Modestly, she lowered her eyes to the dish of hot, whipped columa berries in front of her. She had no wish to actively participate in the table conversation. But Ridge seemed determined to push her into the discussion.
“What about the wedding cloak? Did you find one?”
Her mouth started to lift in a private smile. Firmly Kalena stifled it. “Yes, Ridge. I found one.”
Casually, Quintel asked the next question. “What did you select, Kalena?”
She looked up, meeting Ridge’s gaze. “Red,” she stated boldly. “A most interesting shade of scarlet.”
Quintel laughed in genuine amusement, raising his goblet in mock salute to Ridge whose expression was wry. “Very good. The lady has issued a challenge, Fire Whip. It would seem she has decided not to be a boring sort of bride. Tell me, what will you wear to counter the challenge?”
Ridge picked up his wine and swallowed. “She’s chosen the color of red Symmetra. Therefore Kalena leaves me little choice. I will have to wear black, won’t I? The black of the night that enfolds the moon, the way a man embraces his woman.”
Kalena felt the heat surge into her face, knowing her small act of assertiveness had just been well and truly squashed. “The entire matter of the wedding would seem quite pointless under the circumstances.”
“No,” Quintel said gently, “it is not pointless. Not in this instance. You must trust my judgment in this matter. I have made all the preparations. The wedding will be at the customary hour of sunset and it will be followed by a proper feast.”
“You have invited a lot of people?” Kalena asked anxiously. A good-sized crowd would make her task easier. Olara had foreseen a large crowd.
“A number of traders and their associates. Men Ridge knows. Forgive me for not asking if there was anyone you would wish to invite, Kalena. I assumed that since you are alone in town there would be no one you would wish present.”
“I’ll let you know tomorrow evening,” Kalena said firmly.
Ridge immediately picked up on that remark. He shot her a quick, speculative glance. “What happens tomorrow evening?”
“It is then I hope to meet some new friends. Perhaps I will ask them to the wedding. The bride is entitled to bring her own witnesses, is she not? She is entitled to have women friends to attend her and make certain she has her time of privacy after the ceremony before the groom comes to her room.” She had to have that traditional hour of privacy. It was essential to her task.
“Of course you may invite whom you wish,” Quintel murmured.
Ridge scowled thoughtfully. “What friends will you be meeting? You know no one in town.”
“Except Arrisa. You remember her?” Some of Kalena’s earlier enthusiasm returned. Her eyes sparkled. “She has arranged to give me what she calls a trade wife send-off. She and her associates will be calling for me tomorrow evening. Oh, that reminds me, my lord,” she added, turning to Quintel. “Please do not expect me for the evening meal tomorrow”
Ridge shifted slightly, one arm looped around an upraised knee, his wine goblet grasped in his fingers. His golden gaze was narrow and suspicious. “You plan to spend the evening with Arrisa and her friends?”
“Arrisa was kind enough to invite me when I ran into her on Weavers Street this morning.”
“I don’t think you realize exactly what sort of evening you might be letting yourself in for,” Ridge began with the familiar arrogance of a male who is about to straighten out a sadly naive female. “Arrisa and her friends are not the sort of acquaintances you would wish to encourage.”
“Why not?”
“Well, several of them have been trade wives in the past or have accompanied the caravans in, uh, certain capacities. All of them have a reputation for rather loose behavior.”
Kalena smiled brightly. “But I am going to be a trade wife myself. These are the sort of women whom I shall be associating with in the future. I should get to know their ways; be accepted among them.”
Ridge’s mouth tightened. “Your aunt is a respectable Healer. I am sure she would not approve of your plans for tomorrow evening.”
Kalena managed to resist pointing out that her aunt was the one who had contracted for the trade marriage in the first place. “I expect you’re right. My aunt has extremely restrictive notions,” Kalena allowed diplomatically.
“Not half as restrictive as a husband’s notions.” Ridge clattered his goblet warningly as he set it down on the table.
Kalena chose to ignore the gesture. “I haven’t got a husband. Not yet,” she said softly.
“Two nights from now that particular detail will be corrected,” Ridge informed her meaningfully. “In the meantime you will behave yourself in a proper manner.”
“I will behave myself in a proper trade wife manner,” Kalena agreed politely. “But since I don’t yet know exactly how trade wives behave, I shall first have to learn something about the subject, won’t I?”
“Not from Arrisa and her friends,” Ridge said coldly.
Aware of Quintel’s amused attention, Kalena decided to drop her end of the argument. She had no need to quarrel over the matter. She fully intended to join Arrisa and her friends the following evening and nothing Ridge could do would change that. She would gain nothing by making a spectacle of herself at the trade baron’s table. Meekly, Kalena went back to her columa berries. They weren’t quite as good as the ones she was accustomed to getting back in Interlock, she decided.
Ridge watched her broodingly for a short time and then apparently decided he had successfully handled the situation. He appeared relieved, and proud of his first attempt at exercising husbandly responsibility. “Did you remember to buy riding clothes?”
“Yes, Ridge. I remembered the riding garments. The shopkeeper said they would be ready tomorrow afternoon.”
“Boots?”
“I ordered boots. They’ll be delivered tomorrow also.”
He nodded, satisfied. “I’ll take care of everything else.”
“I assumed you would.”
He ignored that, turning to Quintel. “We’ll leave at dawn the morning after the wedding. There’s no reason to delay any longer.”
“I quite agree,” Quintel said. He took a small bite of the meat and vegetable mixture on his plate. Quintel ate sparingly at all meals. “Tell me, Kalena, did your aunt encourage you to train as a Healer?”
Kalena shook her head, knowing that the art of Healer was the last path down which Olara would have sent her. Such a calling would have made the goal for which Kalena had been raised impossible. Healers found it impossible to kill except in self-defense. Furthermore, Olara had always told Kalena in no uncertain terms that she saw no evidence of the Talent in her niece, anyway. That fact had always made Kalena strangely sad. She would have liked very much to have been born with the Talent. But it was unlikely Olara was wrong in her opinion on Kalena’s lack of ability. Olara was a very gifted Healer. Some said she could have been a High Healer if she had chosen to join the women of the Variance valley. She was almost never wrong. “No. My aunt had other ambitions for me.”
“I see. Does your aunt think you might have inherited some of her Talent?”
Kalena looked at him, sensing a question behind the question.
“Don’t worry, my lord, my aunt is certain I can accomplish my role in this venture.”
“Then I must be satisfied with her certainty. You say your aunt handled your education. Did she teach you about the Stones?”
“I know the legend of the Stones of Contrast as well as the tales of the Keys to the Stones,” Kalena said carefully. “I have also been instructed in the Philosophy of Contrast.”
“But you do believe the tales?”
“My aunt believes in the Keys,” Kalena said thoughtfully. “It would be difficult to find a true Healer who did not believe in them. The Light Key is said to be the source of the power of the Sands of Eurythmia and therefore an asset to all Healing. My aunt is a very wise woman and if she chooses
to believe in the Keys, then I’m inclined to think there may be some substance to the tales.”
“Very cautiously spoken,” Quintel said with a small smile. “I myself am careful when asked such questions. But I keep an open mind.”
“It would seem that any intelligent person would keep an open mind on such a subject. Zantalia is very large, and the portion of it that we occupy here on the Northern Continent is so small in comparison to the unknown regions on the other side of the world. Who knows what mysteries will be uncovered when all the world is explored?”
“A very wise frame of mind,” Quintel said approvingly.
He meant considering the fact that she was a woman, Kalena thought, aware that Ridge was listening closely. “Thank you, my lord,” she said politely. “If even a portion of the legends about the Stones of Contrast are discovered to be true, we shall have a very interesting problem to unravel, won’t we? There is the whole matter of who or what the Dawn Lords really were and whether they truly commanded the incredible power of the Stones, let alone the power of the Keys.”
“It is only in large towns such as Crosspurposes and relatively progressive areas such as the Interlock valley that anyone even questions the legends, Kalena,” Quintel pointed out. “When you travel with Ridge to the Heights of Variance you will learn that in other places the tales of the Dawn Lords and their Stones of Contrast are assumed to be fact.”
“And,” Ridge put in deliberately, “you will not bring up philosophical questions on the matter to the people we meet on our journey, understand? In some villages such comments could get us mobbed or hounded out of the community.”
“I shall be guided by your actions,” Kalena murmured with suitable meekness.
Ridge looked pleased with her wifely response. “I’ll take care of you, Kalena, and see that you don’t come to harm.”
Two hours after the close of the lengthy meal, Kalena put the last embroidered stitch in Ridge’s shirt. Putting down the needle and thread, she held the garment up to the soft light of a firegel lamp and examined her handiwork with a critical eye. She was never going to be able to make her living as a professional seamstress, but the job was passable, she decided. If Ridge complained he could rip out the embroidery himself.
Kalena uncurled from her stool, stood up and stretched. She still wasn’t certain whether she had been motivated by guilt or an unreasonable notion of duty, but it hardly mattered. The deed was done. She folded the two shirts and went to the bell to summon a servant. Hand on the bell rope, she paused. Ridge’s apartments were only a few doors down from her own. She could deliver the shirts herself. His reaction would be interesting to see, Kalena decided. She picked up the folded shirts and headed down the corridor.
But by the time she reached Ridge’s moonwood door, she was experiencing a severe attack of second thoughts. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. She should have sent the shirts along with a servant. Kalena chewed her lip thoughtfully, her hand raised to knock.
Before she could make up her mind, the door swung open and she found herself staring at Ridge. He returned her gaze with a somewhat suspicious expression.
“What is it, Kalena?” he asked. “Is something wrong?”
Impulsively, she shoved the shirts into his hands. “These are the items you asked me to purchase today. Knowing the way shopkeepers work, the bill for them will probably be arriving bright and early in the morning. I didn’t want you wondering where the shirts were.”
He glanced down at the soft lanti wool garments he was holding, his eyes thoughtful. “They’re embroidered.”
“I’m not very good at that sort of thing,” Kalena explained hurriedly. “So I didn’t make the Rs very large.”
Ridge continued to stare down at the embroidery. Kalena had used a dark brown thread to contrast the neutral color of the wool. Wonderingly, he stroked one of the letters with the tip of his thumb. “I’ve never worn an embroidered shirt.”
Kalena cleared her throat, feeling ridiculously nervous. “Yes, well, after you examine my workmanship under a good light, you might not want to wear these. I wish you good evening, Ridge.” She took a step backward.
“Wait.” His head came up quickly, a small frown darkening his eyes.
“Yes, Ridge?”
“Thank you, Kalena. Your work is beautiful. I shall wear the shirts with pride.”
She grinned at that. “No need to exaggerate.”
His expression relaxed into one tinged with humor. “I take it needlework is not your favorite pastime?”
Kalena wrinkled her nose. “Weren’t there any tasks you had to master while growing up that you would just as soon never have learned?”
The amusement faded from his eyes. “There are definitely some things I wish I had never had to learn, Kalena. Sometimes we have no choice, do we?”
“No,” she whispered. “Sometimes we have no choice in what we must master.” She took another step away from him, summoning a smile of polite farewell.
He studied her shadowed face for a moment. “Are you afraid of our coming venture together, Kalena?”
Surprised at the question, she just looked at him for a moment. Oh, yes, she thought silently, she was afraid. She was now beginning to realize just how afraid of her task she really was. Her whole future hinged on committing an act of horrible violence. How could she not be afraid? Failure meant being forever disgraced; success meant she would be a murderess. But she had no choice. She must claim her own future.
“Have I reason to fear, Ridge?” she countered aloud.
“It would be only natural for a young woman in your position to be a little nervous, I think,” Ridge said earnestly. “But I promise to take good care of you on the journey.”
Kalena was touched by the sincerity she saw behind his words. She could hardly tell him he wouldn’t have to worry about being burdened with her on the trip, so she just smiled again. “Thank you, Ridge. I trust the journey will go well.”
He coughed slightly as she once more made to leave. “Uh, Kalena, I didn’t mean I would just take care of you on the journey, itself.”
“Yes, Ridge?” she prompted, a little confused by his obvious awkwardness. Ridge was not normally a hesitant man by any stretch of the imagination.
“I meant,” he plowed on stolidly, “that I will be a good trade husband to you.”
“Oh.” She didn’t know what else to say. Kalena was painfully aware of the warmth rising on her cheeks and was grateful for the shadows. He was having a difficult time and she almost felt sorry for him. “Thank you for the reassurance,” she managed to say dryly.
“Dammit, Kalena, I’m making a poor job of this. What I’m trying to say is, you won’t have cause to regret signing the trade marriage agreement with me instead of some other man.” His big hands tightened on the folded shirts. “And thank you for the fine needlework,” he concluded gruffly.
“You’re welcome, Ridge.” This time Kalena made good her escape, although she was conscious of Ridge standing in the doorway of his room watching her until she slipped safely into her own apartment. When she glanced back one last time she thought he was looking down at his shirts, his expression oddly pleased.
The Fire Whip was not looking at all pleased as evening fell the following day. He encountered Kalena as she waited in the wide, tiled entry hall of the house for the arrival of Arrisa and her friends. In honor of the occasion, Kalena was wearing her most vividly hued tunic, a daringly short affair of yellow and red Risha cloth over blue-green trousers. She had high-heeled velvet boots on her feet and her best combs in her hair. Her one indulgence in the area of jewelry yesterday had been to purchase a set of ear clips fashioned of tinted glass gems that were supposed to imitate the fabulously expensive green crystal mined near the Talon Pass. The sparkling glass stones were mounted on narrow, flexible strips that encircled the entire outer curve of her ear. Kalena had never worn anything like them before in her life. All in all, she was feeling quite adventurous about
the coming evening.
Ridge came around the corner of the hall, apparently on his way to Quintel’s apartment. He was wearing one of his new shirts with a small R worked on the left shoulder. He took one look at Kalena and his golden eyes came alive with angry heat. “So. You’ve decided to join Arrisa and her friends, after all.”
“I had intended to join them all along,” Kalena answered pleasantly. “I simply didn’t choose to argue about it over dinner last night.”
The flames in his golden eyes burned higher. “I forbid it.”
She sighed. “We both know you haven’t that right, Ridge.”
“By tomorrow night I will have every right,” he snapped. “By the Stones, Kalena, I will not tolerate such behavior. Do you think I am forbidding tonight’s little jaunt just because I enjoy exercising my authority?”
“Umm. Yes. That seems to be the general reason men forbid women to do things.”
He took a long angry step toward her. “I have made this decision for your own good, you contrary little wench. The same way I will be making other decisions during the course of our marriage. I expect you to have the sense to obey me. Last night I got the impression you had some measure of common sense. I assumed—”
The heavy knocker sounded outside and a soft-footed servant slipped into the hall to open the door. Kalena heard Arrisa’s voice, and she smiled up at Ridge. “Have a pleasant evening, Ridge. This is your last night of freedom, also. You should celebrate. I’d invite you to join us, but I’m afraid the other women would object.”
“Dammit, Kalena, listen to me. This is not the sort of crowd you should be joining.”
She swept eagerly toward the door. “You’re wrong, Ridge. This is precisely my sort of crowd. I have waited a good many years to be a freewoman.”
“After tomorrow night, you won’t be free,” he vowed, taking one more dangerous step toward her. “And the moment you are officially put into my keeping, I’m going to take measures to start correcting your stubborn ways.”
“I can see that you are going to make a very dull sort of husband.” Kalena threw him a last, laughing glance and hurried outside into the balmy evening. The door closed behind her, blocking out the sight of Ridge’s glowering face. “Arrisa, I’m ready.”
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