One of the guards walked in front of her to clear a path, though with the sun blazing overhead the wide avenues of the Reeve’s district were nearly deserted. As they traveled toward the river, the streets narrowed and filled with vendors and laborers hurrying home or to the taverns and bathhouses which did brisk business in the heat of the day. By the time Em and her escort entered the wharf district, only beggars occupied the streets.
She stopped in front of a modest whitewashed temple nestled between a pair of muddy brown warehouses. Dedicated to Fermena, the Goddess of Air and Mistress of the Wind, Aerynet was a beacon of color and life in a sea of grim industry. A yarumo tree grew through the center of the conical building, emerging from its peak to brush leafy green branches against its neighbors.
Em frowned at the boughs of the tree. Its broad green leaves drooped in the noonday sun, some of them brown and curling at the edges. Acolyte Lucy had been saying for months they needed to hire an earthworker to replenish the soil under the building.
Her chest tightened at the thought. Good earthworkers didn’t come cheap.
She took a fortifying breath before turning to the guards behind her. “Thank you for escorting me here. I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable getting your own repast at a tavern.”
The guards exchanged a glance before eyeing a tavern across the street.
“Yes, my lady.” The younger guard pressed her palms together and bent at the waist in a low bow. Her red and black headdress fluttered with the movement.
The older guard mimicked the gesture. “We will return in time to escort you to the palanquin.”
Em bobbed her head in an answering nod. Aware of the guards watching her, she forced herself to move with slow dignity to the base of the building.
Perched on pilings older than the retaining wall lining the riverbank, the temple had nine long steps from the ground to the sanctuary. A rune for each deity was etched into the wooden stairs, starting with the earth gods, then the water gods and finally the air gods, ending with Fermena’s rune inscribed on the landing itself.
As she climbed the stairs, she recited the name of the deity on each step in a soothing ritual to keep her ascent slow and steady. When she reached the air deities, she could hear a low rumble of angry voices from inside. Though her heart pounded, she resisted the urge to hurry. She kept her head held high as she pushed aside strands of polished stone and faceted glass to enter the sanctuary.
Her shadow swayed and flickered with the movement of the beaded curtain behind her. The only other light came from a circular hole in the roof where the tree escaped the building to unfurl its leaves in the sunshine. Dim green light filtered through those leaves onto an ancient wooden statue depicting Fermena in her avian aspect. As her gaze fell on the carved face of the Goddess, Em raised her right hand to kiss her silver ring. Modeled after a long-ago ancestor, the life-like statue always reminded her of her mother.
A small body crashed into her side while a pair of skinny arms wrapped around her waist in a suffocating hold.
“Ben.” She draped her arm across his thin shoulders. “Is Acolyte Lucy all right?”
The six-year-old shook his head, his black curls dancing.
“Well, I’m here to take care of it.” She held out the frozen mango to the mute child. “I brought you a treat.”
He grabbed it and flashed her a quick grin before disappearing into the darkness at the edges of the room.
Praying to the Goddess to give her clear thinking and ready wits, Em glided toward the alter and the pair of people arguing at its base.
“I’m not in the business of giving charity,” a local fishmonger said, his voice bouncing off the curved walls of the sanctuary.
Acolyte Lucy’s young face creased with a worried frown. “We’re going to pay for the fish.”
He slapped his wide-brimmed, woven reed hat against his knee. “Then why don’t you give me the beans and be done with it?”
Em smiled to hide her sinking heart. “Robert the Fisher, how good to see you.”
“My Lady Patron.” Acolyte Lucy knelt with her forehead to the floor, her straight black braid trailing down her back.
Em ignored the obsequious greeting. Lucy only wanted to avoid dealing with the irritated fishmonger.
“Lady Emmanuella.” He sketched a quick bow. “Have you come with my beans?”
“Oh, dear, weren’t they delivered yesterday?” The stone bangles on her arms clicked together as she raised her hands to her lips and gave him a wide-eyed look. “There must have been some mistake. What a mess.”
His thick eyebrows drew together. “Messes happen too frequently of late.”
“We are most grateful for your forbearance.” She clasped her hands together in front of her chest. “And here we are keeping you from your aestivation. Your good wife must be worried.”
“She knows deliveries can take time.”
“We mustn’t keep you out in the heat when you should be resting at home.” She pulled a stone bangle off her arm. “Here, give this to your wife as a token of our appreciation for her patience.”
He frowned at the polished circle of stone. “I need my payment in beans, not trinkets.”
“Oh, it’s not payment for the fish.” The remaining bangles on her wrist clicked as she waved his words away. “This is a gift for your wife with Fermena’s blessing. Speaking of which, will you be joining your wife for services this week?”
“No, not likely.” He took the bracelet and tucked it into a fold in his chiton. “Unlike some, I have to work for my livelihood. The fish don’t catch themselves.”
“A pity. You will be missed.” Em placed a hand on the fishmonger’s elbow to steer him toward the door. “We’ll be sure to light incense for you and pray for your safety.”
“I still need my payment,” he said, though he moved with her down the aisle. “I won’t be making any more deliveries here until I have it.”
“Agreed. We’ll deliver your cacao as soon as we can.” She hoped her smile looked reassuring rather than desperate. “I’ll send Acolyte Lucy to market with it. You needn’t trouble yourself coming by again.”
“See that you do.”
After Em escorted the fishmonger out of the building, she turned to find Lucy behind her.
“Do you have the cacao, my lady?” Lucy asked. She looked older than she should, Em realized with a twinge of guilt. She would turn seventeen with the changing season, a full year less than Em herself. The worry and stress of the last six years had aged them both.
“We will,” Em said with a confidence she did not feel. Simon arranged all her sneak work and found discrete buyers for any treasures she acquired on her own. How would Aerynet survive with him imprisoned?
“I didn’t dare go to market today, not without any beans.” Lucy sighed. “My brother never showed this morning.”
Em bit her lip. “I know.”
“How do you know?” The acolyte’s brow puckered. “Why are you here?”
“I saw Simon in the stocks at the market this morning.”
“In the stocks?” Lucy pressed a hand to her chest, her voice wobbling. “Marana have mercy. I wonder if his imprisonment is what upset Patricia last night.”
“What do you mean?” Em asked. Though Mystic Patricia was nominally the spiritual leader of Aerynet, the elderly woman had suffered a series of falls and dizzy spells that left her weak and confused.
“While I was putting her to bed she became agitated, calling on the Goddess for wisdom and trying to stand up again. She wouldn’t settle down until I promised not to go to market today.” Lucy toyed with her braid. “I hadn’t meant to keep my promise. We’re out of fruit and need to pay the baker as well.”
Em frowned. Patricia’s illness had not diminished her connection to Fermena.
If anything, the Goddess’s influence on her had grown as she dwelt more and more in her own mind. “Do you think she had a vision?”
The acolyte nodded. “She probably knew Simon was in trouble and worried about me seeing my brother in the stocks.”
Em narrowed her eyes. “Then there might be hope for us yet.”
“What do you mean?”
“He was supposed to receive my payment around dawn this morning. If he was arrested at sundown then perhaps he never got paid.”
“It’s possible. Fermena is the Goddess of Now, and Patricia’s visions have never predicted the future.”
“Let’s leave the prophesies to the water seers,” Em agreed with a tight smile. Patricia’s messages from the Goddess were stressful enough without throwing in the frustration and confusion of a foretelling.
“How does it help us if he wasn’t paid? You can’t go to the Troika Hall and ask him who owes you cacao.”
“I don’t have to ask him. I already know.”
If the young auditor, Quintin, had not paid Simon for the job, then maybe she could convince him to pay her instead. Her palms prickled at the thought of seeking him out, but she could not pass up a chance to get her beans.
A slim hope was better than no hope at all.
Chapter 6
The trees of the jungle were little more than shadows around the edge of the garden as Quintin sipped his morning cup of tea the next day. The remains of a simple meal dotted the table in front of him, and his belly was pleasantly full. He loved this time of day, with the world still half asleep. He closed his eyes and listened to gentle birdsong punctuated by the sound of his mother Hannah shuffling in the house behind him and the soft crunch of Elkart gnawing on a bone.
Quintin took a deep, satisfying breath. Somehow the air smelled sweeter in the morning. He stirred a breeze with his gift and sent it wafting against his face. He filled his lungs again, and instantly regretted it.
The garden smelled of jasmine and brought to mind the woman he had held in his arms two nights ago. He groaned and rubbed his temple. Why could he not stop thinking about her? Her soft skin, how she smelled, the taste of her kiss . . .
“Willing to walk with me to market?”
Quintin started and nearly spilled his tea. He opened his eyes to peer up at his mother, a short sturdy woman with graying hair pulled back in a pair of no-nonsense braids with an expression to match.
“I’ve got a bumper crop of tubers and could use some help hauling them to town.”
“Certainly, though we’ll need to hurry. I don’t want to be late for work.” Quintin gulped the last of his tea while Hannah cleared the table.
Once the dishes were done, she handed him a heavy sack and balanced a towering basket on her own head.
He heaved the weight onto his back, grateful for all the hours he spent sparring and strengthening his body. He followed his mother down the dirt path from their homestead to the trade road, while Elkart wove between the trees. Soon enough they joined a steady stream of farmers and merchants heading into Trimble. Even with clomping oxen and snorting llamas, a sense of peace and anticipation clung to the crowd.
The quiet continued to the market square. Later the square would echo with the sounds of vendors hawking their wares. Now there was only the creak and rustle of unfurling tents, occasionally punctuated by sleepy conversation.
Quintin lowered the sack of tubers off his shoulder while his mother secured an awning over her modest stall. He pressed his palms together and gave her a short bow. “Have a good day at market. I may be home late tonight.”
“I’ll leave supper waiting for you in your room,” she said, returning his bow.
He traversed the center of the market with ground-eating strides. Elkart ambled next to him with a freedom that would be impossible once the market was in full swing. While a few hardy souls were already trickling into the square in search of an early morning bargain, by and large the aisles between the stalls were deserted.
A woman laughed, reminding Quintin once again of his encounter with the thief.
Why can’t I stop thinking about her? Desperate for answers, he silently sent the plaintive wail to his waccat.
Was she in heat? Elkart asked. Most distracting, a female in heat.
Quintin sighed. He knew better than to expect a cat to have any useful insight. While the kiss in the warehouse had been the most passionate embrace he had ever experienced, in truth the hard peck on the waterfront haunted him more. Their first kiss had been a ruse. The second was for him alone. He could not stop wondering what her kiss might mean.
A gentlewoman, trailed by a towering guard, crossed the aisle twenty feet in front of him. Before she disappeared behind a booth, the sunlight caught her dark hair. It glinted red.
His breath caught. He had only seen the like once before. Could it be her?
Elkart made a chuffing noise as he sniffed the air. Not smell right.
Knowing he was obsessed, Quintin hurried to the corner to watch her.
The woman wore a pink sari with matching flowers tucked into a loose braid falling to her waist. While she was short and slender like his outlaw, her clothes and demeanor marked her as wealthy, possibly nobility.
He had a hard time believing a professional thief would move in such rarefied circles, but the occasional glint of red in her hair held him mesmerized.
She was nearly at the end of the row when she turned to talk to a cloth merchant and her profile came into view.
His shoulders slumped as he swallowed his disappointment.
I told you. Elkart’s tail twitched. Smell wrong.
Quintin was about to turn away when something in the merchant’s expression caught his attention. He seemed less excited than he should be by a wealthy customer. Even at a distance he looked nervous as the gentlewoman in the sari leaned forward, her guard looming behind her.
Quintin took a deep breath and focused his gift. Careful not to stir a breeze that would alarm the speakers and distort sound, he caught the breath leaving their mouths and brought their words to his ears.
“I know you have some. Don’t you dare lie to me.”
“I don’t sell such fine things, I swear to you. You’ll have to try the Verisian traders.”
“I don’t like their prices. Besides, I know a bolt was given to you yesterday. I want it.”
“I can’t sell a bolt I’ve been commissioned to embroider! My reputation—”
“More than your reputation is at stake if you don’t do as I say.”
When those words reached Quintin’s ears, he strode forward. His fingernails bit into his palms as he longed for the comforting weight of his sturdy mahogany staff. At least he had Elkart and his air gift to protect him if necessary.
The merchant reared back. “Are you threatening me? In the market square in broad daylight?”
“If I scream, my sentinel will have all the excuse she needs to cut you.”
A blade glinted in the guard’s hand.
Elkart, stop her!
Faster than thought, the waccat sprang forward.
“What seems to be the problem here?” Quintin called out as he trotted after the great cat.
The sentinel slammed her knife back into its sheath and relaxed into a less threatening pose.
The gentlewoman turned toward Quintin. Her lips peeled back in a smile. It did not reach her eyes. “Call off your cat, taxman. My guard can handle this. It’s none of your concern.”
Elkart sat down on the dusty bricks directly between the merchant and the guard. His snarl revealed teeth as long as a thumb.
The sentinel prudently retreated another step.
Coming to a halt next to his waccat, Quintin faced the gentlewoman. He pressed his palms together and nodded his head in a s
hort bow. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Han-Auditor Quintin. As a Hand of Destin any citizen in distress concerns me.”
“How kind of you to care. I’m not in distress.”
“I wasn’t worried about you.” His gaze flicked over her guard before landing on the merchant. “Is she bothering you?”
Watching the sentinel, the vendor edged closer to Quintin. “I would welcome her custom, if she were interested in something I can sell.”
“Nothing you have is worth my time or my cacao.” Head held high, she spun and stalked away.
Her guard made a move to follow her.
“Hold a moment,” Quintin said, his voice soft but firm.
The guard frowned, her hand touching her dirk. “My mistress awaits.”
A low growl rumbled through Elkart’s throat.
Quintin stared pointedly at her knife. “Don’t be a fool.”
Her hand sprang away from the hilt. “I meant no disrespect.”
“Let me give you a word of advice.” Quintin stepped forward and crooked his finger, inviting her to bend down to his level. “Be a little less hasty with your knife. You’ll be the one spending a night in the stocks if the city guards catch you roughing up vendors, while your mistress will sleep soundly in her cozy bed.”
The guard straightened with a grunt, her gaze trailing after her mistress.
“Furthermore, I have connections in the market and friends in the city guard. I’ll hear about it if you try this again. Whatever she’s paying you, it isn’t worth it. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Hand.” She pressed her palms together and gave a low bow.
Quintin nodded and stepped back. He watched as the guard hurried after the woman in the sari. If he hadn’t already lingered in the market too long, he would be tempted to trail them and try to eavesdrop.
Taxing Courtship (The Hands of Destin Book 1) Page 4