Hearts of Tabat

by Cat Rambo

  After consideration, she leaned forward as well, stepping under his arm, their heights making the action a neat fit, as though they had been tailored to each other. He felt her warmth along his side and was conscious anew of the wind. He allowed his arm to tuck the cloak about her, and they stood a moment in silence, looking at the view.

  From this great height, they could see all the terraces of the city, and the chains of light made by the aetherics, and the lesser lights, the gas lamps or fires that twinkled here and there. All three Moons hung low in the southern sky, their light mingling in the water until you could not determine one’s trail from another if it were not for the differing colors: a ruddy, sullen red like dying blood from the red Moon, along with light white as a snow, and the purple Moon’s glow, an amethyst that danced across the other colors, altering them. The water stretched away, an immense dark plain where no ships could be glimpsed.

  By his side, Ruhua breathed, deep and even and relaxed. She fit so neatly there that he ran through scenarios in his head, but she would not make a suitable bride for so many reasons, the least of which was that she was sworn in the Duke’s service and, if Alberic ordered, would have to chop Sebastiano down.

  Still, something about her placid stillness made him yearn to trouble it, so he leaned down, whispering in her ear, “Only the music, Ruhua? No other pleasures to be had?”

  Her breath caught, and his heartbeat quickened in that in turn. She felt even warmer against his side, as though she were an ember he was breathing on, setting it aglow, but she was silent.

  “No reply?” he coaxed. “At least tell me if I’m casting down the wrong trail, huntswoman.”

  “Are you hunting then?” she breathed, so quietly he barely heard her.

  ADELINA HATED social occasions and wasn’t sure she understood why she felt obliged to oblige Eloquence, other than an obscure guilt over Sebastiano’s smile dancing through her mind.

  A week ago, she would have tried to use the occasion to coax Eloquence back into loving her, wooing her, but that moment had passed.

  His brows had drawn together in irritation when she’d reminded him the Nettlepurse carriage was no longer at her disposal, but at least he’d paid attention to appearances and hired something of good, but not flashy quality, pulled by a matched pair of bay Centaurs. He did not talk to her in the carriage, simply sat staring out the window at the passing city as though trying to decipher the riddle that it posed.

  She stared out her side in turn. I hate these things. The Nobility play their game, and it’s one weighted against the Merchants, even the richest of them. An old and well-established game of points and favors and appearances, some of which ran completely against the teachings of the Trade Gods, which made it even more difficult to understand.

  It was a game that Nobles learned how to play in their cradles. Merchants would be forever hampered in it, because the basic rule was that the Nobility started with advantages that no one else shared or would ever share, although they might be promised and denied it, time and time again. That trick seemed to work for many people, but Adelina found it silly.

  She’d never shared the fever for the Nobility that so many Merchants embraced, as though the Nobles were all that they aspired to be, even though so much of that world ran counter to the practicalities of Merchantly existences. There were things the Nobles did that would never make sense to Merchants, and things that the Merchants did that the Nobles would never try to understand, because they could not imagine the world being any different than how they saw it.

  She was in a dour mood, and not the sort that was well suited to the occasion.

  Eloquence, by contrast, seemed to be looking forward to it in a way that seemed at odds with a follower of the Moon Temples. Despite all her sour musing about the Nobility, it was a touch endearing to see him running his hand through his bristle of hair, trying to tame it, and his skin was pink and well scrubbed, freshly shaved for the occasion.

  It was just as well that Eloquence was still uninclined to make conversation with her. It gave her more time to think about the Press and all its tribulations and the various strategies that could get her out of some of the holes, but not all of them.

  What was she to replace the latest adventure of Bella with? Because she knew better than to try to write more of them. No one would buy them. It was absurd. And Eloquence’s work, even if she talked him into staying with the Press—and do I really want that?—would not make money in the way that Bella’s stories did, no matter how pretty his words. They would sell to the people who had the sort of education that would allow them to appreciate them, and anyone who lacked that learning would find them difficult and unpleasant.

  Was that selling them too short, perhaps? Serafina had praised the book and said it was as though she had been there on the boat, following along with all of its adventures. She was not particularly well educated, no matter how she liked to pretend otherwise. So perhaps there was hope that Eloquence’s work would take all Tabat by storm, though only if she persuaded him to stay with the Press.

  A sigh escaped her, because she did not believe that possible at all.

  This was going to be a terrible evening. People sneering at her, asking how Bella was, asking how the Press was. Did Eloquence even understand what she was doing for him? She stole a glance and saw him gazing out the carriage window as they went up Spume Way, looking out over the city as they clattered toward the Duke’s castle. A dark mood settled over her. He didn’t care. And what did that matter, after all? He was utterly unsuitable for a marriage alliance, the sort of person that her mother probably had nightmares about Adelina contracting with. It would have been impossible.

  So why does the thought of losing even just that faint hope hurt, even with Sebastiano lurking in the wings?

  He didn’t know the basic courtesies. He hadn’t even admired her clothing, though she had praised his. He might be able to spin pretty words, but his manners outside the page were rough. Untaught. Her fist clenched on the seat. How could he make her so angry, this man? Even Bella had never sent her into such a temper, made her feel as though someone had taken a rasp to her nerves, gone along each and every inch of them, until the touch of the air alone hurt her.

  No.

  This was all unbecoming of the head of a Press, of a woman who had taken a piece of paper and built a successful House—at least for a while—from it. If Bella’s fall had not happened, the achievement might have been the sort that led to the founding of her own Merchant House within a generation. Her children—the children that she and Eloquence could have produced together—could have had a future she had wrestled with the Trade Gods for, and never needed to depend on Emiliana.

  But the Press was dying, strangled by a flood of debt and returned books and vanished authors. She was ruler of nothing.

  They pulled up in front of the castle, into the great pool of light there, the circle of aetheric lights making the stone glimmer greasily underfoot. Human pages handed them down from the carriages. That was interesting. Alberic usually relied on Beasts for most of his servantry, the rarer and more expensive the better. What did it signify, this change? She suspected it meant that he was afraid of Abolitionist plots.

  She remembered seeing the children playing, the lack of Beast nursemaids. A thought floated through her head: what did they do with them?

  And what would that mean in the future?

  She followed Eloquence up the steps, nodding pleasantly at a few acquaintances. Most people would not know her disgrace, her business downfall. So that did not matter, she would not be reminded of it.

  She caught the speculative gleam in Master Merchant Trifleet’s eye, gazing at Eloquence before glancing at her. There was a failure that would be exposed if she wasn’t careful. No one needed to know she’d been rejected by someone so far below Merchant status.

  She squared her shoulders, gave Trifleet a faint, polite smile, the sort you give someone whose name you can’t quite remember, and took
Eloquence’s arm before they entered.

  His muscles tightened at the touch.

  “It signifies you are my guest, nothing more,” she said sideways as they passed through the great archway.

  “I did not mean to imply anything else,” he said, still holding himself stiff.

  Adelina bit back an angry retort. There was no profit in public arguments. Instead she said, serene, “Of course you didn’t.”

  Together, they entered the ballroom’s light and noise.

  The last time I was at such an event, it turned into a riot. Some of the people here are even the same. Dear Marbu, is that Mathu Reinart yet again, lurking near the punchbowl?

  Perfumes filled the air, particularly the sort Bernarda had popularized last year. It had been eclipsed by calyps-blossom when Bella promoted it, and now they had all gone back to that scent for lack of alternative. By next week, it would be something new and, given all that was going on, it would be a Human scent, nothing that drew on exotic hints of Beast for its allure, like something from the Rose Kingdom, as sometimes had happened in the past.

  There, near one of the doors leading out onto the scallops of individual balconies set all along the southern wall, looking out over the ocean. Sebastiano. Their eyes met and he was the first to break the glance, turning to the door and slipping outside.

  Eloquence released her arm and without a word vanished into the crowd, making his way towards the people clustered around the Duke. As though I didn’t even exist. She stared after his retreating back for a second, then made her way towards the door Sebastiano had gone through.

  He, at least, valued her. That was what she should do, find someone who would treat her well. Treat her the way she had once thought Eloquence would. Was that an unachievable task? But Sebastiano …

  She made her way through the room, pushing through the crowd and heat. Glitter and dazzle and hot air, this was all these occasions were built of. Hollow gestures and facades composed the game board here.

  Pah-oom-oom, pah-pah-oom of the musical instruments, then a wheedle of flutes asking querulously if the dance should continue. A song she’d heard a hundred times, one of the traditional tunes. The guitarist had played it in Dripkettle, back before any of this started.

  Hearts of Tabat, come home to the marshes,

  Hearts of Tabat, come over the sea.

  As the evening progressed, the music would freshen, move forward in time, until at midnight, when all the elders and children had gone away, they would play music of the day, sometimes defining it through the very act of playing it.

  She ducked between two couples as they danced, still making her way towards the door, feeling the dark mood slip away as though staying behind her.

  Hearts of Tabat, the terraces are waiting,

  Lit by sunset, the tiled city.

  Sebastiano was a little silly, a little pompous, but he was clever and he shared her background. Understood how things worked in a way that Eloquence never would, in all his life. And he loved her, or so he said.

  Very well, then. She would put that to the question.

  But the minute she stepped out into the cold crisp air, saying, “Sebastiano? I saw you come out here and I wanted to ask …” she realized the answer was not what she wanted.

  He stood there with another woman, after all his sweet words and professions. The Duke’s Huntswoman, Ruhua, who she’d last seen with Bella, now sheltered in the crook of Sebastiano’s arm, smiling up at him.

  CHAPTER 53

  Before Sebastiano could murmur back to Ruhua, the balcony door opened.

  Someone stepped out in a waft of music. “Sebastiano? I saw you come out here and I wanted to ask …”

  Adelina’s voice trailed off as she took in the picture: Sebastiano still leaning down in order to hear Ruhua’s words, their stance relaxed and intimate as old lovers.

  Now it was his turn to blush, and he could feel himself do it, jerking away from Ruhua as though startled doing something wrong, in a way he knew would offend her even as he did it, helpless to change his course.

  “I beg pardon for intruding,” Adelina said, her voice straining for politeness.

  “No,” Ruhua said. “I believe that you came at the right time.” She stepped away from Sebastiano and gave him a bow, smiling now, all trace of fluster gone. “Perhaps another time, Merchant Mage.”

  She slipped past Adelina and went in. Sebastiano found himself at a total loss and ten times the fool. In sheer frustration he turned and hurled the half full glass of wine off the balcony in a gesture that sent the glass flying into the void but unfortunately left most of the wine on himself. He shouted an imprecation, then turned back to Adelina, working at mastering his temper. He was proud of the sardonic tone he achieved: “Did you wish something, Merchant Scholar Nettlepurse?”

  Her head went up and she squared her shoulders as though he had declared some challenge. “I only wished to convey my greetings, Merchant Mage Silvercloth.”

  She turned on her heel but he already regretted his harsh words. Why do I say these things? Why can’t I learn to keep them to myself? But they come out so quickly, so readily, when I feel hurt, he thought.

  “Wait,” he said. “Adelina, wait.”

  She paused and took a breath, then turned. “Wait for what?”

  “I am not attracted to Ruhua,” he said.

  “Then just toying with her,” she said, coldly. “That seems unworthy of you, Merchant Mage.”

  “I am attracted to you. I want an alliance with you.”

  There was another long pause, while the only sound was the distant waves and the muffled music of the ballroom band.

  “Well,” she said at length. “That is good to know.”

  “And you?” he said, daring.

  She laughed, and the sound was bitter and hurt in a way that wrung his heart. “I am no longer a good trade alliance, Merchant Mage. My Press is nigh bankruptcy, every creditor come a-calling, all of them with collection envelope in hand. I depended on Bella Kanto for my fortune, and the God of Diversification has punished me for being overconfident when it came to such things.”

  He frowned. “Surely your House has enough funds to bail out the Press,” he said.

  She shook her head. “My House …” she said reluctantly, as though he were dragging the words from her, “does not wish to be involved with the Press, nor its difficulties. They only discovered its ties to me recently.”

  He blinked. It came as a surprise to him that she was the head of the Press, but once he had gotten over his astonishment, it all made sense. He had enjoyed looking at the Press and the way it was run, in fact, to the point where he had a secret desire to see its books, to read the diary there of Adelina’s ups and downs with the Press since the first day, an account that would, he admitted, be of tender interest only to a lover who was also at least in part a Merchant.

  He had the feeling he was sailing in murky waters, unknown things lurking under the surface. “Your House did not know?” he repeated, his tone cautious.

  She turned away from him again and went to the balcony, touching her fingers to the carved stone and looking out at the line of the horizon. “To be accurate, my mother pretended to not know,” she said. “All my efforts were to thwart her knowledge of my efforts, and she knew all the time.”

  He sorted through what he knew of Emiliana. His parents had not much cared for her. They’d thought her choice to carry on a marriage with herself monumental hubris, although it was a common enough trade deal for those not ruling Houses. So he had little contact with her, other than the odd moments of his childhood.

  And, of course, that encounter at the garden party and her look then, which had seemed to reckon him and the cost of his wardrobe down to the discount extended on gilt buckles when you bought them in quantity, which was a small investment he had made last season and had not regretted until the moment her gaze had taken them in.

  He said, “No one is in perfect sympathy with their parents.�
� He debated mentioning Corrado’s demand that he marry, but immediately decided against it. Reminding a woman that you were wooing her because your parent had told you to was a move of such monumental stupidity that even he knew that it should be avoided.

  “She will see me ruined and begging her for help before she will come to my aid,” Adelina said.

  “Surely not,” Sebastiano said. His parents had been stern enough, but they never would have done something of the sort that she was proposing.

  She shook her head. Tears glinted in her eyes, made them seem large and glassy, almost dazed. They made him itch in a way that he had not for Ruhua and he started to take a step forward when Adelina eyed him and held up a hand.

  “Is it something about this balcony that makes you particularly amorous?” she demanded. “First Ruhua, then me.”

  “Ruhua because I was missing you. Because I saw you there with Eloquence.” The words came to him because they were true.

  She paused. Eyed him up and down. “Really.” Her tone dared him to elaborate. Dared him to convince her.

  He flung all dignity aside and put everything on the dice, dropping to his knees in front of her.

  “You are everything,” he said.

  Was that the slightest smile playing over her lips?

  “Go on,” she said.

  It was.

  He plunged forward, plucking words out of his heart and offering them to her immediately, without examining them for foolishness or insincerity. This was no time for caution.

  “I have thought of you every day,” he said. “I saw you come in with another, and it stabbed me through the heart, more deadly than any knife.”

  “He wanted me to bring him, to introduce him to the Duke,” she murmured.

  Giddy delight surged in him. She might have entered the room with Eloquence, but she had not stayed with him. Instead she had sought Sebastiano out, him, Sebastiano, as though he was the thing that she desired the most. Was it possible? Surely it had to happen that way. He could not be drawn to her so strongly, so immediately, unless it was reciprocated. He dared to reach out and take her fingers in his, hold them to his lips.