The Gypsy Queen (28 page)

  “
Yana
!” Luba rushed up to her, and
Yana
scooped her up, despite the fact that she was not that much bigger. She swung her around in a circle, laughing and shouting. “I knew you would come back!” Luba shouted.

  “Of course I would come back!”

  “Come with me! I will show you to your wagon! Everyone will want to see you!” Luba said.
Yana
took her hand and let Luba tug her along through the maze of wagons and fires and people, even as they continued to surround her and celebrate her.

  “
Yana
!” the people of her caravan rejoiced. She had never heard her own name spoken so many times. Everyone knew her, it seemed. The children ran up- Dimmie, Emilee, followed by Kizzy and Nadya, the girls she had saved from the forest fire, and Jaelle. The one she saved from the dungeon. No doubt their gypsy tales of
Yana
’s bravery had resounded through the meadows and beyond. She did not seek to be any sort of legend. She just wanted to help her friends. Emilee flung herself at
Yana
, to hug her as tight as she could.
Yana
tried to return the embrace, but winced, as it pulled at her side. The knife wound was still nagging.

  “What is it?” Emilee pulled back, concerned.

  “Well, it’s just.... this wound. I need a fresh dressing.”

  “You got hurt? How did you get hurt?” Emilee asked. Yana had no intention of recounting her fight with
Volga
.

  “I just got hurt in the fighting,” she said. “It’s alright.”

  “
Yana
’s hurt!” Emilee shouted, trying to push everyone back and dismiss them. “She got hurt fighting the traders!” The crowd reacted with amazement and sympathy, as Emilee led her to her wagon.

  “My
vardo
,” she said, stroking the surface of the rail. It seemed like she had not seen her own wagon in ages. The rough edges and faded red paint greeted her like an old, dear friend. The only home she really knew.

  “I’ve been taking care of everything for you,” Jaelle said. “Kuta is grazing well here in the meadows.”

  Kuta,
Yana
thought. Her strong, faithful horse. She stroked her hand along the mare’s side, and kissed the horse’s face. Kuta was every bit as pleased to see her too, as she nuzzled
Yana
back and stepped her feet in place as though the horse wanted to dance as much as the other gypsies.

  “Thank you, Jaelle,”
Yana
said. She was so grateful. “Are you well?”

  “I am well,” Jaelle said, “thanks to you.”
Yana
realized all the gratitude needed to be pointed somewhere else. “I was only able to do what I did because of the King,” she said. “It was Bastion who led the way,” she said louder, so that everyone in earshot would hear.

  “It was the King,” she said. “He defeated the traders!”

  “But
Yana
,” Jaelle said, “you rode with the black riders. You pulled me from that dungeon. I will owe you for all my life.”

  “Travel well,”
Yana
said. “That is all I would ask you to do in return.” Jaelle hugged her, and
Yana
felt her throat tighten, and tears well up. Jaelle had been there when
Yana
was younger, struggling alone. She was glad to see her once more, and glad she was
still
t
he beautiful gypsy girl she
remembered. The horror of the dungeon was not evident in her eyes.

  “
Yana
,” her name now ringing in her own ears. Lyubov came up to her, walking slowly, as well as she could.

  “Lyubov!”
Yana
was thrilled to see her. “I love you!” she said, wrapping her arms enthusiastically around her dear old friend.

  “Da,” Lyubov said. “Da. I miss you,
tekla
,” she said, patting
Yana
on her shoulders affectionately. Oh, it was so good to see them all,
Yana
thought her heart would just burst. She put her hand on her side, as the pain of her battle pulsed, not too far from her happy heart.

  “What’s dis?” Lyubov asked, never missing a thing.

  “I got hurt,”
Yana
said.

  “You sit,” the old woman said without hesitation. “Luba, you get herbs and oils.” Luba knew them perfectly, an excellent student of Lyubov’s arts. She brought the requested items back swiftly.
Yana
lifted her shirt so Lyubov could tend to her. The
old woman’s hands worked quickly
. She pulled and wiped the redness, making it sting.

  “You don’t fear,” Lyubov said. “It will heal soon.” It was looking better, but it was an angry wound. Lyubov looked her in the eyes.

  “
Mulo
,” she said. “This you get from bad man.”
Yana
nodded. How could she tell?

  “Do you kill the
mulo
?” Lyubov asked.

  “No,”
Yana
answered. “Bastion killed him. He saved me.” Lyubov shook her head. “
Mulo Ruv
,” she said with concern.

  “Bad wolf?”
Yana
said. “What do you mean?” Lyubov had been trying to discern the images Luba had seen in her crystal ball.

  “Luba look for you in the crystal,” she explained. “She saw you walk with a man who is wolf. She saw fire.” At least the fire made sense.

  “I burned down the castle of a trader,”
Yana
said. “But it was Emilee who killed the wolves.” It didn’t make sense to
Yana
either.

  “You don’t fear,” Lyubov said. “Soon we know.”
Yana
did not really want to know. She just wanted to be in the moment. Lyubov finished dressing her wound and cleaning her up. Yana happily sat at a noonday fire, with her horse, her wagon, her closest f
riends, and a rabbit
roasting on the spit. Only one thing missing, she thought.

  “
Yana
, I have stone for you,” Lyubov said. Lyubov had given her many stones that she collected for her craft.

  “A stone?”
Yana
said.

  “Dis one special. I save dis for you.” She pulled out a stone whose color
Yana
could not clearly say. It seemed like it was changing colors subtly, so she could not put her finger on it. Lavender, green, purple. She could not tell. It was a large stone, and exceptionally beautiful.
Yana
had never seen anything like it.

  “Dis,” Lyubov said, “Alexandrite.”
Yana
’s jaw dropped open. She had never seen Alexandrite before, only heard of it. This was a huge stone.

  “This... this is valuable,” she said. Lyubov nodded.

  “I cannot take this,”
Yana
said. It was too much.

  “Da. It is for you only,” Lyubov said. “You take.”
Yana
knew by that tone in her voice, that there was nothing to argue.
Yana
could not remember ever winning an argument with Lyubov.

  “I save it your whole life, for you.” Lyubov said. “Now, you are gypsy hero. Gypsy warrior.”
Yana
examined the gorgeous stone. It was befitting of royalty.

  “You wear in the city.”
Yana
wanted to cry. Lyubov was giving her this gift for a reason. She did not expect
Yana
to go with the caravan. She expected her to stay with the new King. It was a gift of farewell.

  “Oh, Lyubov,” she said with a heavy heart. “No. My place is here with you, with my family,” she said.

  “You don’t fear, Yana,” Lyubov said, her
old
voice full of emotion. Lyubov loved
Yana
as her own. “You love Bastion.”

  “Yes.”

  “It is beautiful to love,” Lyubov said. “Beautiful gypsy.”
Yana
shook her head, not knowing what to say. She felt beautiful when she was with her family. She felt beautiful when she was with Bastion. She kissed Lyubov on the face, and then kissed her again. “You are the beautiful gypsy,”
Yana
said. Lyubov said nothing, pulling out her pipe.
Yana
smoked with her, as the gypsies from all over the region, encamped in the west meadows, came to greet her, cheer her, and thank her.

  “
Yana
, we have a gift for you,” Kizzy said, coming up to the fire with Nadya. Kizzy pulled out a woven shawl, smooth looking, but still slightly coarse. It was red and gold.

  “We made it after you saved us,” Nadya said. “Jaelle helped us.”
Yana
took it. The way the colors blended and reflected light had Yana mesmerized. It looked like the colors of Bastion’s aura. She pulled it over her head, breathing in the smell.

  “I love it,”
Yana
said.

  “We made something for Bastion, too,” Nadya said.

  “For Bastion?”
Yana
said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Somebody say my name?” Bastion said, approaching them.
Yana
looked up, her heart soaring. He made it. He was wearing the white gypsy shirt and a kisht. He looked like a gypsy man. The most gorgeous gypsy man she could ever imagine.
Yana
leapt up into his arms, where he eagerly received her with a kiss.

  “The King!” Kizzy said, prompting everyone to look. Bastion and
Yana
stood in a passionate kiss
, as applause broke out. E
veryone swarmed them, and Bastion graciously received everyone they could, greeting them all and laughing with them.
Yana
’s admiration for him grew by the moment, watching him celebrate with the gypsies. He radiated in his white gypsy shirt in the sun, joking with the children and shaking the hands of the Romany men perfectly.
Yana
’s desire for him
grew strong as she watched
.

  “King Bastion,” Nadya said when the crowd allowed, “we have a gift for you.” Nadya pulled on a fabric bag, jostling with Kizzy, competing to present it. Both of them giggled, as they pulled it out together.

  It was a cloak, in the same color as
Yana
’s. It was a masculine garment, to her feminine shawl. These garments must have had great cost,
Yana
realized. Her sewing and knitting skills were not her strongest point, but she knew enough of fabrics to know these were fine quality.

  “I thank you,” Bastion said to them both, as he accepted it. “It is much better than my black one!” he said, drawing laughter.

  “
Yana
, will you do me the honor?” he asked, holding it out to her.
Yana
took it, as he turned around, and set the mantle upon his shoulders.

  He turned around and looked over his shoulders, examining its perfect fit. He considered how he might thank the girls, who must have made great efforts to tailor it. 

  “I shall wear it to my Coronation,” he said, looking right at
Yana
. She looked right back at him. His aura, matching his garb, was glowing bright. It seemed as though he were on f
ire. She felt so hot for him, she
felt like she was on fire, too.

  “Captain,” Emilee said, approaching him with excitement. “I have been teaching the gypsies to fight!”

  “You have?” Bastion asked, surprised.

  “Nathaniel has been in the meadows, teaching us, so I teach too!”

  “She has told the story of the wolves she fought a thousand times already!” Dimmie said, joining in. Bastion liked it. He hoped the citizens of his
kingdom
would appreciate how brave and strong and smart gypsies like Emilee were. Bastion did not want the gypsies to be soldiers. They were too wonderful and happy of a people, and Bastion did not want to see them burdened with the pains of war. If they were going to know how to fight, he thought, at least there was none better to learn from than Nathaniel, one of his own black riders. He had escorted the captives back from the Lower Reach.

  “I will show you!” Emilee said. “Nathaniel!” Emilee called. Nathaniel emerged from the crowd, to greet the King.

  “My King,” he said proudly, embracing his good friend.

  “What are you doing in the meadows?”

  “Otta’s orders,” he said. “He sent me out here to look after the gypsies, and by teaching them to fight, they will be better able to look after themselves.”

  “Well done,” Bastion said, pleased. He would have done the same thing.

  “It is not so good for you to be here in the west meadows unprotected, my King,” Nathaniel said.