CHAPTER 30
The Bracelet
Miranya usually stalked past the port district like a wet cat—disgusted and eager to leave. Today however, among the usual flotsam and detritus there was something actually worth looking at.
A ship of the Seviade Cotar was making port and unloading its goods. Miranya paused. The sea people had no use for land or plants, other than trees suitable for planks or masts that they could cut down. They had a great use for spices from the far isles, though, which took up little space and could be sold for an impressive price. She lingered, hoping to hear where they sailed from and what they had to sell.
Mingling with the crowd that had formed at the end of the ramp, Miranya moved closer to the front, where a scowling man in baggy white trousers blocked the gangway. Peering up the ramp, Miranya's eyebrows went up. A stern man in robes as dark grey as a storm cloud stood at the top of the ramp, a man with eyes as colorless as his clothes. What have we here? A Drethlord sailing with the Seviade! That doesn’t happen every day—
She froze. Behind the Drethlord on the ramp a couple appeared, the man with his arm around the woman, who leaned back into him as if unwilling to descend. The last time she had seen that particular couple, they had not been quite so close. Her lips curled into a joyless smile as she ducked behind a broad-shouldered man to avoid the dark eyed stare that swept the crowd. One day she'd have those dark eyes all to herself, but not today. Today, I will watch. I will learn. I will succeed where Darin failed.
Miranya pulled up her hood and hurried to the stalls pressed up against the buildings across from the harbor. Moving from one to the next, she ran her fingers along the silks and pearls. Just as popular were the little mirrors, and in each one she looked over her shoulder.
The Drethlord came down. There was a pause, she didn’t know what caused it, since she was between shops, but when she found them again, that girl and Cade were safely ashore. Well not all that safely, in the end. She smirked.
Behind them trailed a number of thick-armed men who looked a bit like they were shaking off a blow to the head. Probably recovering from those absurd straps that the Seviade call a shirt. Miranya snorted. They were of no consequence. Only Cade mattered. And that chit who thinks she’ll have him.
When the Drethlord led the little group of armsmen down the unimaginatively named Fish Street, she followed them at a safe distance. She expected the Drethlord to lead them to some palatial residence with an enormous fence—something that would make her task difficult. He didn't even take them to an inn. They went straight to the market, a sprawling, trackless thing that was perpetually filthy and deafeningly loud.
Miranya hated the market in Matriem worse than she hated markets generally. For whatever reason, the people were pushier there, the crowds ruder, the cutpurses faster, and the smell inescapable.
Ignoring a man trying very hard to sell her green meat on a stick, she glared over his shoulder while her targets burrowed further into the mess. One or two of the soldiers had split off but she followed the Drethlord and Cade. Miranya smiled as two soldiers poorly disguised in brown cloaks marched back over in their thick, battle-scarred boots. They unrolled large bundles and passed around drab cloaks to all the other members of the group.
She was distracted when a woman old enough to be her mother grabbed her arm and pulled her around in a circle to look at baskets of woven linen. By the time she extricated herself with a sharp word a quick slap on the arm, the group of too-large men in grey and brown cloaks were disappearing. Snarling at the old woman, Miranya darted after them.
She thought they were leaving the market, they walked so long without buying anything, but then Miranya had to duck behind a cloth merchant. The whole cohort stopped suddenly, and watchful eyes began to wander all over the place. She wasn’t going to take any chances and hid behind a bolt of lace, peering through the holes.
The Drethlord stood talking with a wine merchant. How is he going to carry wine out of the city? They have no wagon, no horses. If they mean to have a glass, an inn . . . Her eyebrows rose as she watched him hand over four bulging leather purses to the wine merchant.
For a moment, she glanced at Cade, standing slightly back from the rest, just behind the girl's shoulder. Grey eyes narrowed. He is doing something with his hands . . . she stepped closer to the lace screening her from their view. He was braiding together a few pieces of long, silver-green grass. At once, Miranya was back in Antral.
She sat at the foot of the lighthouse watching her brother, nearly eighteen, braiding long strands of sea grass together with nimble fingers. The waves crashed against the cliffs around them as if the sea were conducting a symphony for her.
Altras didn’t pay any attention to the ocean, nor to the sunset that painted the sky over the Morayen Isles a stunning gold and pink. He only had eyes for the braid of grass.
"What are you making?" she'd asked. He glanced up at her and smiled a beautiful, excited smile.
"It's a bracelet. I'm giving it to Thelya tonight." He answered. Thelya was a diver’s daughter, one of the best divers, actually. She wasn’t going to be impressed with woven grass, not when her father brought home pearls for her. Altras was so pleased though, she didn’t have the heart to say it so harshly.
" Can you not buy a beaded one?" He had been apprenticed to a merchant for a year at least, he should have at least a little money, if he wanted to by his girl a gift.
He laughed pleasantly at her and explained, “This is a special bracelet. A man makes this for a girl when he wants her to be his wife. If she agrees, she'll wear it on her left hand. Then we'll get married in a few months." He seemed very happily at the thought, but Mira didn’t like the idea of him married. Would he go and live somewhere else?
"After that we’re married, she will wear one like mother does—silver and sapphire."
"Do you think she'll wear it how you want?" she asked, secretly hoping that her brother wouldn’t have to get married after all.
"Of course, Mira, wouldn't you accept if your sweetheart gave you one?" He teased. She agreed, thinking of her secret crush. Sarina Alcora was alright, but the best part of being the Princess' playmate was getting to see her brother, Prince Cade A'lan.
Some people couldn’t tell the difference between the boys, but she liked Cade a lot more than Corin. He’d given her a present once, a little toy horse he’d carved to match the one he gave his sister. Then they could play together, the girls and the ponies. And every time she and Sarina played with them, Mira remembered the smile on Cade’s face when he gave it to her.
Miranya's memories faded, and she stared across the market at that boy grown into a man, watching his quick fingers twist the grass into a complicated braid. That pony had been her most prized possession. She’d gone back to get it when the women and children were hurried out of the city during the Fall. She’d never seen her mother or father again. The little horse was burned down with the rest of their house.
All that for a toy horse. What would I not give for a greater gift? That gift? She wondered, eyeing the ring of grass that rested in his hands. Her face went still and cold when he took the girl's arm and set the bracelet delicately in her hand. The twit looked surprised, but flashed him a smile. Those false, Illusion-brown eyes sparkled. Miranya ground her teeth, seething.
Maile isn’t Antralian, she doesn’t even know what that is! Miranya felt a stab of jealous hatred as the other woman slid the grass bracelet onto her left wrist. Cade A'lan smiled, just a crooked little curve of the lips. Miranya would have schemed, and lied, and killed—all three—to see him look at her that way.
In fact, that was precisely what she would do. The Drethlord and his men began to lead away two wagons full of wine barrels, and Miranya felt the plan forming in her mind. There were rumors of a rebellion in Vinyam. The cloaks they bought were of the Amanheldic style—they meant to go west, then. It would take them no less than a week to cross the Brithim River into Amanheld if they traveled anything like a wine merchan
t.
There was a lot she could do with a week. Darin had been hasty and foolish. When he wanted this girl he went after her with all the skill and finesse of a flea-ridden cow. But I will be careful. I will plan and wait. And if I spin my net just right, I might make the catch of a lifetime.