“Ugh, this ratty old thing smells like woodsmoke,” I overheard Maria say to Joan one day. “I can’t believe Tamsin just handed over my best velvet dress for it. Is she trying to sabotage me? I knew she was ruthless, but I never saw this coming.”
I gritted my teeth. The “ratty old thing” Maria referred to was a heavy fur cloak we’d bought in the negotiations. I couldn’t say if it really did smell like woodsmoke, but I would’ve taken it in an instant, especially when we set out in the chilly early mornings. I still wore the same cloak I’d had on the ship. We’d acquired maybe a dozen pieces of heavy outerwear from the Balanquans, and I’d tried to distribute them thoughtfully.
Orla, walking nearby, overheard too and gave me a look that seemed to repeat her earlier words: Oh, they’ll always find a way to complain. That’s the downside of being a leader.
Around midafternoon, one of the Balanquans announced that we’d crossed the border into Grashond. I glanced around but found no marker, manmade or natural, that revealed how she’d known. Grashond was a young colony and largely undeveloped. Whereas some places, like Denham Colony, had been started specifically with commerce in mind, Grashond’s founders had come here so that they could have a safe place to practice their religion. They called themselves the Heirs of Uros, and though they weren’t officially heretics, they also weren’t on great terms with the orthodox church that formed the cornerstone of Osfridian faith.
Eventually, our party reached a packed dirt road that grew wider and showed signs of frequent travel. We began to cover ground more quickly and could see farms—Osfridian-style farms—off in the distance, sending a new energy surging through us all. Some of the girls had been flagging up until that point, needing constant coaxing to keep moving.
But the sight of familiar buildings and ways of life changed our outlook. It was a comfort after the upended world we’d lived in for the past week. Our steps quickened, and finally, near evening of the third day, the outskirts of a bona fide village came into view down the road.
Pamela and Vanessa hugged each other. “We’re almost there!” Pamela exclaimed. “We’ll finally be with our own people! They’ll keep us safe and . . .”
Her words trailed off as a gunshot rang through the air, echoing among the trees and sending birds flying. Our party stumbled to a halt, and the Balanquans rapidly drew their weapons. I was near the back of the group and shouldered my way forward to see what had happened.
Out of seemingly nowhere, the road ahead had become blocked by a group of men in dark-colored clothing—all in shades of gray, brown, or blue. Most wore wide-brimmed hats or caps of knitted wool. All of them wielded guns, every single one of which was pointed straight ahead at us, save one. That gun was aimed in the air, held by the man who’d fired it to gain our attention.
“Get out of here,” he ordered. “Get out of here before we blast you to the oblivion of Ozhiel’s hell.” Those flanking him nodded and muttered similar sentiments.
Orla leaned toward me and murmured, “It looks like we’ve found your people.”
CHAPTER 7
“DO YOU UNDERSTAND US?” ONE OF THE OTHER MEN blocking the road demanded. He swiveled around, seeming unsure where to point his gun among so many targets. He finally settled on Alisi. “You aren’t just in Osfridian territory. You’re in Grashond—a land sanctified by the Heirs of Uros. We want no part of your unholy ways, so you infidels can go back to wherever you came from.”
“Gladly,” she replied. She looked almost regal this morning, with her hair pulled up in a cluster of intricate braids and shoulder-length earrings made of some purple jewel that glittered brightly against her coppery skin. I marveled at her composure, but then, she had the backing of her heavily armed people. They looked to be an even match for the men blocking the road. I didn’t know which side would win if it came to a fight, but I was pretty sure my cohort would lose either way. “But first, we need to return something to you.”
Alisi glanced over her shoulder, and the ship’s captain lumbered forward, several sailors at his side. He made a half bow to the man who’d spoken. “Captain Jonas Milford at your service. Our ship took damage in a storm, and we’ve come to ask your help.”
The gray-clad man regarded the captain with only slightly less disdain than he’d given the Balanquans. “Ship? Are you from Osfrid? We’re a long ways from the coast.”
“Not so long on the Quistimac,” said Alisi. “We took them in, and now they’re yours.”
Some of the Grashond men had lowered their guns, but none looked ready to welcome us with open arms. I dashed to the captain’s side and faced the Heirs. “Please, sirs,” I said, using my prettiest Glittering Court manners. “We’d be ever so grateful if you could let us stay with you while we regroup. We won’t trouble you for long. We’re going to Cape Triumph and will be on our way in no time.”
Another of their number stepped forward, stern-faced. Actually, they all had stern faces. Between those and their drab clothes, they kind of blurred together. “You’re just a girl. Why are you traveling alone with these men?”
“I’m traveling with a group of refined young ladies.” I stood on my tiptoes and beckoned the rest of the Glittering Court to me. “We’re on our way to be married.”
The man who’d fired the first shot scanned my friends, then the sailors. He shook his head and scowled. “How can we bring in so many people?”
He and his somber companions huddled together, their conversation hushed but still audible. “We can’t abandon those girls out here,” one noted. “Their delicate natures wouldn’t survive against this wilderness—or other threats.”
He eyed the sailors and Balanquans askance as he spoke. I found “delicate” a little ludicrous after surviving a shipwreck and the hurried journey to get here, but I held my tongue. They could think whatever they wanted if it would get us to Cape Triumph.
“We can’t abandon any of them out here,” one finally declared, his voice grave. “Even the sailors. Uros commands us to show compassion to those who need it.”
His companions considered this, and at last, they came to a reluctant consensus. The one advocating compassion faced Alisi gravely. “Very well. We’ll take them all back. No doubt it will require much reflection and prayer, but to do less would show ingratitude to the angels who grant us mercy every day.”
Alisi, restless and maybe bored, picked up her horse’s reins. “You can do whatever you want, but we’re leaving. Captain, I’ll send some of our traders to escort the rest of your men and cargo in a few days. Farewell.”
Even I was surprised with the alacrity in which she directed her party to unload our goods and leave them in the road. In Osfrid, I’d been taught that we were superior to everyone else in Adoria, but the Balanquans seemed to regard us as little more than children badly in need of a babysitter. The Icori, on foot, followed the Balanquans, but Orla stopped beside me and rested her hand on my shoulder.
“Good luck, Tamsin. I think your friends will be all right with you as their leader.”
I studied the Heirs of Uros, with their guns and suspicion-filled faces. “I feel like we’ve gone from one storm to another, but thank you. Your regard means a lot.”
Orla didn’t move. After a few moments, she said in a low voice, “When I told you we’d barred your people from the East Sister, I left out some details. Officially, yes, it is off-limits so long as this conflict remains unresolved. But there are a few Osfridians we’ve had longtime relations with who have no part in policy. They’ve been our trusted partners and even friends since long before these recent attacks.”
“Hey,” shouted one of the Heirs, noticing Orla. “We told you to get out of here, Icori.”
She ignored him and remained fixed on me. “The party I’m going south with soon is a large one—lots of barges and boats. It’s not just about meeting my betrothed. It’s the first real trade expedition of the season, and t
hat has value for a lot of people doing business in Adoria. We’ve agreed to let some outsiders accompany us—for a price, of course. Most are Balanquan, but a handful of those rare Osfridian friends have also bought passage. One of them is in Constancy—his name is Jago Robinson. He’s purchased a large number of spots on the barges. Enough for your group. If you can find him and convince him to give those up, I’ll see to it he’s refunded and you’re allowed to purchase them instead. The rest of the space is spoken for, and there’s no guarantee of a future trip you’d be allowed on.”
“Icori! I’m talking to you!”
Rattled by the colonist’s shouting and her startling offer, I stammered out, “Orla . . . I . . . I don’t know what to say . . .”
Though her overall expression stayed earnest, a smile lit her eyes. “You don’t have to say anything. Except that you’ll remember the name: Jago Robinson.”
“Jago Robinson,” I repeated, a bit floored. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
She shrugged. “Well. Don’t get too excited. He hasn’t agreed yet.”
Before leaving me, she paused to give the man who’d yelled at her a long, icy look. He opened his mouth to speak again and then reconsidered, contenting himself with repositioning his gun. Satisfied, Orla bid me farewell and then jogged off to join the Balanquans, leaving the rest of us alone with our ominous new hosts.
They directed us and the rest of the Gray Gull refugees to follow them back to town. The Heirs spoke in urgent, hushed tones as we walked. When we reached the heart of Constancy, my tension eased slightly. Although small, it was a real town, a town that evoked comfort and familiarity, despite its plainness. The streets had no cobblestone, and the buildings that lined the square had little embellishment or even distinction from one another. A few had shutters and glass windows, and those that had been painted were white. Signs marked ordinary businesses: a blacksmith, a tailor, a cooper. The town’s residents stared at us from doorways and windows. They wore dark colors and drab fabrics like the men on the road had, but at least it was clothing of a familiar style: wool cloaks and dresses, cotton shirts and trousers.
The Heirs split us apart, taking the sailors one way, the merchants another, and then directing my party into the square’s largest building: a church. “You may rest in here while the council convenes and decides what to do with you,” one of the men said.
“Thank you,” I said. “And I’m happy to talk to this council and answer any questions that might help.”
“You’ll provide the most help by praying,” came the curt reply.
As soon as he and his companions left, I slumped against the wall. “Looks like it’s time for our next strange adventure.”
“Well, we’re safe now. That’s all that matters,” Pamela said. When I didn’t answer, she tilted her head to better meet my eyes. “We are safe now, aren’t we?”
“Yes, of course,” I said, wondering if I lied. The Balanquans and Icori had given us a better welcome in some ways, at least keeping us informed of their plans for us. But Constancy hadn’t turned us away, and despite their unusual religious practices, the Heirs were still technically our own countrymen.
Restless, I paced the building, which resembled no church I’d ever been in. I’d heard the Heirs maintained a strict and simple lifestyle but hadn’t expected this. Even our humble district church back in Osfro—which had always seemed so dull compared to the city’s grander cathedrals—had more adornment. Here, the pine-planked walls wore only varnish and contained no art of any kind. The small, high windows that lined the room’s sides contained clear glass, not stained, and were solely utilitarian. There was no altar, no incense, no gold or even brass candleholders. A simple wooden podium appeared to be where the priest would stand, and the congregation sat on narrow wooden benches that lacked even the threadbare pads of our pews back home.
An alcove in the back, far behind the benches, contained several shelves filled with books, papers, and other scholarly materials. I knelt on the hard floor to read the books’ spines, all religious in nature. Most were copies of the usual holy texts. A few looked to be specific to the Heirs’ faith.
Winnifred joined me. “Kind of a gloomy place to glorify Uros and the angels.”
“I guess that’s their way, though.” I thought back to some of our history lessons. “They left Osfro because they were always getting into disputes with the priests over excess.”
“Left? Or were they kicked out?” she asked pointedly.
“I suppose it depends on who you ask. I remember Master Bricker saying the king authorized this colony more to get them out of his hair than to approve of their beliefs.”
“Listen to us,” she said with a laugh. “Me from the bridge district, you from the market: talking politics and history like fine folks. But then, I suppose this is what it’s all been for.”
Not quite, I thought. We were supposed to have improved upon our education in order to rise from our backgrounds and find better lives. Analyzing the practices of a group that barely escaped being called heretics—one we now depended on for survival—had never come up.
After about an hour, three women entered with large bundles in their arms. Finally. We gathered around the newcomers, eager for an update. These women of Constancy were clad in simple, high-necked cotton dresses in shades of navy or gray, with heavy woolen cloaks. The oldest of them wore a bonnet, while the others, a little older than me, wore kerchiefs.
“You will change out of your clothes and put these on,” the older woman informed us. “We are glad to care for you—it’s our duty by Uros—but you’ll have to abide by our customs while you’re here.”
“Yes, of course,” I said. “And we’re ever so grateful. We’re happy to do whatever it takes to make this easier for you so we can be on our way.”
The woman didn’t return my smile and simply began handing out the garments, which were the same type as theirs. They had a wide range of sizes, and it took some doing to sort out what would fit whom the best. The dress I ended up with was navy blue and seemed to be exactly my size, which was a stroke of luck. Some of the other girls’ were baggy or too long.
“It’ll have to be let down,” one of the younger Grashond women told me, kneeling to examine my hem. “Luckily, there’s about an inch there.”
The length looked perfect to me, but it didn’t graze the tops of my shoes the way hers did. “Certainly, if you say so . . . but if you’ll help me understand . . . is this length . . . er, indecent?”
“No,” she said, with a small chuckle. “But it shows too much of the shoe and stocking. Someone poor may have worn-out shoes. Or perhaps they can’t afford stockings at all. Long skirts and pants make it less obvious. Then those people needn’t feel insecure or jealous of others. And those who have more can’t easily lord it over the less fortunate.”
“Ah. I see. Well, if you can lend me a needle and thread, I’ll take care of it.”
“Can you?” She looked pleasantly surprised. “You all look like ladies who are used to being waited on.”
I took in my party’s bedraggled state as I tied a kerchief over my hair. “Well, thank you, I think. But believe me, we’ve done plenty of waiting on others in our time.”
I fastened the gray cloak she gave me with a plain pin. The wool was coarse and lacked the embroidery of my previous cloak, but it was so much warmer that I made the exchange without hesitation. Inner pockets held matching mittens. The young woman shook out my old overdress before folding it and exclaimed in delight, “Oh, look at that.” She ran her fingers over the fabric, a pale green cotton scattered with white lilies. Mud from our overland trek had stained the hem, and seawater had splattered parts of the skirt white with salt. “What a shame it’s ruined.”
“There’s a trick I know that’ll get that mud out,” I said. “Takes some soaking and a bit of time, but I can do it. If you could get me lye and—” br />
“You have much bigger things to worry about than a gaudy garment.” The older woman stomped up and snatched the dress away, adding it to a pile in her arms. “Uros has spared your lives. The sacrifice of this frivolity doesn’t even begin to repay that debt. You should be on your knees in gratitude. If you’d arrived earlier, you’d have been in time for our holy day services.”
“Ah, how unfortunate. But I’ll, uh, be sure and get to that kneeling soon. First, I was wondering if you could tell me what’s going to happen to us? You see, we’re very anxious to get to Cape Triumph, and—”
“The council will decide what’s to be done with you, and that decision will come when it comes. If you have trouble accepting that, I’d advise adding a plea for patience to your prayer list.”
She swept away, and the woman who’d helped me scurried after her. They made their way to the third woman, who was kneeling by Polly’s ankle and wrapping it. Polly had tripped over a branch earlier that day and been in some pain. As I watched, Vanessa leaned toward me.
“Did you know? She’s a doctor, that woman. A real, honest-to-goodness doctor.”
“What? Are you sure?” Female doctors were unheard of in Osfrid. I found it hard to believe there’d be one here, when the Heirs were rumored to treat women very strictly.
“That’s what she told me when I was over there,” said Vanessa. “She said all the doctors here are women! Something about healing being a woman’s domain.”
Desperately curious, I headed toward the doctor, but she finished her work just then and departed with her two companions. That left us alone once more, and another hour passed before a middle-aged man with hair cut bluntly to his chin entered wordlessly and set down a basket of rye bread. He returned again briefly to deliver a barrel of water and a dipper. Our attempts to question him were ignored.