No,” Karina corrected, straightening and meeting the other woman’s gaze for the first time. “No, he didn’t. You forced me away all on your own.” Papusza scowled and prepared to argue the point, but then seemed to think better of it. Her mouth relaxed, and again she showed her upturned palms. “You’re right. I drove the final nail into the coffin,” she admitted finally. “I did.” Karina pushed away her anger and sighed, dropping her eyes to the floor for a moment before raising them again to gaze at her friend. “I want to blame you for all of it,” she admitted softly. “And I’ve tried to. But the truth is that we all played a part in this. We each could have done things differently. To put the entire burden on you is 83

Svetkavista not fair.” Now that the confessions had begun, they seemed to flow in a torrent from the two women. Papusza sat gingerly on the edge of a blanket and pulled off her diklò to reveal the glossy sheen of her ebony hair. “I was very angry with him,” she said, “for being so insistent about keeping us apart. I’d loved you for years, and who was he but some new, fancy suitor who would likely leave you to unhappiness before long?” Her breath hitched. “Cherhaj, didn’t leave you,” the blonde said quietly, taking a seat next to her and removing her own scarf. The untamed mess of her blonde curls came tumbling down around her face, brushing against her cheeks and settling atop her shoulders. “Not willingly, anyway.” “Oh, but he did,” Papusza whispered. “He did. He left me alone, and my son was gone. I wanted nothing to do with men ever again. And through it all, you were there with me. The only time I was happy -- not hurting -- was when I was with you, when we were dancing. I knew you’d caught Brishen’s eye, and he yours, but I’d hoped…” Karina took Papusza’s hand between hers. “Hoped what?” she urged. She wondered what her friend had meant about her husband leaving her willingly, but she let it slide. Now wasn’t the time. “I’d hoped you wouldn’t want him anymore after you’d been with me. I’d hoped that it could just be you and I, forever. When he came and told me I couldn’t see you again, and called me a whore, I was furious! And when my uncle asked if he’d hurt me I said ‘Yes’!” She was crying freely now, the tears rolling down her smooth, round cheeks. “I couldn’t tell them how or why he’d really done it, but I could say that much, that he’d hurt me, and so I did. And I suppose a part of me thought that he would be sent away and that you would forget about him; that once again it would just be you and I. So you see, I was foolish, and it is my fault.” “No,” Karina said. “No, it’s mine. I thought that I could have you both. I expected you to not be jealous of him, and he to not be jealous of you. I didn’t want to share either of you, but you were both expected to share me, and be satisfied by it. I should never have taken you to my tent that night, never have expected he wouldn’t find out. And I definitely shouldn’t have left you alone with him, no matter what you both told me to do.” She shook her head vigorously, blonde curls trembling around her face. “I should not have let Vesh lead me back to the tent where I knew what he’d find. And I should have said something at the time about what I knew. But I was terrified.” 84

Svetkavista “No, it was wise of you to keep silent. Brishen and I may not agree on much, but I’d wager that he has told you the same thing.” Karina nodded. “He has.” “So, it seems,” Papusza said with tiny, shuddering sob, “that we are a trio of fools. A triangle of doomed lovers.” “Can you withdraw your accusation?” She was optimistic, even sanguine. “Tell the elders you were mistaken?” “I’ve thought about it, even said as much to Uncle Vesh. He won’t hear of it. He says that me standing there, half-naked in Brishen’s tent, with the bruises on my face and arms, is proof enough -- even if I refuse to testify at the krìs.” Karina fell silent. She tentatively laid her head against Papusza’s shoulder and the older woman immediately brought her arms up to embrace her. Karina’s head slipped lower to rest against her bosom, but the gesture was chaste. “You go to see him every night, don’t you?” Papusza asked, resting her chin against Karina’s hair. “Yes.” “Tell him that I’m sorry. Tell him…” she paused and choked back the tears that had sprung forth. “Tell him he doesn’t deserve what I’ve done to him.” “I’ll tell him.” “Thank you, Chey.” Karina wrapped her arms around the other woman’s waist and gave a gentle squeeze. She didn’t correct the use of her childhood nickname. She no longer minded it.

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Chapter Twelve hen the two women emerged from Karina’s tent, some time later, they saw Vesh, Nicolae, and Malko gathered around a small fire by Vesh’s tent. The three men were watching them

intently – Vesh with unveiled suspicion, Nicolae with bland curiosity, and Malko with concern. Karina looked at them rather pointedly, meeting each man’s gaze head-on with a defiant glare of her own. She turned and hugged Papusza.

“I’ll talk to Brishen tonight,” she whispered against the other girl’s cheek. “Perhaps we can solve this

problem together.”

“Whatever you need me to do,” the older woman whispered back. “I’ll do it.”



Malko approached them cautiously – his delicate steps, the way he walked so gingerly over the grass and

roots on the ground, a sharp contrast to his cumbersome frame.

“Phurò,” Karina acknowledged with a nod.



“I’m not convinced this is wise,” he said gently.



“What isn’t?” Papusza asked innocently.



“Your father and your uncle,” he looked at each girl in turn, “have nearly come to blows over the matter.

You saw them, Karina, at the meeting.”

She nodded. 86

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“This runs deeper than the accusations, deeper than you both. You know that.”



Again the blonde woman nodded. If Vesh had any deep-rooted prejudices towards the Argintari she’d been

unaware of them until now, but her father’s view of the Lăutari had long been clear to her. She’d never professed to understand it, but there was just no arguing with Nicolae.

“Why should this tear us apart?” the raven-haired woman protested. “Why should I lose my oldest friend if

I don’t have to?”

Malko sighed. “Be careful, please. That’s all I ask. Don’t make things worse than they are. The scouts

will be back soon and, may Del smile upon us, they will have a baro with them. One way or another, it will all be resolved.”

The women parted company reunited in purpose and restored in affection, but their reconciliation did little

to ease Karina’s grief-stricken heart.

She was miserable with the guilt of it all. It was a living thing coiled within her, snaking through her veins

and touching every part of her. She could feel it, this guilt, a dull, chill throb in her bones. Your fault, her heart whispered to her. Ruined everyone. Everything. Your fault.

Karina was frustrated and restless. She had been truthful when she’d told Elsbeth that the only time

the ache in her subsided was in the presence of her betrothed. Not being able to see him, except in secret, only worsened the pain. Her days were now spent almost entirely in isolation, where she had nothing to do but brood. She’d been more or less banished from the Argintari camp, so passing the hours making jewelry was no longer an option. Her father had been spending a good deal of time going back and forth between the camps, discussing tribe affairs with Vesh, Malko, and the other elders, but he had chosen not to speak with her privately.

She could not even spend time with her best friend without causing outrage.



Karina looked around her with a sigh. The sky was a mess of grey rolling clouds, clinging low to the

Earth, obscuring the mountain peaks that loomed in the distance. The forest edge to her left beckoned, the leaves scattered below the nearly naked trees in a ragged, winding path. Thin, spindle-like branches at the tops of the trees swayed in the wind, in time with the long stalks of grass to Karina’s right. Nature was waving to her, mocking her. Further off, across the field, the tribe’s herd of horses were grazing and lounging, much like their owners. The large grey animal in the center of the herd caught Karina’s eye. Brishen’s horse. She realized that no one had tended 87

Svetkavista to the steed since Brishen had been exiled. She ducked back into her tent and retrieved a spare hairbrush – old and worn, it was one she no longer used herself. Almost as an afterthought she grabbed the bridle draped across Brishen’s bag as well. Tucking the brush into the pocket of her skirt, she set out across the field.

The herd ignored her as she picked her way gingerly through the massive beasts to Brishen’s horse.



“Hello,” she murmured, reaching out a tentative hand.



The horse raised its head, assessing her with huge, brown eyes. He snorted and tossed his mane.



“It’s okay, I’m a friend,” Karina crooned. She snapped her fingers and flattened her palm when the animal

stretched its neck to sniff her hand. She caressed his smooth, silky nose, and allowed him to lick at her palm, careful to keep her fingers pressed together. “Good boy.”

The horse snorted again.



“Do you have a name, boy?” she asked, stroking his long nose. Most Rom did not name their horses

– animals were unclean, and not deserving of such personal distinction. But Karina felt that this horse deserved a name. “I’ll call you…” she thought for a moment, “Penjerà.”

Penjerà whinnied softly.



“Good. I’m glad you approve.” She pulled the brush from her pocket and ran it down the horse’s neck

with firm, swift strokes. She felt the animal tense momentarily, then relax. “See, isn’t this better?”

Penjerà nuzzled her free hand with his nose.



“No doubt you’ve felt neglected these past few days.” Karina continued to brush the horse’s sleek coat,

sending tiny puffs of dirt into the air in her wake. “But I assure you that it isn’t Brishen’s fault. None of this is his fault, dear Penjerà.”

The horse tipped its head and seemed to peer at her with questioning eyes.



“It’s my fault,” she revealed in the same quiet, soothing tone. “My fault.”



He tossed his mane, shaking his head from side to side.



“Oh no, you can’t possibly think I’m innocent, too.”



Another snort. A muffled whinny.



“Would you like to go for a ride?” Karina asked. “It might do us both some good.” She slipped the bridle

off her shoulder and held it up. Penjerà looked at her warily. 88

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“Oh, don’t be so cynical, I have ridden a horse before,” she chided, carefully securing the bridle around the

horse’s nose. In lieu of a saddle, she removed her apron and draped it over Penjerà’s back. The large animal held still and allowed her to climb up – no small accomplishment given her height, and the horse’s size. When she’d finally straddled the horse, he snorted and tossed his mane again. To Karina the exhalation sounded almost like a chuckle.

“Alright,” she said, clicking her tongue and giving a soft kick with her heels. “Where shall we go?”



Penjerà broke into a trot as they moved away from the herd, in the opposite direction of the camp. She

glanced behind her and saw Elsbeth on the edge of the encampment, waving her arms frantically. Karina laughed and lifted her hand in a wave of her own, before spurring the horse to go faster.

“Good boy!” Karina praised as Penjerà began a gentle, loping canter. She smiled at the feel of the wind

lifting her hair from her shoulders, caressing her face, and she urged the horse faster. Then faster still. The trees blended into a blur of color, and Karina closed her eyes. She released the reigns to throw her arms out wide. For the first time in days, she forgot her pain.

She felt free.





When Karina rode back into camp, some time later, she found Brishen waiting for her outside her tent,

pacing nervously back and forth. His hair was untied, flying madly around his face, which was a mask of worry.

“What are you doing here? What’s wrong?” she asked.



“Del, Karina, what were you thinking?” he exclaimed in an excited whisper.



“What do you mean?”



“Elsbeth came to my tent sick with concern, rambling on about you stealing my horse and running away,

riding off with your skirts flying everywhere. You’ve been gone all afternoon. If you weren’t back by dusk she was going to tell her husband and have a party sent out after you. What were you thinking of, riding off alone?” He grabbed her by the arms, fighting the urge to shake her for such foolishness.

“I took Penjerà out for some exercise,” she explained. 89

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“Who?”



“Your horse. No one has tended to him, so I did it myself.”



“You named my horse?” He was incredulous.



“Yes. He’s a wonderful creature. We rode for hours. I didn’t go far. I just wanted to get away from

everyone’s staring for a while.”

Brishen surveyed her intently for a moment before crushing her to him in a tight embrace. “My foolish little

wife,” he whispered fiercely, cradling her head against his chest. “You scared me half to death.”

“I’m sorry.” She nuzzled against him and smiled, breathing in his scent. “Do we have an audience?” she

asked, feeling eyes on her back.

“Probably.”



“I suppose we should part company until this evening, then.” She sighed and reluctantly pulled away from

him.

“Probably,” he said again. “Besides,” he added, brushing dust from her shoulder, “you smell like horses. It

isn’t altogether pleasant.”

She gasped. “You --”



“Fiend?” he supplied with a grin.



“Yes!” She stomped her foot in mock anger, trying to hide her own smile.



“Well, I can’t be losing my touch now, can I?” With a wink, he headed off toward his tent. “I expect my

dinner to arrive promptly at dusk!” he yelled over his shoulder sternly.

Several women in the camp gasped and shook their heads, but Karina herself dissolved into a fit of helpless

giggles.

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Chapter Thirteen he knew he had been kidding, but Karina made certain to bring Brishen his dinner just as the sun was slipping below the horizon; when the camp was bathed in the fading light of its final, lingering

rays, and the shadows were grotesquely elongated, the chill of the air seemingly at odds with the warmth of the Earth. She could hear the mournful notes of his violin, growing louder as she approached, the melody a reluctant, somber cadence in time with the rustling of the wind in the trees. How does he do that? she wondered silently. He kept time with Nature herself, as if the Earth, too, obeyed the command of his bow.

She paused outside the entrance. Closing her eyes, she began to sway to the music as the melody seeped

into her, taking hold of her heart. Her hips moved back and forth in a gentle, lilting rhythm, and she felt her sex moisten. Continuing to dance, she lifted the tent flap to enter the dimly lit space, like Odysseus drawn to the Sirens’ call.

Brishen was seated on a three-legged stool, eyes closed, lost in his composition. His face contorted with

sadness, tears stained his cheeks, yet still he played. The melody was so maddeningly desolate, so persistently heartbreaking, that Karina felt her own tears loose themselves from behind her eyes.

Suddenly Brishen opened his eyes and saw her. She shook her head, the slightest of movements, pleading

with him to not stop playing. His fingers settled onto a low C and he held the note, drawing it out, adding the slightest vibrato to the enticing sound. 91

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She approached him with slow, deliberate steps, tugging the kerchief from her hair to free her blonde curls.

He continued to play, watching her intently. She heard his sharp intake of breath when she loosened the ties of her blouse and let the material slide down her arms to pool around her waist. Brishen’s eyes swept over her full, high breasts, the rosy buds of her nipples already puckered and tight. He wanted to bend his head and take them between his lips, but he continued to play, not wanting to stop. Not wanting to continue.

Karina cupped one of her breasts, lifting it in her palm and stroking her thumb over the nipple. She

trembled slightly at the delicious current sparked by her touch. With her other hand, she pushed her skirts down over her hips and let them fall, along with her blouse, to the ground.

Brishen had often wondered if it was possible to bring a woman to climax with nothing more than the

sound of his violin. Had actually thought it entirely possible, given the intoxicating effect he knew his music had on anyone who heard it. Now, however, was not the time to test such a theory – he felt himself growing hard at the sight of his bride standing before him. Gloriously naked. Magnificently willing.

He stood and closed the short distance between them, still playing. He surveyed her with unconcealed lust,

the smooth dip of her waist, the long, slender length of her legs, and the golden patch of curls between her thighs, gleaming in the flicker of candlelight.

“On your knees, love,” he commanded her huskily over the music. She obeyed, trailing her hands down

his sides and tugging off his breeches as she dropped to the floor. His cock stood erect before her and she leaned forward, tongue snaking, out to lick at the smooth, silky head.

The tempo of his music increased a fraction, but Brishen’s playing didn’t falter. His melody lost some of its

somber tone, shifting from a minor key to a major one, transitioning seamlessly from a song of sorrow, into one of longing and desire.

He glanced down to watch her over the curve of the violin, and noticed one of her hands between her own

legs, moving in tiny circles as she pleasured him with her mouth. He groaned and the tempo increased again, almost against his will.

His control nearly shattered when she moaned, soft lips trembling against him.



“Turn around,” he said in a strangled voice.



Confusion clouded her features, but she did as he asked, turning her back to him and dropping down onto 92

Svetkavista all fours to peer back at him curiously. He knelt behind her and pressed his cock against her, seeking entrance. She reached back and wrapped one hand around his prick, guiding him into her.

He struck a fierce, triple-stop chord as he entered her. And when he felt her shudder, and heard her low,

satisfied moan he faltered for the first time, his bow skidding across the strings in momentary distraction.

He held his body still until he’d regained control, and then began to move in and out of her. Slowly at first,

but quickly gaining speed, and still his violin continued to sing, his lithe fingers dancing over the strings, the bow almost a blur.

“Yes!” Karina screamed. Her fingers snaked between her legs again and she began to come, shoulders

heaving, face tilted to the side, a flush of color racing up her throat to grace her cheeks.

He was playing faster now, frantically, the slap of flesh against flesh a rhythmic cadence, Karina’s high,

keening wails a perfect accompaniment to his song. Her hips rocked back to meet each of his thrusts. Brishen gazed at her through hooded eyes, taking in the smooth curve of her back, the mess of golden curls that hung over her shoulders, over her breasts, swaying in time to his lovemaking. It was sensual. It was primal. It was beautiful. Quite suddenly he felt the overwhelming urge to touch her, to look into her eyes when he came. He laid the violin down beside them hastily, resisting the temptation to fling it across the room, and grasped her hips. She moaned loudly and ground her ass harder against him. He gritted his teeth and held her still long enough to slide from the warmth of her body. Karina howled at the abrupt emptiness, and tried to impale herself on him again. But he flipped her onto her back and mounted her swiftly, refinding his home in her tight heat. She lifted her legs and locked her ankles around his back, as if she feared he would leave her again. Her arms came up to grasp his shoulders as her head fell back, and her eyes squeezed shut. “Open your eyes, love,” he whispered in a strained voice. “Let me see you.” She obeyed, forcing them open, two liquid pools of blue. “Brishen,” she moaned, arching against him. Each stroke hit her womb and caused a flutter of delicious torment. She soared over the peak of release and Brishen followed close behind, coming hard and deep, bathing her womb with his seed. “One of these days,” he panted, rolling over and pulling her into the circle of his arms, “we’re going to get 93

Svetkavista ourselves in trouble.” “How so?” she asked, snuggling against his shoulder. “We just might make a baby.” She smiled broadly at the thought of it. “I think I’d like to have your baby,” she replied. “I think I’d like it very much. Shall we try again?” “Well,” he said with a laugh, brushing the hair from her face, “you’ll have to give me a few moments to recover, but then I’ll be happy to oblige.”





True to his word, Brishen made love to her long into the night. He was slow and gentle, stroking her hair,

whispering his love into her skin as she whimpered and clung to him, sighing, soft, breathy moans in return, and driving him to utter distraction. Their dinner sat cold and forgotten on the ground.

“So much for dinner promptly at dusk,” Karina giggled, sometime just before dawn.



He laughed and gathered her into his arms, kissing her hair. “I give you credit for your effort, love. But you

can hardly blame me for being distracted.”

She tipped her face to offer her lips, an invitation he readily accepted. “Your music moves me, what can I

say?” she murmured against his mouth.

“You are my inspiration.”



“I spoke with Papusza yesterday,” Karina ventured, eyeing him cautiously.



His face darkened immediately, eyes narrowing, lips thinning until they almost disappeared against his olive

skin. “Did you?”

“She is miserable from guilt.”



“As she should be.”



“Yes,” Karina agreed, continuing in soft, even tones. “And I told her as much. But she is not alone in

responsibility for this.”

He scowled. “Yes, she is.” 94

Svetkavista

“No. Brishen, it is as much my fault as it is hers. It’s easier to blame her for all of it. I know that very well.

But I played my part. I made the choices that led to this. Both of you think I’m so innocent, and I tell you now that I’m not.”

“She tricked you.”



“She didn’t.”



“She seduced you.”



“I wanted her,” she stated flatly, watching him.



“Was I not enough for you, then?” His expression remained one of rigidity, of coldness. He avoided her

gaze. “Was I wrong to want you for myself ?”

The ache within her chest was palpable. Why was everyone blaming themselves and not her? “Don’t you

see? I was the selfish one!”

“I suppose you were,” he acknowledged, visibly pained at the realization. His expression shifted to one of

grief. “But then so was I -- so was she.”

“She’s tried to recant her accusations. Her uncle won’t allow it. He’s determined.”



“I don’t blame him. I know how things looked.” He grimaced. “If either of us had stopped to think for

even a moment…” “Or if I had refused to leave…” “We all three are guilty of something, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” she nodded, “I believe we are.”



“No villains,” he muttered.



“What?”



“Something my mother used to say to me. ‘There are no villains, only people.’”



“Oh but there are villains,” she countered. “The men who took you, don’t you think they were villains?”



“I’ve often wondered why they did it,” he confessed with a sigh. “Have you ever seen Rom become violent

when they went about town? Not once has anyone from this tribe acted in such a way.”

“True. Did the elders know the identity of other tribe?”



“Not that they’ve told me. I assume no. And we’ve not encountered them since, to my knowledge.” 95

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“What if the scouts return with a baro who is from that tribe?”



“I’ve thought of that,” he replied. “It’s unlikely. But I suppose it could happen.”



“If it does?”



“What are the chances that this baro would even recognize me? Perhaps it would be a good thing. Perhaps

he would have some answers for me.”

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W

Chapter Fourteen hen Karina snuck across camp the following evening, Papusza was with her. She hadn’t discussed it with Brishen, but Papusza had suggested that the three of them meet in hopes

of devising a way to thwart Vesh’s plan for a trial; to somehow have the declaration of marhimè lifted, and Brishen found innocent without any of them having to testify. It was, perhaps, overly optimistic of the two women to hope that everything could be solved so painlessly, but neither wished to consider the alternative.

Brishen was outside his tent, stoking a small fire when they approached. Several strands of his hair had

come loose from where it was tied back, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. It was already dark, well past the time when Karina usually came to him, and none of the other women had brought him dinner. He was fumbling with a small iron pot and muttering curses under his breath as he tried unsuccessfully to secure it above the fire.

He heard the rustle of footsteps and looked up to see Karina come around the edge of the tent. “Just

because I forgot to eat last night doesn’t mean I care to skip dinner every night, love,” he teased with a smile.

She held up the bowl of soup in her hands. “Don’t be angry,” she said.



“You’re here now, and you brought food. All is forgiven.” He started toward her, but stopped abruptly

when he noticed the shadowy figure standing to her right.

“I meant, don’t be angry for this,” she gestured to Papusza, who stepped forward into the firelight. 97

Svetkavista

“I thought that perhaps we could think of some way out of this mess, the three of us,” Papusza interjected.

“It was my idea, so if you’re angry, blame me.”

“There’s been enough blame already,” Brishen stated, looking past them to the bonfire blazing in the center

of the Lăutari camp. They could hear the sounds of celebration drifting to them on the wind, the high-pitched notes of the flute, along with someone singing. “But if your uncle finds you here, he’ll probably kill me on the spot.”

Papusza shook her head and the galbì woven into the edges of her diklò chimed softly. “I haven’t joined the

dancing since the…since that night,” she finished awkwardly. “They won’t even realize I’ve left my tent.”

Brishen’s gaze shifted to Karina, who was watching him with wide, pleading eyes. “We should go inside.”



The two women filed into the tent. Karina set the bowl of soup on the ground and knelt on the pile of

blankets, her hands tucked primly between her thighs.

“We need to come to a resolution between us,” he announced.



“I suppose we do,” Papusza agreed, kneeling next to Karina.



“I assume that you love her,” Brishen said. He stood with his arms crossed, feet slightly apart. An

authoritative stance.

“I do,” Papusza said softly, eyes cast down.



“And I assume you still want her.”



“Yes.”



“And Karina, how do you feel?”



Karina looked from Papusza to Brishen and then lowered her own gaze to study her hands.



“I know you love him, Chey,” Papusza said. “Don’t be afraid of hurting me. I promise you won’t.”



“I love you both,” she whispered, her blonde hair falling over her eyes to hide her face.



“Do you still want her?” Brishen asked.



“I…Yes.”



“I think perhaps I would not be so jealous,” he said matter-of-factly, “if I were allowed to watch.”



Karina’s head flew up and she gaped at him. “To…to watch?”



“Yes. I will allow you to be with her in my presence only.” 98

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“How very kind of you,” Papusza remarked with a snort.



“Do you have a better solution? This way you can both be satisfied, and I won’t spend my days worrying

that whenever my wife is out of my sight it’s because she’s sneaking around behind my back. She won’t feel the need to lie to me. I won’t feel the need to spy on her.”

It was insane, Karina thought, cheeks burning at the notion of her husband watching her with her lover.

Only a whore or a wanton would agree to such a thing. And yet…part of her found the idea arousing.

“I see your point. But it’s up to Karina,” Papusza said.



They both turned to her.



“Are you agreeable to the idea, love?” Brishen asked.



“Yes,” Karina said, perhaps a bit too quickly. The crimson spots high on her cheeks darkened further.



Brishen’s eyebrows rose in amusement and his lips curled in a satisfied smile. “Somehow I knew you’d like

the idea.”

“Are all men the same?” Papusza commented to no one in particular. Her eyes were focused on the apex of

the tent’s roof, as if she were addressing some higher power.

“I used to think this one was a pig,” Karina supplied. “But he’s just a simple fiend.”



Papusza turned to Karina and took the other woman’s face between her hands, drawing her closer. “Did

you mean it?” she asked breathily. “When you said you loved me?”

“Yes.”



When their lips met, Karina’s self-consciousness melted away. She forgot Brishen’s presence entirely.

Letting out a contented sigh she brought her hands up around Papusza’s shoulders. Their breasts pressed together as they kissed, mouths parted enough for Brishen to see their tongues dancing. Papusza’s hands drifted lower, tugging at the hem of Karina’s blouse, and they broke their kiss long enough to disrobe, tugging off their clothing frantically until they were both naked, panting with anticipation and need.

Karina threaded her fingers through Papusza’s raven curls and guided the woman’s mouth to her nipple,

moaning when she felt her wet, warm lips close over the hardened peak. Karina’s other hand closed around one of Papusza’s firm breasts, and she kneaded it gently.

Eventually she pulled away and pushed Papusza to the ground, moving to settle between her thighs. She 99

Svetkavista held onto Papusza’s hips, her own ass high in the air as she buried her face in the other woman’s slick folds. Neither woman saw Brishen shed his clothes and begin to stroke his already hard and ready cock.

Karina licked the length of Papusza’s sex, darting her tongue inside before settling over her clit. She felt two

strong, rough hands grasp her waist, and gasped when Brishen slid into her, sheathing himself in one swift thrust. She moaned loudly, and Papusza cried out in turn, arms flung out prostrate at her sides.

Brishen withdrew from her suddenly, still painfully erect. Karina turned to look at him, puzzled. He

extended one hand to Papusza, who grasped his meaning instantly, taking it so that he could swing her around and pull her body down lower beneath Karina’s thighs.

Her tongue darted out to lave Karina’s swollen clit while Brishen slowly pushed two fingers into her. He

then bent his head and traced his tongue around the small, puckered hole of Karina’s ass. She whimpered when his fingers withdrew from her sex, but they were quickly replaced by Papusza’s. The wet warmth on her anus disappeared, and she let out a startled yelp when she felt the gentle prodding of Brishen’s index finger instead. He entered her timidly, waiting until he felt her relax before wriggling in a fraction of an inch more. When his entire finger was buried inside her, he began to move it in and out. After a minute, he added a second.

“Oh God,” Karina moaned. Papusza now had three fingers moving within her, and as Brishen continued to

stretch her ass, she felt impossibly full. “Oh God, I can’t.”

“You can,” Brishen told her. “Do you trust me?”



“Yes.”



“Don’t fight it, relax,” he told her, scissoring his fingers. She closed her eyes, concentrating on the

sensations Papusza was creating with her tongue and fingers, and the discomfort vanished almost entirely. Brishen thrust a few times more, and then withdrew. Before she could register his intent, he had already replaced his hand with the still wet tip of his cock.

Karina winced at the sting of pain when the mushroom head forced its way inside. Papusza continued to

stroke at her g-spot though, and lap at her clit, distracting her from the momentary ache. Brishen, meanwhile, was petting her back with one hand, long calming strokes. The other kept a firm grip on his cock as he eased himself between the pale, round cheeks of her ass.

With excruciating patience, he continued to force his way into her, inch by inch. Her pain was minute, the 100

Svetkavista pleasure of Papusza’s ministrations overriding her discomfort. She began to sway her hips, helping him, and when she paused, he did the same, allowing her time to stretch and adjust to the over-full sensation. Once he was fully hilted, he held still, savoring the feeling of her virginal tightness. Then he began to move at a placid, leisurely pace, as if he had all the time in the world.

Karina was trying valiantly to concentrate on pleasuring Papusza, with two of her fingers buried deep inside

the other woman’s sex. But she was only intermittently aware enough to focus on the task. The raven-haired beauty seemed not to notice, or to mind, as she laved Karina’s clit, receiving delicious shivers of pleasure each time Karina’s moans vibrated against her.

Karina let out a primal cry and desperately ground herself against Brishen. Her frantic surrender pushed

him to the threshold, and he increased the power of his thrusts.

The trio climaxed almost simultaneously. Brishen became rigidly still, curling his body against her back

and gripping her shoulders tightly. His body jerked and shuddered as his seed pulsed deep within her. Papusza screamed against Karina’s clit and bathed the blonde woman’s face in a rush of creamy fluid. Karina went limp from the force of her orgasm, collapsing on top of Papusza in an exhausted, satisfied heap.

“You said you only wanted to watch,” Papusza commented, breathing hard. She peered up at him from

between Karina’s thighs.

“Yes, well,” he ran a hand through his hair, and stroked Karina’s hip absently with the other. “I lied.”

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“Y

Chapter Fifteen ou look as if you’d like to sink into the ground and disappear, Chey,” Papusza noted around a mouthful of cabbage.

The trio was sitting in the center of Brishen’s tent sharing a meal. After their carnal urges had been satisfied they had, of course, been hungry, and so Karina had reheated their dinner over the fire. Karina was ashamed of what she considered her ‘wanton behavior’. The problem wasn’t that she’d disliked what had happened between them – it was that she had liked it. Very much. Brishen sensed this and put his arm around her waist, giving her a chaste kiss on the cheek. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, love,” he told her. “Never hide your passion from me. I realize now how foolish I was to try and keep you both apart. In fact, I can’t understand why I ever thought it was a good idea in the first place.” “I’m shocked,” Papusza retorted with a hint of sarcasm. “Even I make mistakes from time to time, dear Papusza,” he responded jovially. “Don’t tell me you have the same idealized view of me as my little wife?” “Idealized? No. Though perhaps slightly improved now that I’ve seen certain --” “But it’s wrong, isn’t it?” Karina interrupted their banter. “What we did is considered wrong.” “According to whom?” Papusza asked. 102

Svetkavista “God.” Brishen laughed. “If God were against lovemaking, don’t you think he would have made it less enjoyable?” “But don’t you think it was unnatural?” Karina pressed. “I’d say it was entirely natural, love. Besides, what we do in private is between us. If you’re worried about what anyone else will say -- don’t. It’s not their business. If you’re worried about what we think,” he gestured first to himself and then to Papusza, “then you should realize that we would never judge you.” “Of course,” the raven-haired beauty said nonchalantly, “we don’t have to do it again, if you don’t want to. She’s not being forced to, is she, Brishen?” He shook his head in an emphatic ‘no’. “If you didn’t like it…” “I liked it!” Karina exclaimed, her cheeks flushing crimson before she’d even gotten the words out. “I did like it,” she repeated, softer this time. In spite of the dull throb she felt radiating from her posterior, she had, indeed, liked it very much. “I just…Oh, you’re both awful.” Brishen drew her closer – she fit perfectly there against his side, he thought absently – and nuzzled her cheek. “We shall simply have to practice until you are entirely comfortable,” he murmured wickedly. “Over and over again.” “Over and over?” Karina repeated, tilting her face up to his. “Again and again,” he confirmed, lightly brushing his mouth against hers. “Until we make a baby?” Her eyes lit up, full of hope. “Well, we can’t make a baby doing precisely that, love, but yes, until we make ten of them.” “Only ten?” she teased, and then stuck out her lower lip in a pout. “Will you still find me desirable when I’m fat and pregnant?” He growled and kissed her again, capturing her full, soft lower lip lightly between his teeth. “I will find you very attractive when you are round with my child.” She giggled and leaned against him with a contented sigh, stroking her cheek against his shoulder like a cat. Papusza observed the interaction in silence, feeling a growing envy tug at her heart. She’d never felt love like that. At least, not with her husband. She shook her head and quietly pushed the icy tendrils of jealousy away. Even if she could vie with Brishen for Karina’s undivided affection, which she knew she couldn’t, now was not the time. “The scouts have been gone a fortnight,” she said, trying to sound casual at the change of subject. Trying 103

Svetkavista to sound as if she didn’t desperately want to it to be her arm around Karina’s waist. “Do you think they’ve encountered trouble?” Karina asked, turning to face toward her again. “Not necessarily.” It was Brishen who answered. “Depending on how fast the other tribe was moving, it’s not impossible that it took the scouts several days to find their camp. When we crossed their tracks, it was obvious they’d not been staying on one place for long.” “Exactly my point,” Karina said. “All the Rom have been traveling swiftly of late. What if they were stopped by a guard somewhere?” “This far into the hills, it’s unlikely,” Papusza shrugged. “Besides, we’ve been in the same place for almost a month. If there were guards here, they would have found us too.” Brishen nodded. “I agree. Besides, I’m not exactly in a rush for the scouts to hurry back.” “But, the sooner the trial starts, the sooner you’ll be cleared.” Karina’s wide-eyed, optimistic gaze shifted from Papusza to Brishen and his chest tightened painfully at her innocence. It was no wonder, he thought, that everyone around her wanted so desperately to protect her. “Sweetheart, being cleared is not a certainty,” he said gently, brushing his knuckles across her chin. “Then let’s make it one,” she replied simply. “I wish it were that simple. Even if Papusza refuses to speak before the krisnitorya, her uncle will testify, and tell them what he saw, which is plenty damning on its own. If she tells them nothing improper happened, she’ll face her own krìs for making the accusation in the first place.” “Maybe I should,” Papusza said, her voice strangely quiet. “No!” Karina exclaimed. “At this point, Chey, it may not be possible for all of us to walk away from this. Perhaps it’s best if I tell the truth.” “Then so will I. I’ll tell them about my own role in it, about what I’ve done.” “No,” Papusza and Brishen said in unison. “But--” “Absolutely not. I forbid it.” Brishen was firm, and his grip on her waist tightened. “I’m sick of all the lies,” Karina said bitterly, a sudden burst of anger coursing through her. “I’ve been lied 104

Svetkavista to my entire life, and now I have become a liar myself. I’m so sick of it.” “What do you mean by that, love?” “Have you ever looked at me?” “As much as possible,” he replied with a grin. “Have you ever looked at my sisters? My brother?” “Not that I recall,” he confessed. “I wasn’t interested in them.” “They don’t look like me,” she stated. They don’t look anything like me.”

“Chey,” Papusza spoke up, “forgive me, but what does this have to do with Brishen’s krìs? These are

mysteries that can be solved another time, aren’t they?” “I don’t think so.” She chewed her bottom lip pensively. “You heard Malko, this feud between your uncle and my father runs deeper than we’d realized. Maybe these ‘mysteries’ have something to do with it. If we can figure out what, perhaps we can convince Vesh to back off.” “How?” She shook her head. “I don’t know.”





Karina approached her father the next afternoon, intent on getting answers. Nicolae was replacing two of

the wheels of the family’s wagon, taking advantage of idle time to make some of the less urgent repairs that always seemed to become very urgent ones at the most inappropriate times.

“Dat,” she said quietly. They had not spoken directly in weeks, and though she knew his kind glances

and his firm defense of her character meant he was not angry with her, things had not been entirely comfortable between them.

“Karina,” he acknowledged, but he didn’t turn to look at her. It seemed he wasn’t going to make this easy.



“Dat,” Karina said again. “I need the truth.”



He kept his back to her. “About what, exactly?” He spoke to her over his shoulder, busying himself with

the tools laid out before him on the wagon’s bed. 105

Svetkavista “Why am I the only one with yellow hair?” Karina asked her father flatly.

“Phèn,” Nicolae said, and though he was clearly trying to sound angry, she sensed desperation in his voice.



“I want to know why. If what you’ve always told me is true, then why doesn’t Mala look like me? Why

doesn’t Mother? Why don’t you?”

“Karina, I won’t discuss this.”



“Who am I?” she pressed. “Am I even your daughter?”



That did it. He whirled around and roared at her, “Of course you are! Who raised you? Cared for you? Fed you?”



She took a deep, shuddering breath. Suddenly it was all so very clear. “I’m not, am I?”



“What do you want to hear?” he continued, taking a step toward her, which Karina countered with a move

backwards. “That your real mother was Lăutari? That some pig of a soldier raped her when she was caught stealing from a nobleman in Pressburg? That her husband rejected her after she realized she was with child and shunned her, declared her marhimè? That she killed herself after your birth, when you came out with a head covered in golden curls? What good would it do for you to know these things?”

Karina took another involuntary step backwards, his words tangible, icy daggers that pierced her heart. It

was as if she’d been struck, the wind knocked out of her. Her head swam with dazed confusion. So this was the prikàza her family referred to. It was suddenly, painfully obvious why no Argintari man had ever wanted to marry her. Illegitimate half-breed, her mind whispered to her furiously. Dirty, tainted, bastard child.

Her knees buckled. She reached out to steady herself, but was too late, and she collapsed to the ground, her

palms sinking into the soft mud. Something she barely managed to keep her face from doing as well.

Nicolae’s strong, rough hands grasped her waist and lifted her upright, setting her down on the edge of the

cart bed. “How…” she began slowly, searching for coherence amidst the turmoil of her thoughts. “How did you come to raise me, then?”

“Your mother was my brother’s wife.”



“But you said she was Lăutari.”



“She was. My brother met her when we crossed paths with her tribe outside of Fahlendorf. He disobeyed

our father’s wishes when he married her, and brought her to live with us.” 106

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Nicolae had never mentioned a brother before. And Karina’s grandfather had died when she was a child.

“Where is your brother now?”

“Gonimè.” Banished. He sighed and sat down beside her, the wooden frame of the cart groaning and shifting

under his considerable bulk.

“What was my mother’s name?”



He paused. Her calm, detached acceptance had unnerved him. “Karina.”



“Who named me?”



“I did. My brother refused to do it.”



“Why do you hate Papusza’s uncle so? Did he have something to do with my mother’s death?”



Nicolae shook his head. “Not to my knowledge.”



“Then why?” At the reluctance she saw in his eyes she reached out and laid a tiny hand on his arm.

“Father, it might help clear Brishen.”

“And why should I care about the fate of the violin player?” he asked gruffly.



“He’s innocent.”



“You still wish to marry him, then.”



“No matter what,” she said truthfully.



“Why?” Nicolae looked at her, suddenly concerned. “Has he gotten you with child?” He clenched his fists.



She started to say no, but her own words drifted back to her. I’m sick of all the lies. “It’s possible,” she

confessed quietly.

There was silence for several long, tension-filled moments. Karina saw the muscles in her father’s jaw flex as

he ground his teeth together, felt the ripple in his upper arm as he continued to clench and unclench his fists. “Did he force you?”

“No. It was my choice. I did it because I love him.”



To her surprised Nicolae laughed. “Your entire life I’ve tried to keep you safe from the truth of who you

are, and I see now that it didn’t matter. You’re exactly like her anyway.”

“Like my mother?”



He nodded. “She said those very words once, in response to the very same question.” 107

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“She did?”



“After our father forbade the marriage, she fled with my brother. He knew that if they consummated their

relationship, our father would have to accept it. When they returned several days later, my father was concerned for Karina. He asked her if my brother had forced her. She said that it had been my brother’s idea, but that she’d done it because she loved him.”

“How did she die?” Karina wasn’t sure she wanted to know, but couldn’t stop herself from asking.



Nicolae shook his head. “That I won’t tell you, Phèn. You don’t need that picture in your head.”



“I still don’t understand how Papusza’s uncle fits in,” Karina said, struggling to focus on something,

anything, that didn’t torture her emotionally.

“What makes you so certain he fits in at all?”



“So you don’t hate him?”



“No, I hate him,” he confirmed. “For one thing, he obviously did a rather poor job of keeping an eye on

you each night like he was asked to.”

“Keeping an eye on me?”



“Of course,” he chuckled. “You honestly believed I didn’t know you snuck out every night, Phèn?”



“Well…yes,” she admitted sheepishly.



“I knew. I wanted to stop you. Your mother said it made you happy and I should allow it. I mentioned it

to Malko, who, in turn, asked Vesh to keep an eye on you and make sure you weren’t harmed.”

“Do the other elders know who I really am?”



“Yes. There are very few secrets between us. The elders of the other tribes, at the time of the merge, were

curious about you. You were just a child, but they worried that you would call attention to the kumpa’nia. They thought you were a gajè child that we had stolen. I’d never heard of such a thing, but it seems Vesh had.”

Karina flinched at that, her thoughts drifting to Brishen and the story of his past.



“I had to tell them the truth,” he continued. “Once they knew it, they all agreed to keep the secret from the

other members of their tribes. We told the others that you were my daughter, and no one was the wiser for it. Vesh seemed to take personal offence at my raising you. He said that you were Lăutari, and you belonged with Lăutari. He wanted so much to raise you himself. His wife was barren, you see.” 108

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She nodded. Sweet, kindly Elsbeth always doted on the children, and yet had none of her own. How difficult

that must be for her, she thought, her own desire for a child giving her newfound insight into the older woman’s mind. “You wouldn’t allow it?”

“Of course not,” Nicolae snapped. “You were twelve years old. I’d raised you from the second day of your

life, you were – are – my daughter. And that man is a liar, and a troublemaker.”

“I’d like to speak with him. Perhaps this can all be resolved, father.”



“No. I forbid it,” he said firmly. “You are a woman now, Karina, but you are still my daughter, and I forbid

it. You will accept what I’ve told you, and you’ll not pursue it.” He stood and tilted his face skywards to where the sun had begun its arcing descent into the hills. “It’ll be dark soon, Phèn. I imagine that man of yours will be expecting his supper.”

She nodded. This conversation was the most her father had ever said to her, at one time, in the whole of

her twenty-three years. But it was clear, as she watched him again turn his back to her, that the conversation was over.



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K

Chapter Sixteen arina left her father and went directly to Vesh’s tent. Now was not the time to follow her father’s orders, or to be satisfied with the half-truths he’d told her. It was time for answers.

For though she was grateful for his honesty, she didn’t entirely believe his story. Not once before today had she ever heard mention of a brother. That didn’t sit well with her, and neither did Nicolae’s gruff denial of Vesh’s involvement in her mother’s death.

Vesh was seated outside his tent with a bowl of soup in one hand and a flask of liquor in the other. Elsbeth

bustled about him in small, frantic circles, refilling both containers as they emptied, though it seemed she was refilling the flask far more frequently than the bowl. She hummed to herself idly, nodding her head in time. Her face lit up pleasantly upon seeing Karina approach, but her smile wavered when she saw the younger woman’s serious expression.

Karina nodded to her, and Elsbeth gathered her skirts, setting down the skein of rakia before scurrying off

to join the other women preparing the bonfire.

Vesh looked up at the commotion and started to call his wife back, but then he saw Karina standing before

him with her hands clasped neatly in front of her.

“Phurò, I must ask you something,” she said with no preamble.



“What is it, Karina?” 110

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“Did you know my mother?”



“I don’t know her well, shebari. We don’t much associate with the Argintari women, as well ye know,” he

answered, taking a swig of rakia.

“I meant my real mother,” she stated flatly.



“So he’s finally told you, then?” He didn’t seem surprised at all, he simply took another long draught of

brandy. He was quite obviously drunk. His eyes glazed as he sat swaying slightly back and forth on his stool. Karina decided his inebriation was a blessing. If liquor loosened his tongue as thoroughly as it did hers, this would be easy indeed.

“He told me some things. I came to you to find out the rest.”



“Ahh, ye worry that what he told ye was not the entire truth of the matter.”



“Yes,” she admitted, both grateful for, and startled by, his directness. Her conversation with Nicolae had

been like pulling teeth. So far, this one was entirely different.

“Then ask yer questions.” He took another swig of rakia and extended the flask to her, indicating an empty

crate off to his right where she might sit.

Karina dragged the crate over to the space opposite him and perched on it, before accepting the offered

liquor. She took a deep swallow. “Did you know my mother?”

“Aye. I knew her well.”



“She was from your tribe?” Her eyes widened and she took a second draught of the brandy before giving it

back. “I thought… Dat said no one knew about it, except the elders.”

“That’s true, so far as I know. We crossed paths – our tribe and your father’s – several years before yer birth.

But we went our separate ways, and it wasn’t until several days later that Kar -- yer mother -- ran off. We had no idea where she’d gone. We sent scouts to search for her, but they didn’t run into the Argintari tribe. Whether she had run off, wandered off, or been taken against her will, we never knew.

“When the tribes merged, it was many years later, and she was already long dead. I imagine she would have

been recognized immediately, had she still lived, but since she did not… I did not recognize yer father until he told me his story.”

“And his brother was gone as well,” she mused. 111

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“Who?” Vesh was clearly confused. Karina suddenly felt nauseous.



“My father’s brother. My mother’s husband.”



“Brother? Oh, shebari,” he shook his head. He reached to his side and retrieved the extra skein of liquor

that Elsbeth had left for him. “Here, I think you need to drink more.”

She hesitated. Was he trying to dull her senses so that he could trick her? “Trust me, you do,” he said,

pressing the skein into her hand.

As if on cue, the lilting melody of Brishen’s violin drifted to her on the wind, caressing her ears. The wind

teased her blonde curls, lifting them off the nape of her neck to stroke her cheek. The caress soothed her, and strengthened her resolve. She took a small sip of the brandy and looked at Vesh questioningly. Whatever he had to tell her, she would bear it.

“Nicolae has no brother.”



Karina’s eyes widened and she choked on the rakia, nearly dropping the skein. “What do you mean?” she

gasped out. “My mother was married to his brother.”

“Yer mother was married to Nicolae, Karina. It was he who swept her off her feet and stole her away. And

it was he who shunned her after she was raped. He broke her heart, and caused her death.”

“But he said she took her own life.” Karina’s voice was a terrified whisper.



“Aye, she did,” he confirmed. “But had he not turned his back on her, she would be alive still.”



“How do you know?”



“Because I loved her too. She was to be my wife, before Nicolae caught her eye, and she his.”



“I don’t believe you.” She raised the skein to her lips and gulped the liquor. She hoped the effects would be

immediate and numbing. Even if what Vesh was telling her was a lie, his words had torn holes in her heart.

“I loved her,” he told her again. The admission was said softly, completely the opposite of Nicolae’s

demeanor as he’d made his revelations. It seemed so simple, such an easy thing, this shattering of her reality.

Karina again brought the flask to her mouth, letting the bitter liquid slide down her throat, leaving a trail of

flame in its wake. She continued to hold the skein upside down, even after she’d drained the contents, hoping to coax out a few more precious drops. Finally, she flung it to the ground in frustration.

Vesh watched her carefully through somewhat blurry vision, trying to gauge her reaction. The last thing he 112

Svetkavista needed was to have the damn girl sobbing in his arms for the second time in a fortnight. Trouble followed her. It was not her fault, he realized, but Del had cursed her. Fair or not, she seemed to be paying for her fathers’ sins.

“I take it she didn’t love you,” Karina said eventually, her words slightly slurred.



“No.”



“My grandparents?”



“They died shortly after she disappeared. She was an only child. Her poor mother doted on her.”



“And you never told anyone who I am? Not even Elsbeth?” she pressed, swaying slightly now too. Her

hands gripped the edges of the crate in attempt to maintain her balance.

“Elsbeth,” Vesh sighed. “She was infatuated with me. After Karina left…I decided to marry her. It was a

wise decision, I suppose. She has been a good wife. But she’s given me no children…” he trailed off and shook his head, clearing his thoughts. “No, I never told her. We elders were sworn to secrecy.”

“Is it true that you had asked to raise me as your own child?”



“Aye. Yer Lăutari, you belong with yer own kind. Not with the man who drove yer mother to her death.

The man who rejected you in the womb.”

“I’ll live with the Lăutari now that Brishen and I are to be married,” she reasoned. “That is, once the

marhimè is lifted.”

Vesh made a sound that was a combination of a growl and a snort, deep in the back of his throat. He said

nothing.

“Do you seek to punish Brishen for what happened to my mother?” she asked bluntly.



“Someone should be punished!” he exclaimed. “And Brishen is guilty of his own crimes,” he added swiftly — a bit

too swiftly for Karina’s taste. More pieces of the puzzle clicked into place.

“But Brishen had nothing to do with what happened to her.”



“He’s a half-breed. Don’t tell me he’s innocent,” Vesh spat.



“So’m I. I’m more at fault than he is for my mother’s death, more so than my father, even. She killed

herself when she saw me. Why do you not hate me as you hate him?” Her words were now heavily slurred, almost difficult to understand, and her swaying had worsened. She gave off the appearance of being perched atop a tall ship sailing in stormy seas. She was making Vesh dizzy. “In fact,” she stumbled to her feet and glared at him 113

Svetkavista through bleary eyes. “I think you seek to avenge the wrongs done to my mother through me. But you can’t. Go blame those pigs that work for the Empress, not my husband!”

Vesh snorted at her. She was drunk, but the reference to Brishen as her husband didn’t go unnoticed.



“She’s dead, Phurò, get over it,” she concluded. “She didn’t love you anyway.”



He couldn’t stop himself. He rose to his feet, towering a good two feet over her, and lashed out, striking her

cheek with a resounding slap. Karina’s hands flew to her face, pressing against the sting of his blow. She gave him a final, mournful glare before turning and hurrying away in the direction of Brishen’s tent.

“Just like yer mother,” he called angrily after her.



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Chapter Seventeen arina fled recklessly through the camp, not caring who saw her as she ran. Her destination was obvious, her distress even more so. One thought dominated her mind now -- his name, repeating

over and over like a mantra. She felt the gentle caress of his music and it spurred her steps faster as she stumbled through a haze of intoxication and tears, vision blurred, legs unsteady. The depth of her newfound knowledge was finally registering, the realization that her entire life had been a lie settled in her addled brain. It had smacked her in the face, just as Vesh had smacked her, that cold, hard blow to her flesh and soul. The guilt she had thought unbearable before was back tenfold, screaming inside her head.

Destroyed your lovers. Killed your mother. Bastard child. Half-breed. Whore.



When she reached his tent the music was nearly overwhelming, and unmistakably his. She lifted back the

flaps and, without hesitation, pushed herself inside the cozy space.

Karina launched herself at him and Brishen nearly didn’t have time to put down his violin and catch her. As

it was, she sent them both tumbling down onto the soft blankets, his hands gripping her waist, her palms planted firmly against his hard, smooth chest. She straddled him, legs splayed, skirts riding up to her hips.

“Karina, wha--” he began to ask with concern. He could smell the liquor on her breath, knew she was

drunk, but it was the look in her eyes that stopped his words.

They were wild, feral, almost crazed. “Do you love me?” she demanded. 115

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“You know that I do.”



She leaned forward, bringing her face a hair’s breadth from his. “Do you want me?”



“I always want you.” To prove his point he pumped his hips once, grinding his rapidly hardening cock

against her.

Her lips curled into a smile, though the warmth of it failed to reach her eyes. She slid herself up and down

his length moaning at the friction created. She felt her clit begin to throb, felt herself grow damp.

In spite of his concern – or perhaps because of it – Brishen’s body responded at once, and he moved his

hips with her, running his hands up and down her back, pushing her blouse up to access her bare skin. She sat up straight again and pulled the garment over her head, tossing it impatiently aside. He leaned up to close his lips over the bud of one nipple, giving it a gentle nip.

“No,” she said, bringing her hands around his neck to tangle them in his chocolate locks and crush his head

against her. “Harder.”

He fought her hold, pulling back to look up at her with questioning eyes. She gazed at him defiantly, and

so he lowered his mouth to bite her again, just a bit rougher though, not truly honoring her request. Her flesh still bore the angry, purple bruise from when he’d last marked her, and he didn’t want to hurt her again.

She jerked at his hair, scratching her nails over his scalp, making him wince. “I said harder!”



When he still hesitated, she twisted her fist, tugging cruelly on his curls. His jaw clenched reflexively at the

stinging pain, and his teeth sank deep into her creamy skin.

“Yessss,” she hissed. “Do it again.”



He started to say no, but he felt her hand tighten in his hair once more. If he obeyed her willingly, he’d at

least be able to have some control. He held onto her hips and bit her a second time.

Karina howled – a high, animalistic sound of satisfaction. She wrenched her breast away and offered him

the other one while, at the same time, fumbling with his breeches. When he balked, she realized that she could not disrobe him and maintain her grasp on his hair.

With a snarl, she released him, lifting herself up enough to tug his breeches down to his knees, exposing him

to her hungry gaze. She wrapped her fist around the long, heated length and stroked it, squeezing him so hard that he gasped and reached down to stop her. 116

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She smacked his hand away. “That’s against the rules,” she said sternly as she moved up to impale herself

on his cock.

Brishen groaned. “What are the rules?”



“I’m in charge.” She fucked him relentlessly, lifting herself up only to slam back down onto him, again and again. The force

of her thrusts was almost painful. Her ass struck his thighs repeatedly. Still, he lost himself in the feel of her, the silken heat that clenched his length. It wasn’t until she raked her nails across his chest and he looked down to see tiny beads of red on his olive skin that reason kicked back in.

He had to stop this. He pulled away and took hold of her wrists, holding them still in front of her. He felt the tension in her

muscles as she prepared to struggle. “Karina,” he said gently. “What’s wrong?”

“Wrong?” she gave a short, mirthless laugh, leaning forward to look deep into his eyes. Her elbows dug into

his abdomen. “I destroy everything,” she whispered.

“No you don’t.”



She laughed again. Then she pressed her lips to his and thrust her tongue into his mouth. When he

responded by pushing his own tongue past her teeth, she bit him.

Not releasing her wrists, he shifted his grip to free one arm, wrapping it around her waist and rolling them

over. He lifted her hands above her head, and pulled almost out of her body.

“You are my light,” he said, sinking back into her, his pace maddeningly slow. “You bring life to my music,

to my heart, to my soul. That, my love, is the farthest thing from destruction I can think of.”

“Stop,” she said, but he saw that he was getting through to her. Her arms had relaxed somewhat, the fight

draining out of her.

“Stop what?” he asked, kissing her sweat-dampened forehead.



“Stop loving me!” she cried. “I don’t deserve it.”



“You are perfect,” he murmured, continuing to thrust in the same languorous rhythm. “I’ll love you

forever.”

“No,” she said. “No.” 117

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“Yes.” He freed her hands but she made no attempt to move them, lying limp beneath him, resigned. “I

love you,” he told her again.

“No.” She was crying now.



“Yes. I love you.”



“No.” A mere whisper this time. Her body shuddered, that fluttering deep within her womb. She was

close.

“I love you, Karina.”



Her orgasm hit like a tidal wave, drowning out her sorrow, her anger, her pain. For the briefest of moments

there was only him inside of her, and his love surrounding her, and she was free.





“Are you ready to tell me what happened today?” he asked gently, his head propped up on his fist as he lay

with one leg thrown over her waist.

“No,” she sniffed.



“I take it your father didn’t give you the answer you’d hoped to hear.”



“That depends, really.” Karina ungracefully wiped the back of her hand over her nose. Looking at her

hand, disgusted, she remarked, “Why do I cry about everything all the damn time?”

He chuckled and handed her his shirt – ironically, discarded after their lovemaking had concluded – to clean

her hand. “Well, why don’t you let me be the judge of the appropriateness of your tears, love.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”



“I believe you do.”



She sighed. “Are you going to torture me until I tell you?”



“Torture?” Brishen chuckled. “Not unless you call this,” his hand kneaded one breast, coaxing the rosy

peak to attention, “torture.”

“I call it torture of a most delicious variety,” she replied, arching into his touch.



“I should like to know what caused my wife to act like a crazed animal,” he said honestly. “Not that I mind 118

Svetkavista when you let your passions loose,” he added continuing his idle massage. “But I have never seen you like that before.”

“Did I frighten you?” She flushed slightly, from guilt at her previous actions as well as from pleasure at his

current ministrations.

“No, not frighten, exactly. But I’m concerned.” His fingers ghosted down the smooth plane of her

stomach, tracing lazy patterns as they traveled.

She shivered, and shimmied closer to his comfort and warmth.



“What are you afraid of ?” he asked.



She sighed again and closed her eyes, silently cursing his insight. “Nothing?” she offered, opening one eye a

crack to watch his reaction.

“I don’t think nothing would make you get piss drunk and then try to fuck me to death,” he said bluntly.



Her eyes flew open at his coarse language. He’d never spoken like that around her before, other than to call

Papusza a whore. “I…I didn’t…I mean I wasn’t,” she sputtered.

“No? I thought you were going to snap off my -- oomph!”



Karina gasped and elbowed him in the ribs before he could complete the sentence. “I didn’t hear any

complaints,” she said defensively.

“Well, I always try to be optimistic in any situation,” he quipped.



“I didn’t hurt you too badly, did I?” her lower lip quivered, her eyes glistening with the threat of fresh tears.



“No, sweetheart, you didn’t hurt me at all. I wish I could say the same, however.” His fingers trailed back

up to her breast, lightly tracing the fresh bite marks.

She chewed her lip, which trembled between her teeth. “My father and Vesh…told me things.”



“Go on,” he urged. He continued to caress her torso, short, soothing strokes.



Karina took a deep breath and closed her eyes again. Then she told him everything – Nicolae’s halting

confession, Vesh’s contradictions, her own indignant outburst…All of it. She cried as she spoke, tears rolling down her cheeks in symmetric trails.

Brishen stayed quiet through the entire tale, encouraging her silently with his comforting touch.



She wouldn’t look at him once she’d finished, convinced that he would shun her, now that he knew her 119

Svetkavista origin. She couldn’t blame him, she told herself, and resumed chewing on her lower lip. The tang of copper on her tongue indicated that she’d broken the skin.

“I admit, I didn’t think there was a connection between my situation and your father’s feud with Vesh,” he

said finally, “but it seems I was wrong. Once again, you’ve proven to be the smarter of us.”

She smiled ruefully, wincing as the action stretched the fresh cut on her lip and more blood seeped from the

wound.

“Del, Karina,” he said, noticing what she’d done. He picked up his shirt and, avoiding the corner that she’d

cleaned her face and hands with earlier, began to dab gently at the tear.

“I’m fine,” she whispered, pushing his hand away.



“You chewed a hole in your lip, love, you’re not fine.” He held her chin with one hand and resumed his

impromptu first aid.

“You don’t have to baby me. I know full well you feel sick at the thought of touching me now.”



Brishen couldn’t help it. He threw his head back and laughed; and laughed, and laughed, until his face was

also wet with tears. “My foolish little wife, have you forgotten the story of my own past?”

“No,” she sulked, feeling a bit like a coddled child.



“Then why do you think I’d shun you for having a gajè father, when my own father was gajè as well?”



“Your father didn’t rape your mother! You aren’t a…a bastard,” she spat the last word in a horrified whisper.



“You’re right,” he said gravely. “All this time, I loved you for your heart and your soul. Now that I know

the circumstances of your birth, beyond your control though they may have been, I’ll undoubtedly fall out of love with you immediately.”

She glared at him. “Are you even capable of being serious?”



“I think so,” he said, bending his head to brush his lips against her shoulder. “But I have to balance out

your foolishness -- not encourage it. Besides, it’s very difficult to be serious with you so magnificently naked beside me.”

“Did you even listen to what I just told you?” she asked, her annoyance overriding some of her fear and

shame.

“Mmm, hmm,” he mumbled, placing soft kisses along her collarbone. “I heard,” he dipped lower, kissing 120

Svetkavista each breast, “every…” then each nipple in turn, “…word.” He slid his body lower. “I think…” his attention was focused on her stomach now, kissing a trail down her ribs, “you…” he paused at her belly button, dipping his tongue into the tiny indentation, “are…” he kissed her hip, then the juncture of her thigh. “I’m what?” she prompted, spreading her legs, feeling herself grow moist. “Delicious,” he declared, easing his tongue between her folds. Karina was dimly aware of the fact that she should be annoyed with him for so quickly dismissing what she perceived to be disastrous truths regarding her origins. But as she brought her hands up around his neck to push him away, she felt the light brush of his tongue along the underside of her clitoris, and instead found herself tangling her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. “I’m angry with you,” she said. It came out as more of a moan than an admonition. “Okay,” he replied, his lips humming against her. “I mean it, Brishen,” she gasped, squirming beneath his skilled mouth. Damn him… “Uh, huh.” He continued, unfazed, tonguing the length of her sex. Karina felt the sensations begin to coil within her belly, her tension a cord winding tighter and tighter around some unseen spool, until all of her conscious thought became focused on the swollen bundle of nerves between her thighs. Tighter still he wound her desire until she was moaning and whimpering, her breasts flushed and heaving. He swirled his index finger through her wetness, then pushed it deep inside her ass. At long last, the cord snapped. She keened loudly, grinding against his face.

A delicate, feminine cough drew their attention to the tent’s entrance. Papusza stood watching them, one

hand buried beneath her skirts, eyes ablaze with desire. Her gaze settled on Brishen’s chin, slick with Karina’s honeyed release, and she licked her lips. “May I have a turn?”

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Chapter Eighteen awn was fast approaching. The trio had only the barest outline of a plan, and it wasn’t one that was guaranteed to work, by any means. Granted, they’d spent more time

indulging in carnal pleasures, than discussing their situation, but the brief discussions they’d managed between bouts of lovemaking had failed to produce a truly feasible strategy. Karina had not wanted to relive the day’s events a second time, but her lovers had both encouraged her to speak. Not only so that they could better understand things themselves, but also in the hopes that the more she talked, the better she would be able to come to terms with the truth she’d suspected – but feared – her entire life. Brishen had kept one arm wrapped around her and Papusza had held her hand in a firm, protective grip throughout the entire conversation. The raven-haired beauty’s eyes had widened as she listened to Karina repeat the tales told by Nicolae and Vesh. At the end, she shook her head and sighed. “I don’t much appreciate being used as a vehicle for my uncle’s revenge,” she stated, crossing her arms over her bare chest. She felt a bit awkward being naked in front of Brishen, but since he was also entirely nude, she ignored her discomfort. After all, it was simply one thing, out of many, that was making her uncomfortable at the moment. “Nor do I,” Brishen said. “I’ll confront my uncle alone,” Papusza offered. 122

Svetkavista “And say what?” Karina asked. She wasn’t so much worried about Vesh’s anger with her for telling Papusza of their conversation, as she was concerned that Vesh would be furious with Papusza for speaking to Karina at all, after they’d already been warned once to avoid each other. “I’ll say that…” Papusza thought a moment. “That if he continues to insist upon a trial, certain secrets he may not want to discuss will come to light.” “Will they? Will a baro really find twenty-year-old grievances relevant?” Brishen questioned. “He should. They obviously do affect how both my uncle and Karina’s father are handling this entire situation.” “I agree with you, Papusza, but what of Karina’s reputation?” “I honestly don’t care about that,” Karina said. “Not anymore. There are more important things at stake here than my reputation.” “Besides, it may not come to that,” Papusza said optimistically. “My uncle may agree with me and request that the marhimè be lifted.” “And he may not.” Brishen ran a hand over his face and sighed. “Well, it may not be the best plan, but it’s all we have at the moment, and we’re running out of time,” Karina nodded towards the tent’s entrance, where the first rays of morning light were peaking through. “Alright. You talk to your uncle today,” Brishen said. “In the meantime, I’ll see if I can’t come up with a better plan. We may actually be more productive apart than we are together.” His eyes swept over Karina’s naked form with open desire. She giggled. “As much as I dislike encouraging his ego, I believe your man is right,” Papusza said, also looking at the tiny blonde appraisingly. “Stop it, you two are making me feel…” “Loved?” Brishen supplied. “Well,” Karina reached for her skirts, smiling. “Yes.”



123

Svetkavista A loud commotion in the camp foiled their plans to sneak back undetected. It was far too early for everyone to be up yet, but the sounds of shouting and horses’ hooves were unmistakable. Karina hurriedly smoothed her skirts and peaked around the edge of the tent. There was a large crowd gathered in the center of camp. “Come on, we can join the outskirts of the crowd, they won’t know where we came from,” Papusza suggested. Karina turned to go relay news of the disturbance to Brishen and found herself eye-level with his chest. “Shall I try to sneak back and tell you what’s going on?” she asked. He shook his head. “If it is what I think it is, they’ll be summoning me soon enough. But you should go now, while you still can.” When she turned back around, he smacked her rump lightly. She started and threw an annoyed glare over her shoulder as she and Papusza made their way over to investigate. He smiled and winked at her. No one noticed the women as they arrived on the outskirts of the crowd, both standing on tiptoes and craning their necks to get a glimpse of whatever was at the center of the circle of gypsies. Finally, someone noticed them and whispered to the person in front of him to let them through. The crowd parted, allowing the pair to snake their way to the front. A short, stout, older man sat atop a sleek black horse. The horse was far too big for such a short man – he couldn’t have been much taller than Karina – but he had an air of regality about him that prevented him from looking ridiculous. Cords of red and gold hung from the horse’s bridle, and the reins were covered with the largest galbì Karina had ever seen. Fastened to the man’s shirt, over his left breast, was a pečàta, a brooch made of gold and silver adorned with tiny, sparkling jewels. In his hand was a njàko, an ornate double-headed mattock. Both were symbols of authority and respect. A Baro’s possessions. The scouting party had returned – successfully, it seemed. “Adrash de Sarày,” one of the scouts announced with a flourish. “Rom Baro of the Sarày tribe.” The Baro attempted to dismount. He swung one short, fat leg over the saddle and wound up hanging from the pommel with one hand, his njàko gripped tightly in the other. His oversized belly was pressed against 124

Svetkavista the stirrup. He was dangling from it like a fish from a hook. If the man had been anyone other than the most respected elder of a Romany tribe, the crowd would have laughed uproariously at the comedic display. The same scout who had announced the Baro with such a dramatized flourish rushed to help him, wrapping his arms around the old man’s meaty thighs and attempting to lower him to the ground. When Andrash released his grip on the saddle, the younger man went staggering backwards under his burden and would have fallen if Vesh had not stepped behind him lent his own considerable weight to the situation. “I can’t decide if this is good or bad,” Papusza whispered out of the corner of her mouth. Karina shook her head. She couldn’t decide, either. Andrash, finally steady, straightened and lifted his chin imperially, turning in a slow circle to survey the crowd with hard, beady eyes. His gaze settled on Karina and he studied her for a long moment, giving no indication of his opinion on her gajè appearance. His face betrayed no emotion at all until he had finished his inspection, at which point he frowned. “There is no kintàla here,” the Baro declared with a hint of sadness. “No harmony.” “There has not been for a long time, Phurò,” Malko replied, looking pointedly from Vesh to Nicolae. The Baro nodded. “So it would seem.”

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Chapter Nineteen ndrash did not seem terribly interested in rushing through the basic comforts of arriving at a new camp just so that he could attend to the matter at hand. In fact, he didn’t seem interested in

attending to it at all. “Can we get you anything, Phurò?” Elsbeth asked nervously, poised to flurry off in her traditional whirlwind at a moment’s notice. “Some nourishment if you please, Rroma,” he replied. “And perhaps a place to rest, as well.” “Of course…of course.” Then she was off, skirts rustling. Several other women hurried to aid her by stoking the fire, which had been forgotten in the commotion of the Baro’s arrival. Karina remained frozen in place, not sure if she should lend Elsbeth a hand, disappear, or take the initiative to request an audience with the Baro at his earliest convenience. The man was not what she’d expected. And she got the impression that much of the kumpa’nia shared her opinion, judging from the nervous glances they were sharing, and the open stares directed at the squat, elegantly dressed man. Karina took the opportunity to study him, as the others were, while she debated what to do. Andrash de Sarày was a contradiction, holding the title of ‘Big Man’, yet standing not much taller than Karina, who was decidedly on the short side. In girth, however, Andrash lived up to his name. Karina guessed she could fit her entire body into just one of his pant legs. 126

Svetkavista Someone produced a crude, handmade chair from their tent and set it down near a stool that had been provided by another generous party. Andrash waddled over to his makeshift dining table – and waddle was indeed the most appropriate way to describe his gait – to sit down on the edge of the chair with a daintiness that bordered on femininity. The legs of the chair buckled visibly under the strain, and Karina held her breath for several seconds, expecting the legs to snap. Elsbeth and the other women returned. A slow processional of food and drink. The plump older woman would have been a good match for the equally rotund Andrash, Karina thought absently, watching as the honored guest was presented with tray after tray of food – chicken, dried beef, swine, cabbage -- food that the tribe had been stockpiling for months in case of emergency. The food was set down on the stool in front of Andrash, and when there was no more room on it, several crates were brought over. The Baro was unwilling to put down his njàko, and so he ate and drank with one hand, in a clumsy fashion that only added to his comedic appearance. The kumpa’nia elders hovered about for a few moments, until it became clear that Andrash was solely focused on his meal. Nicolae was the first to wander off, pointedly avoiding Karina’s gaze as he returned to his own side of camp. Vesh stalked off next, and from his gait it was obvious he had not yet had enough to drink that day. Papusza gave Karina a small nod and tipped her head in the direction of Vesh’s departure, then set off after her uncle. Karina held her breath as her friend caught up with him, straining to hear their conversation. “You there,” she heard a man’s voice call, foiling her concentration. She turned to find Andrash looking at her quizzically. “Me, Phurò?” “Yes, the golden-haired child.” He brandished a chicken leg at her, waving it enthusiastically. “Come here.” Suddenly, she was very nervous. She approached him with caution, stopping several feet away, hands primly folded before her, head lowered. “Closer, please,” he said around a mouthful of food. She obliged. “Where do you come from, daughter?” he asked. “From across camp, Phurò.” 127

Svetkavista “Argintari?” “Yes, though my betrothed is Lăutari, and I stay here now.” “Your parents, they are Argintari?” He took another bite of the chicken, then tore off a chunk with stubby fingers and offered it to her. She shook her head. How could he expect her to be hungry under the circumstances? “That, Phurò, is a complicated question.” “You’re too thin, daughter,” he said, before shrugging and stuffing the offered meat into his own mouth. The question of her parentage either forgotten, or discarded for the time being, he continued. “Why is it that your betrothed lets you stand alone in the midst of camp?” She hesitated. “Ahh,” Andrash said. “He is the accused, I take it.” She nodded mutely. This man was not nearly as dense as he appeared. She wondered if his bumbling clumsiness was an act, designed so that he might study people more closely without their knowledge. People often let down their guard around someone they thought a fool. “Your father did not dissolve the betrothal? Interesting.” “I do not wish him to,” she said, a bit louder than she’d intended. “Is he innocent, then?” Beady, sparkling eyes watched her closely. “Yes!” “Hmm…” Andrash licked his fingers and reached for a cabbage wrap. “We shall see.”





“Krìs will begin tomorrow,” Karina announced wearily as she entered Brishen’s tent. Andrash had held a

brief conference with the elders, after being satisfactorily nourished, and had announced to the kumpa’nia that the trial would begin after fast was broken the following morning. He’d said that the disharmony within the camps was alarmingly severe, and he wished to begin the process of mending it immediately. Then he’d asked for liquor, and more food. 128

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Karina had snuck away from the bonfire – which, for the first time in years, was surrounded by not only

Lăutari, but by Argintari, Kalderash, Ferari, and Potcovari, as well. She’d been conscious of eyes on her back as she slipped into the shadows, and knew full well that Andrash had seen her leave, and that he also knew her destination.

“Good, I tire of waiting.” Brishen sounded equally drained. “What is he like, the Baro?”



“Clever. He observed a great deal in a short time, and his observations were all accurate. This gives me

hope that he will be fair.” She sat down, settling into her customary spot against his hip. His hand immediately circled her waist.

“Well, I suppose we go in without a plan after all,” he said finally.



“We may not need one. The Baro sensed the tension between my father and Vesh instantly. I tell you, he is

no fool.”

“That will either be very good for us, or very bad.”



They fell into silent contemplation, each considering the possible outcomes of the trial. Brishen’s fingers

drummed a silent rhythm against her hip, working out some melody she hoped she would one day hear. Karina laid her head against his shoulder and sighed.

A rustling outside the tent caused them to look up as Papusza entered. She looked as haggard, if not more

so, than they did.

“I spoke with my uncle,” she said with a sigh, dropping down across from them with an ungraceful ‘plop’.

Her hair was a mess of tangles around her face, and there were dark circles under her eyes.

“I gather things did not go well?” Brishen asked.



She pulled her hair back to show her cheek. The right side of her face, which had nearly healed from

Brishen’s assault, sported a fresh bruise along her cheekbone.

“The pig,” Karina hissed, moving to Papusza’s aid. She gently inspected the bruise, stroking her friend’s

hair. “I should kill him.”

“That wouldn’t help us at all,” Papusza said with an air of detachment. She was staring blankly at the wall

of the tent, as if only dimly aware of Brishen and Karina’s presence.

“It would certainly make me feel better,” Karina said.



“And me as well,” Brishen added. 129

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“I thought…” Papusza trailed off.



“Thought what?” Karina urged. She held Papusza’s chin gently with one hand and tipped the other

woman’s face to look at her. Papusza’s eyes remained dull and lifeless, staring through Karina, rather than at her.

“Thought what, nivasi?” Karina asked again, using the Romany word for ‘faerie’. And indeed, she did look

like one. Bruised and harried though she was, Papusza was still exceedingly beautiful.

“I thought he’d listen.”



“Tell me what happened,” Karina said gently.



“I asked him again to drop the charges. I said that it had been a misunderstanding, and I’d been wrong.”

She began to cry, but her voice held that same flat, lifeless tone as before. “He said that there were only two explanations for why I would have been in your tent indecently,” her gaze had sought out Brishen’s. “That if you didn’t force yourself on me, then that meant I’d offered myself to you. I’d never been called a whore in my life, until a fortnight ago, and now it seems I am called it all the time.”

“No, no, Papusza, this is my fault, all of it,” Karina soothed, pulling the raven-haired girl into her arms.



“Yes, let’s have another pity party where we pass the blame around amongst us like rakia,” Brishen snorted.



“Brishen!” Karina admonished, glaring at him as she cradled Papusza’s head against her chest.



“I’m sorry, love, but I’m sick of it. Her uncle is an asshole, and your father is a murderer, and here we are

with the weight of the world on our shoulders. I suggest you lovely ladies kiss and make up, and…distract each other from the worries of tomorrow.”

Papusza cautiously opened one eye to look at him, cocking her head. She noticed, for the first time, several

empty flasks discarded in the corner of the tent. Her gaze shifted to study Brishen again. Through the haze of her tears, she could just make out the red tinge of bloodshot in his eyes.

“You’re drunk,” she declared.



He shrugged and flashed them a devastatingly seductive, though slightly lopsided, smile.



“Oh, my lord, you are,” Karina said. She’d been so absorbed in thoughts of tomorrow that she hadn’t

noticed.

His smile faded to a pout. “You were drunk yesterday,” he said defensively.



“Yes, but I had no idea the Baro would be arriving today. When did you start?” she asked, glancing at the 130

Svetkavista corner of the tent to where Papusza had pointed. She counted three – no, four -- flasks.

“Hmm…sometime after you left, and before you returned again.”



Karina groaned. How had she not noticed his intoxication before? His eyes were clearly bloodshot, his

shirt rumpled. And he was only wearing one shoe.

“Well?” he said, arching one eyebrow. “I’m waiting.”



“For what, your wife to throttle you?” Papusza asked.



“No,” he grinned again. “Although the last time she tried that--”



“Brishen!” Karina yelled, giving him a furious glare.



“Hold on, I think I’d like to hear this.” Papusza looked up at her with an impish smile.



Karina did the first thing she thought of to stop the confession. She took the other woman’s face between

her palms and kissed her. She heard a satisfied chuckle from Brishen but ignored him as she deepened the kiss, exploring Papusza’s mouth with her tongue. Probing gently at first, then with more insistence. Their kisses were usually soft and delicate, but not this one. Not tonight. They warred for dominance Karina taking the lead one moment, only to relinquish it the next. Her hands were languorously exploring the soft flesh of the other woman’s lower back, as her tongue continued its assault.

In a mess of skirts and skin, the women fell back on the blankets, only breaking contact long enough to pull

their blouses over their heads. Soft, pale breasts pressed against smooth, olive ones as they kissed again, their touch frenzied and desperate. Karina slid down her lover’s lithe body, settling between her thighs. She skimmed one finger through the dark patch of curls before her, contemplating how best to fulfill Papusza’s obvious need. She dipped two fingers between the soft folds of her dear friend’s sex, swirling them absently.

An idea struck her. Karina cautiously circled one finger around the tiny rosebud of Papusza’s ass as she

continued to tease the creamy walls of her sex with her other hand.

“Yes,” Papusza sighed, running her fingers through Karina’s hair. “Yes, like that.” She thought it likely that

Karina didn’t realize how important this was, but she knew. This would be their last night together. Karina’s place was at Brishen’s side, not hers. Regardless of the trial’s outcome, the dream she’d so long hoped to make a reality, was gone.

As Karina probed both entrances she swept her tongue over the bud of her lover’s clitoris, before taking it 131

Svetkavista between her lips. At the same moment, she pushed one finger deep inside Papusza’s ass, and slipped a third into her sex.

The raven-haired woman came immediately, screaming and writhing against her. Lost, for a few precious

moments, in blessed release.

When she recovered, she took hold of Karina’s shoulders and reversed their positions, intent on giving as

much pleasure as she’d just received.

Brishen was trying his damndest to leave the two women alone. He was sitting across the tent from them,

with his pants around his thighs, stroking himself and gritting his teeth against the urge to join them. As if on cue, Papusza glanced over her shoulder at him and smiled. Spreading Karina’s legs even wider, she crooked one finger and beckoned for him join her between those soft, creamy thighs.

He required no more convincing, pausing only long enough to shed his pants and kick them aside. He fell

to his knees beside the dark-haired beauty and began to nibble along one alabaster thigh, while Papusza did the same on the other.

Brishen started when he felt slender fingers wrap around his cock, fisting him with long, steady strokes.

How had Karina managed to reach?

Only, he realized after a moment that it wasn’t Karina’s hand. The feel of two hot, wet mouths against her was more than Karina could take. She bucked her hips and

relinquished all control to the pleasure, surrendering herself to a glorious climax.

When he felt her body begin to tremble, Brishen withdrew and sat back. He may have been drunk, but he

still realized how important this moment was to Papusza, and he forced himself to let her enjoy it alone. In fact, had he not been intoxicated, he likely would have forced himself to hold back from joining in entirely but he was, after all, only a man.

“Too perfect,” Karina whispered mournfully. “Nothing this perfect can ever last.”

132

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T

Chapter Twenty he trio spent the night in restless solitude. Karina had wanted them to stay together, but Brishen and Papusza both thought it unwise, lest the krisnitorya come for him early, and find the women

with him. It seemed an eternity to Karina. She spent the long hours huddled in her tent, knees drawn up to her chest, eyes squeezed shut in a futile attempt to chase away what she hoped were not prophetic images of a disastrous future.

When the sky finally began to lighten, she made her way to the river to clean herself, hoping that the early

morning rays would warm her heart, and light the darkness that churned within her. Karina’s eyes were nearly swollen shut from a night of crying, and her breath was still ragged as she stumbled along the outskirts of camp, hoping to remain invisible for as long as possible. Nearing the river, she felt bile rise in her throat and, before she could stop herself, she leaned against the worn bark of a tree and vomited. She dropped to her knees, shuddering, her tears renewed, retching long after her stomach had emptied.

“You are unwell, daughter?” a clear, calm voice sounded from not far away.



She jerked her head up to see Baro Andrash standing several feet from her, njàko grasped tightly in one

hand. Does he ever put that damn thing down? she wondered, and immediately chastised herself for the uncommon, and unwarranted, vitriol of her thoughts.

“I’m terrified,” she said finally. 133

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“Why is that?” he took a step towards her and crouched down so that they were face to face.



“Isn’t it obvious?”



“No. I was under the impression you would follow your man to the ends of the Earth, regardless of my

decision today.”

“I will.” She sniffed and swiped at her cheeks pathetically.



“Then you have nothing to fear, child.” He straightened and walked back in the direction of camp, his

waddling gait somehow a comfort to her.

“Nothing to fear,” she whispered softly to herself, closing her eyes. “Nothing to fear.”





Krìs convened midmorning. The entire kumpa’nia was present – some sitting on crates, and others standing

behind, forming a makeshift amphitheater. The elders of the five tribes sat in a straight line facing the crowd, with Baro Andrash de Sarày seated in the middle, heading the krisnitorya. Vesh and Nicolae flanked the other men on each side, as a symbol of their status only – neither man was permitted to be formal members of the krisnitorya given their close relation to the parties involved. There were two empty crates set equidistant from the crowd and the judges. One for the accuser. And one for the accused. Karina sat in the front row of the crowd, sandwiched between Elsbeth and her mother. Her sisters, brother, and their spouses sat just behind them.

Papusza was seated on one of the crates, and shortly after, Brishen was led in by two of the larger Argintari

men – unbound, but certainly not free. He was made to stand before his own crate. As he passed her he gave Karina a nod and a wan smile, but the halfhearted attempt at comfort failed to settle her nerves. If she’d thought them bad before, they were indescribable now. Again the nausea washed over her, and she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth in a desperate attempt to force the bile back down her traitorous throat.

“Oh God,” she breathed, springing from her chair to race into the open field before doubling over and

vomiting. She’d avoided food all morning, but her stomach didn’t seem to care, eagerly ridding itself of the small amount of water she’d dared to drink. Once satisfied that she had herself under control, she wiped her mouth with the underside of her apron and dabbed some of the clammy sweat from her brow. 134

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She walked sheepishly back to the krìs and noticed everyone watching her, including Brishen. Andrash had

waited for her return to begin. She nodded to the Baro in thanks and took her place once again.

“Are you alright, child?” It was Elsbeth who leaned over and whispered the question. Not her mother.



“Nerves,” she whispered back.



“Perhaps,” Elsbeth replied cryptically.



Karina returned her attention to the krisnitorya and found that Andrash was, once again, watching her with a

curious expression.

“Dosta!” he said, clearing his throat. “We begin.”



Brishen remained standing as he recited the amìra. “I come before the krìs to restore my purity and honor,

and may there be a curse upon my soul should I lie today.” He spoke softly, a sharp contrast to his typical, unruly bravado.

Andrash nodded to Papusza, who stood and recited her own amìra. “May there be a curse upon my soul

should I lie today,” she said, her voice wavering.

Andrash directed his attention to Brishen once more. “Is there anyone you wish to speak in your defense?”



“No, Phùro.”



Karina silently willed him to look at her, to call her name. His back was ramrod straight, the tension in his

shoulders clearly visible from where she sat.

“Are you certain?” Andrash pressed, gaze flicking to Karina’s desperate expression.



“Yes, Phurò.” Nicolae looked visibly relieved. Vesh scowled. Malko’s face remained impassible.



“Not even your betrothed? She seems to have something to say.”



“With respect, Phurò, she does not.”



“Very well,” Andrash resigned the issue with a shrug. He again turned to Papusza. “And you?”



“No, Phurò,” she replied.

Vesh spoke up, “I will speak on her behalf.”

“She does not seem to wish it,” Andrash said. “Do you, daughter?”



“I do not.” 135

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Vesh slammed his fist against his thigh and stood. “She does not have the right to make such a decision!

She cannot prevent me from speaking!”

“No,” Andrash conceded. “But I can, and if the woman does not require your testimony, it will not be

given.”

Vesh moved to protest, but the Baro shot him an icy stare and he clamped his mouth shut and sat down

again, his angry gaze shifting rapidly between Brishen and Papusza, as if he could not decide which of them he hated more.

Andrash gave Vesh one final, pointed look and then continued. “What do you wish to say about the

incident that has brought me here?”

“Nothing, Phurò,” Papusza said.



“Nothing? You accused him of attempting to rape you,” he leaned forward and propped his elbows against

his meaty thighs.

“Yes, I did.”



“And did he?”



“No, Phurò. He did not.”



A hushed murmur rippled through the crowd. Elsbeth pressed her knuckles against her mouth, her eyes

wide.

“Why did you not withdraw your claim?”



“I was not permitted to,” she said. And for the first time, her voice faltered.



“What do you have to say?” Andrash asked Brishen.



“Nothing,” he replied curtly.



“Did you lay with this woman?”



“No.”



“Did you try to?”



“No.”



“Lies!” Vesh roared, standing again.



“Sit down, Rom,” Andrash said through clenched teeth. 136

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“I will not! I saw it with my own eyes, and so did she,” Vesh continued, pointing at Karina.



“She saw nothing!” Papusza cried.



Andrash held up his hand. “Come forward,” he said to Karina. She rose and stood between Brishen and

Papusza, trembling so violently that her teeth chattered. “What did you see, daughter?”

“Nothing,” she replied, surprising herself with the clarity and steadiness of her voice.



“Liar!” Vesh hissed again.



“I have three people before me who say nothing happened, and only one who says otherwise,” the Baro

stated evenly.

“You are a liar and a betrayer, just like your mother,” Vesh said to Karina. His shoulders heaved with barely

restrained fury. “She is a bastard half-breed, and not to be trusted! And this one,” he pointed to Brishen with a clenched fist, “is an orphaned gajè. You believe them over me?”

Andrash flung his njàko to the ground in a sudden burst of fury and jumped to his feet. “I see now,” he

said, “why there is no harmony here. And it is not the fault of these children.”

“Two bastards and a whore are hardly children!” Vesh bellowed.



Before anyone could stop him, Nicolae, who had remained silent and calm throughout the entire

proceeding, strode over to Vesh and punched him squarely in the jaw.

Vesh went down like a stone in water, landing flat on his ass. He tensed, preparing to retaliate, when he saw

Malko standing beside Nicolae, arms crossed over his chest.

“This matter is concluded,” Andrash declared. “The accused is innocent. Marhimè is lifted.” He nodded at

Brishen, then turned to Vesh, who was rubbing his jaw and quietly fuming. “For you, however, it is not.”

Vesh merely glared at him.



“Until you face a krìs of your own for the disharmony you have caused amongst this camp, you are

marhimè.”

137

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V

Chapter Twenty One esh was escorted to the outskirts of camp and, once Brishen’s belongings had been cleared from the solitary tent he’d lived in for the past fortnight, the older man was deposited inside and left to

his own thoughts. Baro Andrash delivered a strict warning that should he attempt to speak with anyone in camp, he would face banishment without the privilege of a trial. Instead of outrage over Vesh’s isolation, the kumpa’nia seemed relieved. And like an early morning fog, the tension that had plagued the tribes for a solid month dissipated. Things seemed in harmony once more. The women, led by the stalwart, unmovable Elsbeth, lit several cooking fires in preparation for the celebration that always followed a favorable krìs, when the accused was found innocent, and the parties involved vowed to leave their grievances in the past. Karina was not part of the preparation. There was something she had to take care of before the party began. At her request, no formal announcement was made. Dressed in rich crimson, she snuck away from camp, with her mother, sisters, and Papusza. No one saw her go except Elsbeth, who shook her head and smiled, eyes misting happily. Waiting for them at the riverbank, Baro Andrash stood next to Nicolae, both men dressed in their finest. Brishen stood before the two men, hair pulled back against the nape of his neck, facial hair freshly shaved, wearing an embroidered jacket that was a red only slightly less brilliant than that of Karina’s dress. 138

Svetkavista Brishen almost groaned at the sight of her. The gown was a loose-fitting garment made of silk – a very rare possession for a gypsy – with a high, embroidered waist and a scooped neckline that hid the curve of her breasts, but left her neck and collarbone bare. The sleeves clung tightly to her arms and stopped just past her wrists to cover the backs of her hands in gentle “Vs”. The entire gown was sewn in fine gold embroidery, the patterns forming the symbols for luck and happiness. Threads of tiny, silver beads hung from the waist, chiming softly as she moved. She also wore the chain of gálbi Brishen had given her. Her long golden hair was left loose. The front locks were braided tightly away from her temples to show off her face. Large hoop earrings hung from her ears, brushing the tops of her shoulders. Karina smiled at him shyly. She felt beautiful for the first time in her life. Nicolae stepped forward and grasped her elbow lightly, leading her to where Brishen waited. She stood between the man who had cared for her as a child, and the one who would care for her as a woman, and together they faced the Baro. Nicolae recited, in Romany, his vow to release Karina into Brishen’s care, and gave his formal approval of their union before stepping back to join the small wedding party. The ceremony was brief, and simple. Andrash asked questions of them both with regards to their dedication to one another, and then Brishen recited an oath that complimented the one Nicolae had given, vowing to care for Karina and to assume the duties of protecting and providing for her, that her father had held for the first twenty three years of her life. When he was finished, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly on the lips, ignoring the shocked gasp that came from her mother and sisters at such a bold, public display. “Here, my love,” Brishen said, when he finally pulled back, placing a small pouch into her palm. It was identical to the one he’d given her the night before he’d asked for her hand. “This is for you. A wedding gift.” She smiled at him and opened the drawstrings, peeking inside. It was a bracelet made of silver – a flat, smooth cuff that curved gently at either end. Along the outside of the band were engraved figures – a woman dancing, and a man with a violin. They were strikingly detailed, intricately beautiful. “From you?” He nodded. “My mother had one almost identical to it. A gift from my father on their wedding day.” 139

Svetkavista “Commissioned by him, made by me,” Nicolae spoke up, and there was pride in his voice. She slipped the bangle onto her wrist, then turned and flung herself into her father’s arms. He was her father, she realized. The blood in her veins meant nothing, and neither did his past sins. He had raised her and loved her all her life. “Dat,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I love you.” Nicolae returned the embrace. “I love you too, Phèn. You chose well.” He looked over her head at Brishen. “Take care of my daughter, violin player.” “Well,” Andrash said, and Karina thought he looked almost sheepish. “Shall we join the celebration? I, for one, am hungry.”



“Will you be returning to your tribe soon, Phurò, or will you stay with us for a while?” Brishen asked as they walked back to camp. “I believe I will return,” the portly man said, slightly out of breath from the exertion of the trek. He walked beside the newlyweds, along with Papusza, one on either side. The others had hurried ahead to begin the spread of gossip about the secret nuptials. “Your tribe was moving fast, wasn’t it? We crossed your tracks once, not long before we sent our scouts for you,” Karina said. “My tribe has a mission,” Andrash answered. “What mission is that?” “We’ve been searching for our stolen children,” he revealed. A startled glance passed between Karina and Papusza. Both slowed to a stop. “Have you found any?” Papusza asked. “Aye, some. The old baron helped us a great deal in locating several small villages that the Empress has turned into foster towns for Rom children. Some are too small to remember who their parents are, or what tribe they were from, but at least they are back with their own kind now.” “Have you found any boys?” Papusza gripped her skirts with trembling fists. 140

Svetkavista “About half a dozen so far,” the Baro said. “Why? Have you lost a child?” “My son,” she whispered, her breath hitching. “What’s his name, daughter?” “Kalò.” She reached behind her blindly for Karina, who had come to her side and put a slender arm around her shoulders. “He would be six now.” The Baro thought for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he said finally, “I don’t believe we’ve found him.” Papusza let out a shuddered breath. “It was not likely, anyway. He was taken near Pressburg,” she said. Karina tightened her grip around the girl’s shoulders. “Ah, but that doesn’t matter. They are all being sent to the same villages to be raised. We’ve only been to half of them so far.” “You mentioned an old baron who was helping you,” Brishen said. He felt something growing within him – an inexplicable, mysterious excitement. He could picture the old nobleman who had been so kind to him in his youth, the man from the large manor house on the hill. “You’ve not heard of the old baron?” the Baro asked incredulously. “Nay, Phurò, we’ve been too much on the move these past few months to hear much of anything,” Brishen said. “Ah,” the old man nodded. “We traveled swiftly at first as well. But then we heard rumors of a nobleman, nearby, who was helping Rom in any way he could. An elderly gentleman with a big manor house up in the hills.” Brishen’s shoulders stiffened. “He helps Rom?” Karina asked. “He did, before he passed. Now his son is the one who aids us.” “Why would he have done such a thing?” “His son – the one who now holds the title of baron – married a Roma.” The Baro gave Karina a kindly, knowing smile. “Do they…” Brishen trailed off, his voice a pained whisper. “Do they have children?” “They speak of a son sometimes, though I have never seen him.” Karina gasped. Her fingers found Brishen’s and linked their hands together. She gave him an encouraging 141

Svetkavista squeeze. “The baron’s wife, is she Lăutari?” Karina asked. Andrash blinked at her. “How did you know? She is one of the best violin players I’ve ever heard.” Karina looked from Brishen’s anguished face to Andrash’s openly curious one. The older man had helped them, had saved them. “She’s his mother,” she said. “And the baron his father. He was taken from them.” “How far are their lands from here?” Brishen asked. “Not far.” “Where are they? How do I get to them?” “Their lands begin four days hence,” Andrash said, pointing to the west, over the mountains. “You’ll come across a small house, which used to be home to the Baron and his wife. Once there you--” “Once there, I know the way,” Brishen interrupted. “Are you sure these are your parents, son?” Andrash asked, suddenly wary. “The small home is on a corner lot of land, and in the backyard, just beyond the door, there is an old tree. The branches are twisted, and at the tip of the lowest one someone has carved a heart into the bark,” Brishen supplied without hesitation. Andrash nodded mutely. “Behind the manor house,” the younger man continued, “there are gardens, the paths through them are almost like a maze, and in the center is a platform where my mother would sometimes stand and play.” Andrash gaped at them. “Devlesa arakam tume,” he whispered reverently. We found you, with God’s help. “Are they well? What are they like? Do I have any brothers?” The questions came rushing forth as soon as Brishen allowed himself to believe. He’d thought his parents dead, killed on the same night he’d been taken. The possibility that they were not only alive, but a mere four days travel away, was overwhelming. Karina saw Andrash fidget and look toward camp with longing, the warm, inviting scent of roasted meat was wafting towards them. “Perhaps we should continue this discussion back at camp, my husband,” she said, giving his hand another squeeze. “I’m getting hungry.” It was a lie. Even though her nerves had calmed, she still cringed inwardly at the thought of ingesting anything. Still, it seemed to work, because Brishen nodded and started walking, and Andrash 142

Svetkavista looked visibly relieved to once again be moving toward his goal. Karina had all but forgotten about Papusza’s presence until she spoke, even though her arm was still securely draped around her friend’s shoulders. “Dear god,” she mused aloud. “If it’s true, you’re both nobility now.”





The celebration was in full swing when they returned, and Karina and Brishen were greeted with a

cacophony of cheering voices. Some expressed mock anger at having been excluded from their wedding ceremony, but all seemed to share their happiness with unbiased enthusiasm and, for the first time since the tribes had merged, there appeared to be complete harmony amongst the differing factions that formed the kumpa’nia. The depth of Karina and Brishen’s affection for each other, considering the dissimilarity of their backgrounds, was a good sign, indeed. For Nicolae, one of the most outspoken about his prejudices, to allow his eldest daughter to marry a man from another tribe was a milestone. The Lăutari took turns displaying their talents, instruments passing from hand to hand as the camp filled with the joyous music of happiness and peace. Tshaya played her flute – a clear, lilting melody filled with an overwhelming feeling of relief and joy. The sudden emotion in the girl’s music was not lost on the Lăutari, who watched her in wide-eyed fascination. Her father cried. Andrash enjoyed watching the merriment, but was content to sit at the outskirts of the gathering and indulge in his own favorite pastime – eating. Elsbeth waited on him faithfully, seeing to it that his cup was always overflowing, and his plate always full. She seemed to know instinctively which dishes he wished to sample, bringing him meat when he wanted meat, vegetables when he wanted vegetables, and so on. “You have a caregiver’s nature, Phurì,” he told her, licking his fingers clean between courses. “It makes me happy, Baro,” she replied in her singsong voice. “Indeed.” He made no attempt at discretion as he surveyed her ample bosom with appreciation. “Are you not angry with me for declaring your husband marhimè?” She gave him a stern glare. Then she began to laugh. “Baro, have you any idea what it is like to be married 143

Svetkavista to a man who, after twenty five years, still mourns the loss of a woman who never loved him in return? To only be acknowledged when he is so drunk on brandy that he calls you by her name?” He shook his head mutely. “I am not angry in the least, Phurò,” she said before shuffling off to procure him more food. “In fact, I owe you my thanks,” she tossed over her shoulder.

After much prodding, Brishen retrieved his violin and played one song, on the condition that his wife dance

to his melody. And so, for the first time, Karina danced in her father’s presence. Nicolae hugged her and wept openly, telling her that she danced like an angel, just as her mother had. “Another!” someone bellowed. “No more!” Brishen replied. “I have a new wife to tend!” A ripple of laughter went through the crowd. “She looks well tended to me!” another man yelled bawdily. “She better not be!” Nicolae cried in response, flashing a smile in Karina’s direction. The ripple of laughter became a roar. “Just one more, Brishen, surely she can wait that long!” the first man protested. “One more,” Brishen conceded. “But only one! Who’s to say that it’s her that grows impatient, and not me?” Before the laughter had subsided he lifted his violin and began to play. With her back to him, Karina lifted her arms to dance, but froze when she recognized the melody. It was the song he’d composed the night they’d made love while he played. She whirled around and found him watching her closely, a confident, knowing smirk gracing his features. “Fiend,” she mouthed silently. He winked. She gave an exasperated sigh and whirled back around, launching into an intricately choreographed dance of her own invention. She improvised, just as he had done that night, letting the music guide her, just as it had before. The crowd seemed to fade from her vision until it was only the two of them. She danced for him, and he played for her. 144

Svetkavista It was what he’d asked of her the first time they’d spoken. “Then dance for me. And I’ll play for you.” She’d refused him then, but she now realized that dancing for him, and him alone, was what she’d always done.

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Svetkavista



“F

Chapter Twenty Two inally!” Brishen declared, when they were allowed to retreat, three songs later. “I thought they’d never let me have you to myself.”

“And what do you plan to do with me, now that you have me?” Karina asked playfully. He growled and lifted her off her feet, spinning her around before capturing her lips in a blinding kiss. “First, I’m going to worship you,” he said. “And then, I’m going to ravage you.” She giggled. “I am yours to command, husband.” “Mmm, I like the sound of that.” Reaching their tent, he drew back the flaps for her to enter. “In you go,” he ordered, giving her ass a mischievous smack as she swished past him. Karina squealed and darted inside, landing on the soft blankets in a breathless, laughing heap. Flipping onto her back, she propped herself on her elbows and looked up at her husband as he towered over her. Brishen stripped off his clothes slowly, methodically, not breaking eye contact. When he was naked he knelt down beside her and ran his fingers through her hair. “How did I get so lucky?” he murmured. She smiled. “I ask myself that every day.” He trailed his fingers down her cheek, then lower, along her collarbone, across the swell of her breasts, and then lower still, over the smooth plane of her stomach and down the inside of her cloth covered thigh. “Lay back, 146

Svetkavista my love,” he said. She complied, relaxing her arms at her sides and closing her eyes. Brishen continued to move his hands down her body. When he reached her feet, he leaned down and kissed them as he massaged her bare toes. His fingers slid back along her legs, inching her gown upward, and his lips followed in the wake of his hands, a trail of kisses that scalded her skin, and set her nerve endings on fire. His tongue drew lazy, teasing circles along the juncture of her thighs and over the “V” of curls covering her sex. Skilled fingers kneaded the tension from her calves and thighs. Just when she thought he would finally satisfy her and place his mouth where she wanted him the most, he moved again, kissing along her stomach and the soft dip where her waist flared into her hips. She sighed and threaded her fingers through his hair. This was torture, she decided. He skimmed along the underside of her breasts before filling his palms with their sultry weight. But he quickly retreated. He was torturing himself as well, with his fleeting caresses. Brishen pushed her dress up over her head, but left her arms locked within the sleeves, trapped above her. “Oh, this isn’t fair,” she breathed, wanting to run her hands along his broad shoulders. By way of answer, he closed his lips over one of her nipples, tonguing it gently, and rolling it against the roof of his mouth. Karina was quite proud of how she’d handled his torment thus far, but she couldn’t prevent a tremble, and a moan of longing, as her nipples tightened for him. He gave her other breast the same tender treatment, then ran his lips over her collarbone, pausing to lick at the light sheen of sweat in the hollow of her throat. He played along the column of her neck, lapping at her pulse point, before at last reaching her lips. “Are you quite finished?” she asked. “Never,” he murmured, kissing her temple. “But the ‘ravage me’ part, when do we get to that?” He chuckled, his breath warm against her ear. “Impatient, are we?” “Yes, dammit!” He clicked his tongue. “Such language for a lady,” he chided, before swirling his tongue inside the shell of 147

Svetkavista her ear. She shuddered. “I thought all women wanted to be worshiped,” he said, finally slipping one hand between her legs and teasing apart her moist folds. “Call me strange then,” she answered, rocking against his fingers. “I’d rather be ravaged.” “Seems to me you don’t mind the worshiping either,” he commented. His gently probing fingers told him she was wet, and more than ready for him. “Nor do you,” she countered with a pointed glance at his erection, which at the moment was pressing rather insistently against her thigh. “Acknowledged.” He was kissing her again, scorching a trail down her jawline. He rotated his hand and settled the pad of his thumb over her swollen clit. “Yes,” she sighed. “Oh, please.” “Please what, love?” He felt her muscles clench around his fingers and suppressed his own groan. It wouldn’t do to let her know he was half out of his mind with need. “I won’t beg,” Karina gasped as he continued to stroke her. Her arms were still pinned above her head, preventing her from touching him. She longed to wrap her fingers around his cock and match his rhythm, to shatter his infuriating patience. “No begging necessary, just tell me what you want.” “I want you, inside me.” Her muscles clenched again to emphasize her point. “I am inside you, love,” he replied, kissing her lips. “I want another part of you inside me.” “Which part?” he teased. “You know which part!” She groaned again as he hooked his fingers upwards to stroke her g-spot. “My cock?” he whispered. “Do you want my cock inside your sweet body?” “Yes!” “Say it.” “I want your cock inside me,” she repeated obediently, blushing at the harsh word. 148

Svetkavista He grinned and moved between her legs, drawing her knees up against her torso so that her feet were pressed against his chest. Then he drove himself deep within her. “Oh God,” she moaned appreciatively. He was filling her completely, and she felt him in ways she’d never known were possible. “Oh God, why haven’t we tried this one before?” She concentrated on squeezing her muscles around him and, from the groan that escaped him, it seemed she succeeded. “What I want to know is where you learned that,” he said. He groped her breasts as he thrust into her, long, deep strokes. Karina’s only response was a breathy, satisfied cry. His cock swelled and, with one final thrust, he came, holding himself still as her body milked him. Finally, he freed her arms from her dress and gathered her close, rolling onto his back. “You are mine forever,” he said. “Forever,” she agreed. Karina felt him tremble slightly. Without asking, she knew he was thinking about his parents. “We’ll go to them,” she said softly. “We’ll go and see for ourselves.” “I couldn’t ask you to leave your family like that.” “And I couldn’t ask you to forget yours,” she countered. “My family will understand.” “Your father?” “Will understand.” “What if it’s not them?” he asked, then shook his head as an even more upsetting thought occurred to him. “What if it is?” She hid a smile. “I’m no seer, husband, but I believe, with all my heart, that we’ll be just fine either way.”



The next morning Karina sought out the one person it pained her to leave. “We are going to find his parents,” she announced. “I know,” Papusza said. “I knew you would the moment he learned they were alive.” 149

Svetkavista “Will you come with us?” Karina asked, stroking her friend’s cheek. “No,” Papusza told her quietly. “Baro Andrash has invited me to return to his tribe with him. Aunt Elsbeth is going to come along as well. There are some villages on the other side of the mountain that are rumored to have Romany children. I realize there’s not much chance of finding my son, but, Karina, I have to try.” Karina’s hand drifted down to cover her stomach – still flat and smooth, but nagging female instinct told her it wouldn’t be for long. “I understand,” she said. “It couldn’t have continued forever, the three of us. As much as we may have wanted it to.” “I know,” Karina nodded. She did, too. “You’ve given me so much, Papusza. You are my dearest friend, and I do love you.” Papusza’s blue eyes misted. “And I love you, Chey, always. You taught me to love again.” “When you find your son, come see us. You are always welcome.” “You’ll stay there, then? Even if the Baron is not Brishen’s father?” “He is,” Karina said confidently. “But yes, we will. We don’t belong here anymore. Maybe we never did.” “Perhaps we’ll see each other again, then.” Papusza pulled the other woman into a fierce embrace. “We will,” Karina responded, returning the hug. “We will.”



“Are you ready, love?” Brishen asked as he secured the last bag to Penjerà’s saddle. The rest of their belongings were packed into a small, open cart that Nicolae had given them, along with one of his older, but still reliable mares. “Yes.” Saying goodbye to her family had been more difficult than Karina had expected. Her father had been reluctant to let her go, but had understood that she needed to. “Are you sure you want to do this?” “I am,” she said truthfully, coming to stand beside him. She handed him the lead attached to the old mare’s bridle, and kissed his cheek. She patted her stomach idly with her free hand. With each passing day, she grew more confident that within her belly a new life grew. The fruit of their love. She had not yet told Brishen of her 150

Svetkavista suspicions, wanting to be absolutely certain before she shared the news. “Then I guess it’s time.” Karina took one final look at the camp before climbing up into the saddle. Brishen swung up behind her, wrapping his strong arms around her waist. He clicked his heels once and the horse took off at a leisurely trot, the mare a short distance behind. Neither looked back.

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