“I know what you mean,” Lilia interrupted. She bit her lip. “Is it true? I mean, people make these things up all the time – especially about people who they resent for something. Like being beautiful and rich. Or for not being interested in them. Naki’s turned away a lot of boys – or so I’ve heard. That might make her just seem to like girls more.”
The two girls frowned and exchanged another look.
“I think so,” Madie said, though her tone held a hint of doubt.
“There’s a story that she and one of her servants were … you know,” Froje said, her voice hard with dislike. “But the servant wanted to end it. Naki found out. She set things up so her father would discover them together. He threw the servant and her entire family onto the street. My cousin knows the family. He swears it’s true.”
The pair looked at Lilia. She stared back at them. Her heart was quietly racing in her chest. She felt her friendship with Naki slipping away, and she didn’t like the feeling. The story about the servant was disturbing. Could Naki have been so malicious and vengeful? Maybe it’s an exaggeration, made up by servants angry at being thrown out – probably for a more deserving reason. She hated herself for thinking that, but she knew that not all servants were honest and loyal.
Maybe her friends were jealous of Lilia finding a prettier, richer friend than they were. Well, they shouldn’t have started completely ignoring me once they got their boys. But she couldn’t say that. It would make her liking Naki seem even more suspicious. Perhaps she could say something to help Naki. To help dispel the rumour.
“It doesn’t make sense,” she told them. “Naki doesn’t like her father. Why would she trust him to know that about her? More likely the servant was thrown out for another reason; made up a story to make Naki look bad.”
Froje and Madie looked thoughtful. They exchanged another look, this time doubtful. Then Madie smiled and turned to Lilia.
“Well, you’re probably right. You know her personally; we only know the stories.” She frowned. “But even if it’s not true, we are still worried about you. People are going to talk.”
Lilia shrugged. “Let them. They’ll get tired of it eventually. Why should Naki have no friends because of nasty rumour?”
She turned and started toward the door. The two girls hesitated, then Lilia heard them following. She also heard a fainter sound. A quick whisper.
“Why are you bothering? We’re not good enough for her now.”
Lilia continued out into the corridor, pretending she hadn’t heard, but she felt a bitter triumph. I’m right. They’re jealous. Yet she also had to hide a pang of guilt as the girls joined her. It was true. Naki was a more interesting and exciting friend than they had ever been, even when they weren’t distracted by the boys.
Especially if what they say about her is true.
She didn’t want to think about that now. Not because she feared the stories might be true, but because she feared that her friends would somehow sense the simmering excitement that their warning had stirred deep within her. And because of the inevitable questions the feeling led to.
What if it is true of me, as well?
All she knew for certain was that she did not feel the distaste she ought to, and that was something she would never be able to tell her friends – or anybody else. Perhaps not even Naki.
As the Guild’s carriage rolled through the streets of Arvice, Dannyl noted that Lady Merria was drinking in the sights with hungry eyes. Though she had only arrived ten days ago, she was already feeling the boredom of being stuck in the Guild House most of the time.
Or perhaps she is merely fascinated by a new place, Dannyl mused. It could be that I’m the only one feeling stuck.
Either way, she had been thrilled at the idea of visiting the market. Tayend had suggested it the previous night, before he’d headed off for another evening of fine food and company with one Ashaki or another. Dannyl hadn’t yet seen the market, since anything he required was always quickly brought to the Guild House by slaves, so the visit was merely for entertainment – and perhaps education, too. Maybe he’d learn something about Sachaka, and of the lands it traded with in the east.
“How did your visit with the women Achati recommended go?” Dannyl asked.
Merria glanced at him and smiled. “Good, I think. They all believe that the husband of one of the widows was killed by the Traitors, and yet only the widow displays any convincing hatred. I suspect that there’s more to it than they’re saying. One of the others hinted to me that she whined so much about him that the Traitors thought she was serious about wanting to be free of him.”
“So either the Traitors made a mistake, or she tricked them, or something else has forced her to claim to hate them to protect herself.”
Merria gave him a thoughtful look. “I really need to train myself to see all the complicated twisted possibilities in these situations, don’t I?”
He shrugged. “It never hurts. It’s also wise to not get too attached to anyone.”
She nodded and looked back out of the window, thankfully missing Dannyl’s wince as he realised the truth of his own words.
I shouldn’t get attached to Achati for the same reason. But who else is there to talk to? I do like him a great deal – and not just because he’s continued to associate with me even though I’ve become a social embarrassment here.
“Is that the market?” Merria asked.
Dannyl moved closer to the window on his side and peered at the road ahead. It ended where it met a crossroad. On the opposite side was a high white wall, broken by a plain archway through which a steady stream of people were passing. Those coming out were followed by slaves carrying boxes, baskets, sacks and rolled-up rugs. Both roads were lined with waiting carriages.
“I’d wager it is.”
Sure enough, the carriage swung in a wide turn at the meeting of roads so that it stopped before the archway. It was now the subject of much staring and pointing. Merria reached out to the carriage door, then paused and withdrew her hand.
“You had better go first, Ambassador,” she said.
He smiled grimly and waited for one of the slaves to clamber down and open the door. The man threw himself to the ground as Dannyl stepped out. A small crowd had gathered to watch, and a low murmur came from them as he appeared. But as Merria appeared, the sound rose to a louder hum of interest. She paused on the top step, frowning.
“Ignore them,” Dannyl advised, offering a hand. “Don’t meet anyone’s eyes.”
She lowered her gaze and took his offered hand for support, but stepped down with dignity. Dannyl resisted a smile. Merria had told him she was a ship captain’s daughter, which meant that while she hadn’t been raised in squalor or poverty she also hadn’t had the upbringing of a woman from the Houses. Yet she had studied the mannerisms and manners of those from the upper class when she joined the Guild, and learned to mimic them. Such a knack for adaptation would be very useful to her, both here and back in Imardin.
Dannyl released her hand, instructed the slave to move the carriage to an appropriate place out of the way of traffic to wait for them, then started toward the market entrance. The other slave leapt off the carriage to follow them.
Two guards watched the entrance, both eyeing Dannyl and Merria without expression.
They must be free servants, Dannyl thought. Like those at the palace.
Once through the archway he and Merria entered a market laid out in straight rows. The stalls on the outside, built against the walls, were permanent structures. The centre space was filled with neat lines of temporary carts and tables, most covered with a roof of cloth. He started along the first row.
Merria continued to be more interesting to the locals than Dannyl. Most likely they had never seen a Kyralian woman before, whereas Kyralian males were merely rare. He found that he was in the opposite position to Merria. He’d rarely seen Sachakan women before this. No women worked in the stalls, but plenty roamed the market, each with a male chap
erone. They wore highly decorated capes that fell from their shoulders to their ankles.
He did not want to raise the ire of the locals by staring at their women, so he turned his attention to the wares on offer. Perfume, elaborate glassware, artistic pottery and fine cloth surrounded them. They had obviously entered at the luxury end of the market. Thinking back, he realised he hadn’t seen anyone carrying vegetables or herding animals out of the archway. When they reached the end of one aisle, he squinted down the rows ahead. Sure enough, there were more practical goods on sale at the far end. Perhaps there was another entrance catering for that sort of produce.
They started down another aisle, stopping to look at goods from lands across the Aduna Sea. Merria was particularly impressed with the glassware. In the third aisle they were both instantly drawn to a stall covered in a glittering array of gemstones in all colours. But while Merria gazed at the stones, what had caught Dannyl’s eye were the stallholders, as he instantly recognised the dusty grey skin and long limbs of Duna tribesmen.
At once he remembered the Duna tracker, Unh, who had helped him, Achati and the Ashaki helpers to search for Lorkin. He also recalled the cave he and Unh had discovered in the mountains, its walls covered in crystals. Dannyl had learned that the tribesmen knew how to turn such crystals into magical gemstones. He eyed the glittering stones before him thoughtfully.
Surely they wouldn’t sell the magical ones here. He looked closer. The abundance on display and the roughness of their cutting suggested that these weren’t of much value beyond ordinary trinkets.
“You like?” a tribesman said, leaning toward Merria and smiling broadly.
She nodded. “They’re pretty. How much are––?”
“Do you have any finer gems?” Dannyl interrupted. “Or ones set into jewellery, or other objects?”
The man gave Dannyl a piercingly direct look, then shook his head. “People here not like our way of setting.”
Dannyl smiled. “We are not from here.”
The man grinned. “No, you are not.” He looked from Merria to Dannyl, then beckoned. “Come inside.”
They moved around the table and entered the shade under the roof covering. Watched by his frowning companion, the tribesman opened a dusty old bag and drew out two large bands. He lifted them up so Dannyl and Merria could see. They were made of some sort of unpolished, darkened metal, lined with leather. Gemstones glittered within crude settings. Small metal tags hung from holes around one edge of each band.
“They go here.” The man pointed to a place just above the knee. “And more here and one here.” He touched his skin above the elbow and then the cloth wrapped about his hips. “For ceremony we rub,” he mimicked a circular motion, “so they shine. But let go dark other times so not so …” He waved at his face, widening his eyes. Dazzling, Dannyl translated.
“That must look wonderful,” Merria said.
The man grinned and nodded at her. “We dance. If we dance well women choose us.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time a woman married a man for jewellery,” Merria remarked, glancing at Dannyl. “What do women wear?” she asked the man.
The tribesman shook his head. “Just belt. Very plain. Over cloth …” He gestured in a sweeping motion from neck to knee.
Merria looked disappointed. “No jewellery? No gems?”
“Gems on belt.”
“I’d love to see one of these ceremonies.” Merria sighed wistfully. “Is this expensive?” She nodded to the leg bands.
“This one not for sale. But we bring one that is next time? Maybe belt, too.”
“I’d like that.” She glanced back at the table of gems. “So … how much are they?”
They returned to the table and a bit of haggling followed. Dannyl suspected that the tribesman let her beat him down to a lower price than he would usually accept. As the transaction finished, Dannyl decided that he could not leave without asking after the tracker.
“Do you know Unh?” he asked. “He works as a tracker.”
The man’s grin vanished, then returned looking unconvincing and forced.
“No.” He glanced back at the other tribesman, who was now scowling. The man shook his head. “No.”
Dannyl nodded and shrugged, then thanked them for showing Merria the bands. The pair replied with fixed smiles. Dannyl led Merria away.
“Who is Unh?” she asked, when they were out of earshot.
“The tracker who helped us search for Lorkin.”
“Ah.” She glanced back. “Is it only me that got the impression they do know him, but don’t like him very much.”
“Not just you.”
“How interesting,” she murmured. “I hope this doesn’t mean they won’t bring some of those bands for me.”
They turned a corner and started down the next row. Dannyl looked up and came to a halt as he saw what lay before them.
Stalls filled with books, scrolls and writing implements lined each side of the aisle. He looked from side to side, his eyes drawn to piles of promising old tomes. Suddenly he knew why there had been a slight hint of smugness in Tayend’s tone when suggesting a market visit.
It wasn’t just that he’d suggested something I hadn’t thought of. He knew I’d find this. He’s probably been here already, what with his fondness for silly or exotic trinkets, and he probably guessed that I hadn’t. He felt a pang of fondness for his former lover, but it was followed by a mix of guilt and annoyance that was growing familiar since Tayend had arrived in Arvice. I’m going to have to thank him for this. I wish the prospect didn’t fill me with doubt and dread.
“I may take some time here,” he told Merria apologetically.
She smiled. “I thought you might. It’s fine. Anything you want me to look for?”
CHAPTER 6
A WARNING
As Lorkin paused in his work, he noted that more than half of the beds in the Care Room were occupied, though most of the patients would probably leave once they’d seen Kalia. Nearly every person had the same or similar illness. Even in isolated, remote Sanctuary, people came down with sniffles and coughs each winter. They called it “chill fever”.
The treatment was so trusted and familiar that few questions were asked. Kalia’s examination of those claiming to have the illness was perfunctory, and she rarely needed to explain the cures she handed out.
This was Kalia’s area of expertise. Lorkin was given the task of looking after anyone who came in with other injuries or illness. No sufferer of chill fever ever approached him. If Kalia was occupied, they settled onto a bed and watched her patiently, only occasionally glancing at him in curiosity.
The main cures were a chest rub and a bitter-tasting tea. Children were given sweets to suck if they wouldn’t drink the tea. The sweets were still quite strong and unpleasant, so that only those who truly had the sickness – and whose sense of taste was dulled – could tolerate them. Enough tea and sweets were handed out to last patients a few days. They had to return to be examined again, if they needed more.
It was the first time he’d seen the Traitors so strictly rationing their supplies. He knew that food stores would have to be monitored and controlled in order for the valley’s produce to sustain the people through the winter, but so far he hadn’t seen any tough restrictions coming into effect. They were talked about, however, and anyone seen to be eating more than was considered reasonable was treated with a teasing disapproval, but also an underlying tone of warning.
No magicians had come to the Care Room with chill fever, since they were naturally resistant to illnesses, so Lorkin was surprised to see one of them entering the room, her nose and eyelids a tell-tale shade of red. He turned back to the task of re-bandaging the ulcerated leg of an old man. The man chuckled.
“Thought she was a magician, didn’t you?” he croaked.
Lorkin smiled. “Yes,” he admitted.
“No. Her mother is. Sister is. Grandmother was. She isn’t, but she likes to pretend she is.”
r /> “In the Allied Lands, all magicians have to wear a uniform so everyone knows what they are. It’s illegal to dress as a magician if you are not one.”
The old man smiled thinly. “Oh, they wouldn’t like that here.”
“Because it would make it obvious that not everyone is equal?”
The man snorted. “No, because they don’t like being told what to do.”
Lorkin laughed quietly. He secured the bandage and slipped the old man an extra dose of pain cure. What will I do if we run out of it, and other cures?
He could start to Heal patients, but the timing would not be good. If I’m forced to use my Healing powers it should be for a better reason than because I let us run out of cures.
“Have you ever been to the old viewing rooms high above the city?” the old man asked.
“The ones that were made long before the Traitors discovered the valley?”
“Yes. A friend of yours told me she was going there. Said to tell you.”
Lorkin stared at the old man, then smiled and looked away.
“She did, did she?”
“And I need help getting back to my room.”
Kalia didn’t look suspicious when Lorkin told her the man wanted his help, but she did tell him to return as quickly as possible. Once they had walked a few hundred paces, the old man told Lorkin he was fine to continue on his own, but Lorkin insisted on accompanying him all the way to his room. Only then did Lorkin hurry away to the viewing rooms. He had to climb several stairs to get there, and by the time he arrived at the door to the first room he was breathing heavily.
Once he had passed through the heavy door his exhal ations became billowing clouds of mist. The air was very cold, and he quickly created a magical barrier around himself and warmed the air within it. The room was long and narrow, the only furniture some rough wooden benches stacked up against the back wall. Glassless windows were spaced along the length.
A woman leaned against the window edge, and this time his heart flipped over at the sight of her. Tyvara smiled faintly. He managed to restrain the urge to grin in return.