“I don’t believe Old Edna can help us.” Zilpha shrugged.
“Aye, then there’s the colorful one they call Citrine. She has a rare gifting if you can find her.”
Zilpha moved closer to the lady, her breath caught. “Citrine? I saw her in the marketplace yesterday. What do you know about her?”
“Not much, she keeps a shop where she sells herbs.”
“She keeps a shop? Outside of the marketplace? That’s unheard of.”
“It’s by water’s edge, where you can see the ships coming in and a fair amount of traffic pours through. It’s not allowed by the city warden, but then since when has he meddled in our affairs? She seems to do as she wishes. It’s not much different from the inns and taverns by the port.”
A sudden hope beamed in Zilpha’s heart as an idea formed in her mind; perhaps the port was where she needed to sell goods. Outside of the marketplace she could make some additional coins, perhaps more than she’d ever made at the weekly market and she could pay off her debt. She seized the lady’s arm. “Do you know how I’d find her?”
The lady pointed at the sky, making a tsking sound with her tongue. “It grows late, and she closes early. Better try tomorrow as soon as the sun comes up.”
“Ah, many thanks. What else do you know? Have you heard about Lady Hava?”
The lady’s eyebrows rose, and a smile covered her face. “Such a sweet lady, it’s too bad, just too bad. I can’t be talking in the streets all day. I must go, unless you want to buy bread?”
The lady waved the bread. Zilpha stepped back, a frown coming over her face. “What about Lady Hava? What’s too bad?”
“No bread? Fine. Away with you then.” The lady moved down the street.
With a sigh Zilpha turned and pointed her feet home. The shadows were long in the streets, and this time she wanted to be home before anything untoward happened in the night. As she passed the richer part of the city, her eyes flitted to the road leading up to the home of Lord Arden. She wondered what he would do since she’d not appeared to pay her debt or request an extension. A weariness bit her, and a sudden hunger zinged through her stomach. Yet the idea churned in her mind. She could sell baskets by the sea. She counted on her fingers the amount she had. If she made a few more, she could sell enough. First thing in the morning, she’d set to work, getting her merchandise from Mathilda—she scowled—and figuring out a way to transport them to the shore.
A noise woke Zilpha. She sat up in bed, pulling the covers to her chest, heart pounding as she listened. Her fingers reached up to the shell necklace around her neck, pulling it back and forth as she peered into the inky blackness. Was it Bram coming home? But it was much too late for that. Wasn’t it? She wished the moonlight would come out from behind a cloud so she could see inside her hut. She’d left the flint near the fireplace, and if she padded across the floor, she could retrieve it and light a candle. But it was much too cold for that. Even though it was not yet winter, the temperature at night cooled, leaving her shivering in her thin shift, thankful for the wool blanket that covered her bed.
The sound came again—a scratch, like two objects striking each other. Her heart thudded in her chest and she leaned over, to reach for the candle, hoping it would be a suitable weapon. An orange glow flickered from the other room. Candlelight. Someone was in the house. Breathless, she snatched the candle from the floor and scanned the blackness of the room, searching for somewhere to hide. But it was too late. A shadow entered her room.
A dark cloak covered the figure, but through the clothing Zilpha could make out a male. The dancing candlelight—heedless of danger—showed off his amber eyes, deep set in a smooth-shaven face. Zilpha covered her mouth with her hand, smothering her scream into a high squeak of terror. The amber eyes glowed at her as the male glided up to her bed, perching on the foot of it and overwhelming her with his woody scent.
“I know you have it,” the deep voice all but growled at her, sending shivers down her spine.
Zilpha dropped the candle. It rolled into the floor with a thump. “What are you doing in my home? Who are you? Get out!”
A chuckle came from within the hood and a gloved hand tossed it back, revealing long shaggy hair. The male held the candle higher, showing off his full face. “Is that how you greet an old friend? You don’t recognize me?”
Zilpha gasped, dropping the wool blanket as she took in the stern jaw, deep eyes, and nimble fingers. “Nodin?” a vibration snaked through her belly, and her lips trembled at his proximity. A bolt of desire passed through her lower abdomen, and she tried to shake it off and keep her head clear.
“Did you not expect me? I know you have it. I need it back.”
“What are you talking about?” Zilpha asked, unable to keep from gripping the necklace that hung heavy between her breasts. She held onto it as though it were a token of protection.
His gaze flickered to her hands and then roamed further over her body. Zilpha shivered under his amber eyes, feeling dirty, like he’d asked her to undress for him. His eyebrows arched. “So, you kept it, but it’s not here.” He read her body posture well. “What did you do with it? Bury it?”
“I…I…I…” Zilpha cast about for words.
Bending, he set the candle on the floor and reached out to place both gloved hands on her bare shoulders, leaning closer until his bulk towered over her. “Don’t stammer…it doesn’t become you. I need it back in three days. Before the harvest. Or you may find life becomes very difficult for you. Look for it. Consider that your warning.”
Amber eyes narrowed at her, and Zilpha froze under his touch, gentle though it was. She clutched the necklace, as if it would tell her where to seek. “I don’t know where it is. Honestly. I don’t.”
His thin lips turned up, laughing at her inaptitude. Despite his sternness, the way his dark brown hair fell over his forehead made her feel weak. In the candlelight she could just make out the shadow of a beard against his jaw. A desire to reach out and run her fingers across his face made her tremble. She thought him handsome with his sharp nose and broad shoulders. He was skilled with speech and often got his way, either by tongue or the strength of his hands. Those elegant hands that held her shoulders, slipping down to her arms. One hand slid over, covering her fingers that held the necklace, a finger dipping down to graze her erect nipples.
She struggled under the warmth of his fingers against her skin, and her heartbeat pulsed, loud and clear. She licked her lips, fixating his stern expression in her mind. A shiver ran through her—the conflict of temptation and desire like a sweet fruit turned bitter at first bite. His demand ignited a flurry of choices. She leaned away from him, resisting, for the object he’d given her was dangerous. She’d thrown it away, knowing if she touched it, a brilliant awakening would take place within and everything would change. Perhaps not for the better. Yet the possibility lingered. A flood of warmth enveloped her as his fingers tightened around her arm, drawing her gaze back to his face.
“Three days. No excuses.” His face drew closer, his lips grazing her cheek, and he inhaled. “There is a reward waiting when you deliver.”
“Please.” A raw thirst knotted at the core of her being, begging to be released, despite what happened next. Was she strong enough to hold back? Nay, that was not the right question. Did she want to hold back? A chill wind blew in, scattering her thoughts like the leaves of autumn.
The hands withdrew, the temptation faded, and all that was left of his presence was an impression on the bed. He pulled the cloak over his head, taking the candle with him.
“Three days.”
His final words rang out, ominous in the dark, and she pulled the covers up to her neck, holding the necklace, running her fingers over the grooves. Should she play the game? His game? Or should she run?
13
Disturbance
Tor Lir left Citrine’s cave brimming with satisfaction. She’d been surprised and intoxicated by the idea of treasure. He felt her aura change. She wa
s on a relentless quest for power. She would not leave until she had an answer. Since they’d arrived in Sanga Sang, she’d changed. He’d watched with doubts as she collected herbs and wrote the book of spells, her mind drifting nearer to ideas of power, searching for relics to use. Did she not know her own strength? He saw vestiges of power drifting in her aura, unused. Didn’t she know she could have everything she wanted by snapping her fingers? Thoughts of her made him feel ashamed of himself, for he knew he avoided his own powers, hiding them like they were a poison that would corrupt him. He brushed his negative thoughts away, anxiety knotting in his stomach as he entered the city once again, chewing his lower lip as he decided what to do.
“Tor Lir,” a female voice called.
He spun around, catching the swish of braids in an alleyway. A face peered out at him, and a smile tugged on the corner of his lips. “Lady Hava.” He moved toward her, holding out his hands, but he stopped short when he saw her face. “What’s wrong?”
Her chestnut hair hung flat and her face, usually full of life and color, was pale. Dark circles under her eyes told him she hadn’t slept. Reaching out, he placed a hand on her shoulder. Her grief made him feel something under the layers of emotion he attempted to hide.
Hava shrugged her shoulders and gave him a slight smile. “I’m sorry I didn’t meet you at the tavern last night like we planned. My father and I had a disagreement.”
A bruise on her cheek told him more than words could say, and he stepped back. Anger boiled like lava in the core of his being, and his fists tightened. “Dare he strike you?”
She moved toward him, and he caught her scent. A tightness came to his chest and he faintly remembered the Jasmine Gardens of Shimla and the Jesnidrains—the beautiful, immortal creatures who fueled his lust. He blinked, trying to keep back the thoughts, forcing himself not to act on instinct because he missed the warmth of feminine touch. All the same, a longing rose, and he pulled Hava into an embrace, holding her a moment too long, feeling himself go hot at the delightful feel of her body against his.
Tor Lir and Lady Hava had met in the city one market day. She’d dropped her goods and he had been there to help pick them up. He’d asked her a question about the swords on her back and she, in surprise, offered to train him. When he wasn’t working the farmlands, he met with Hava to learn sword fighting—he still recalled how Citrine had laughed at him for choosing a bow and arrow, claiming it was for cowards. From there, an unusual friendship formed, and Tor Lir found he had someone—other than Citrine—to ask about the ways of mortals.
It was Hava who had told him about the habits for mortals, work being their number one need. Work provided food for bellies, a place to live, land to grow crops, and coin for purchases including cloth, herbs, voyages, and the simpler pleasures, like a hot meal at the tavern and a tankard of ale. Tor Lir found it odd, for the Iaen did not believe work was the ultimate goal. They flitted about the forest at will, each exploring their own interests and forcing prisoners and the young to complete mundane tasks—tasks mortals consumed their lives with.
Hava pulled back, staring up into Tor Lir’s face, the self-pity gone. “Listen, I wanted to speak with you yesterday because my father is planning something big. He thought I wouldn’t notice, but he’s been calling on the Lords of the city, binding them together in some sort of plan that will disrupt the peace. There are few who will stand up to them, for he owns a good piece of the farmland beyond the city, and he has tenants who pay him in silver. I think he intends to get rid of them by sending his soldiers to root them out of their homes. One way or another, prisons will overflow, and many good workers will lose their place in the market.”
Tor Lir listened, wondering if Hava’s father had something to do with the beast he saw the evening before. “He wants to bring imbalance and chaos to the city,” Tor Lir said. “And to what end? What is there to gain?”
Hava sighed. “Wealth. It has been his life’s goal. Without tenants, he can now use prisoners to work the land, but I think he wants to go beyond producing crops. I think he wants to own all of the farmland so he can control the prices in the marketplace and create a monopoly on goods sold. Most of those who work with cloth, like I do, pay a tax to him. I think he wants to be the next city warden, which is concerning because the warden has disappeared and there are new Lords in the city. I mentioned going to the tavern last night because it’s the perfect place to glean gossip from the city and watch newcomers.”
Tor Lir cocked his head. “I saw something last night at the temple, something that might have to do with all of this.”
Hava raised an eyebrow. “The temple? I did hear there was a disturbance. Tell me what you saw, and then we must make a plan.”
Tor Lir smiled, liking Hava even more. Unlike Citrine, she did not hurl words at him or barge into a mess without planning. His eyes softened as he stared at Hava. She was beautiful, but she was not an Enchantress and she did not control beasts.
14
Illiterate
Daylight streamed into the room, and Zilpha sat up with a jerk, brushing sleep out of her eyes. She scanned the room, surprised she’d fallen asleep after the devilish visit of Lord Nodin. She hadn’t imagined it, had she? But the candle lay on the floor, and when she peered out of the room, she could see the latch to the hut was turned and the bar was not set. But it was the letter on the table that gave her pause. She reached for it, feeling suspended like the breath at the moment before making a choice.
She unfolded the parchment and peered at the hastily scrawled words that covered it. Words she could not read. A number was listed at the end. A solitary one with a five next to it. Payment? She’d have to take it to someone who could read.
A thump at the door distracted her. “Zilpha? Are you home?”
Mathilda. Hope faded into apprehension. Dashing back to the room, Zilpha shrugged on her working dress. Sweat from the previous day covered the back and underarms of the dress, yet she hadn’t taken the time to wash the bloodstains off her other garment. It was all but ruined now. Stuffing the letter into her pocket, she hurried to the door while twisting her hair up in a bun. She pulled it open to Mathilda’s peaked face.
“Zilpha, what a relief. I was worried about you,” Mathilda gushed.
A horse nickered in the background and, looking out, Zilpha saw with relief Mathilda had brought the baskets.
Zilpha crossed her arms, moving her bare toe over the dirt on the door step. A drop of candle wax had fallen and hardened there. “I…I…I didn’t mean those words yesterday…”
Mathilda reached out and pulled Zilpha to her, wrapping her in a forgiving embrace. “I know. Me either. Listen, I brought your supplies and—I hope you don’t mind—cooked you some fish and bread. It’s not much, but it’s the least I can do.”
Zilpha pulled away, uncomfortable with Mathilda’s kindness. “Let me grab my shoes and I’ll help you unload.”
A moment of awkward silence followed. Zilpha dragged on her shoes, her eyes scanning the floor, unsure what else to say to Mathilda. But Mathilda was the first to break the silence. She always seemed to know how to break a moment with words, and Zilpha wanted to scowl, but she didn’t want Mathilda to take it the wrong way.
“Nodin. I’m curious and hope you’ll forgive me prying. Were you in love with him?” Mathilda asked as they walked to the wagon together.
Love. That word again. Did it exist? Although the telltale signs of happiness pinched Mathilda’s rosy cheeks, leading Zilpha to believe it did. Zilpha lifted baskets from the wagon and walked to her door, bending to drop her burdens and hide the sudden flush that came to her face. When she stood straight, she saw gray smoke rising from the neighboring hut, just a stone’s throw down the lane. The smoke dispersed into the air, disappearing just like Nodin had. Lord Nodin now. Was there anything there at all?
“It wasn’t love. He has a persuasive power, and it’s impossible not to want to do what he says. I think it was the look he gave me when I pleased
him. It felt as if he truly saw me for what I can do. What I can give. . .never mind. You look confused. . .” Zilpha shrugged at her lame attempt to explain. Even his name on her lips reminded her of the choice she had yet to make.
“Nay, I’ve just never heard you talk like this before. And that expression on your face.”
“Mathilda,” Zilpha spoke up, wanting to change the topic of their conversation, “do you know anyone who can read?”
“Read? What for?”
“Just curious.”
“The Lords and Ladies of the city, they need that knowledge. I’m sure if you went to the temple the friars could translate and then there’s the tower—”
“But you know someone like me would never get close enough to the temple or tower without raising questions. No, I need someone who is like us. Not those rich Lords.”
“What about the colorful one, Citrine? She buys ink and parchment at the marketplace. It must be because she reads.”
A jolt of understanding passed through Zilpha. “I know what I have to do.”
After Mathilda left—she hadn’t been keen on leaving and needed encouragement—Zilpha sat down in the dirt outside her hut and weaved two more baskets. She wanted to ensure she had enough if she was going to follow through with her plan and sell them by the port. She’d gone down there once or twice, although it was said not to be a place where ladies should walk lest they sought passage to the eastern side of the Jaded Sea. Regardless, it was a place where the fishers went, the traders made port, and the rough characters of the city of Sanga Sang dwelt. A few shops coated the edges, all in a row with a tavern, an inn, and an herb shop. Such establishments were owned by lowlifes who sold suspect merchandise and were not welcome in the weekly marketplace.
Legend of the Nameless One Boxset Page 24