“Language, Jonathan!” Isabel scolded.
Jon’s gaze darted to Mistress Catherine as he muttered an apology.
Em’s face heated. “I did not throw anything. It just slipped.”
Lord Harold grunted. “Em’s clumsiness aside, I have no doubt the auditor found her attractive. I saw the way he acted around her.”
“He didn’t find her attractive enough to spend time with tomorrow,” Jonathan grumbled.
She glared at her brother. “Attraction has nothing to do with it. The Han-Auditor happens to recognize the importance of my duty to my temple.”
Her father sighed. “Come now, Emmie, don’t be naive. The taxman doesn’t care about your temple. He’s probably worried that if you wander all over the estate with him, he won’t be able to control his lust.”
Em’s lips compressed into a hard line. “Are you doubting the honor of a Hand?”
Lord Harold eyed their guests, as if suddenly aware of their audience. “Not at all. I’m merely pointing out the lengths a Hand will go to for the sake of his word.”
“Just because Jon cannot come doesn’t mean we shouldn’t enjoy a trip to town tomorrow,” Isabel said, smoothly turning the conversation to what the Trimble market had to offer.
Em stopped attending their chatter. She lifted a glazed dumpling to her lips. Its gingery flavor evoked the taste of the simple curry Quintin had fed her. The dumpling turned to paste in her mouth as a wave of sadness washed over her. How she longed for that meal. Not only because it filled her belly, but because Quintin had offered it to plain old Em.
Knowing the worst of her, he treated her better than those who only saw her at her best.
Chapter 18
The next morning, Em knelt on a prayer rug in a place of honor at the front of Aerynet’s sanctuary. The smell of incense and the sound of a dozen voices singing praises to Fermena wrapped around her like a favorite blanket. One voice in particular filled her with joy.
Mystic Patricia stood before the altar, her wrinkled face a mask of exaltation as Fermenasday hymns flowed from her lips. For the other eight days of the week, Patricia’s mind was clouded and confused, her movements slow, her voice quivering and uncertain. She was as likely as not to spend the entire day abed, dozing and disoriented. But every Fermenasday she rose from her pallet and joined them in the sanctuary. There she shined, lifted up by the rituals and routines of a lifetime devoted to the Goddess.
Em swallowed past the ache in her chest and gave thanks to Fermena for Patricia’s weekly transformation. She spared a prayer for Quintin, too, grateful his respect for her duty to her temple allowed her to be there.
As they began the final hymn, Patricia raised her arms in a reflection of the outstretched wings of the statue of Fermena hung above the altar.
Em closed her eyes, unable to bear the idol’s uncanny likeness to her mother, and the disappointment she imagined on its carved face. Shame scrabbled at her throat.
Nine generations of women had made Aerynet prosper, while Em struggled to keep her acolytes fed. She did not know how her sickly and often bedridden mother had managed it. Though back then Patricia had the strength and wisdom to care for Mother, while her current infirmary left Em caring for the mystic instead. Em was alone in a way her mother never had been.
Perhaps Lucy was right, and it was time for Em to find a husband. She squirmed at the thought of being trapped in holy matrimony with a man like Lord Evan. He would expect complete devotion and obedience in return for feeding her acolytes. If she failed to please her husband, Aerynet would pay the price. She shivered, unwilling to take such a risk.
“May Fermena’s wisdom guide you to your highest self.”
Em opened her eyes to find Lucy standing at her elbow with a platter of sliced partridge meat. As patron of Aerynet, Em was offered the first morsel. She murmured her thanks, though part of her wished she could politely turn down the meat she herself had provided.
Ben followed behind Lucy with a tray of steaming tea.
Forcing a smile, Em accepted a cup. She sipped her cinnamon tea and tried not to think how much it cost. It was the sacred duty of all temples to provide sustenance and rest to any who asked for it. As her father never failed to remind her, her temple was a minor one. Their petitioners were a shrinking group of devoted followers whose offerings to the Goddess barely covered the expense of their weekly repast.
The beads at the entrance rattled. Whispered conversations sprang up like flames. She heard the words “outlaw” and “stocks” before she saw Simon kneel on a prayer rug off to one side near the door. Her heart lightened with relief at his freedom, though she kept her face impassive as she cast a quelling look at the other petitioners. The whispers died as quickly as they started.
She turned back to the altar where Patricia waited with her head bowed in silent prayer. Simon’s presence pressed on her nerves, distracting Em from her prayers. He never came to Aerynet on Fermenasday. It boded ill for him to do so now.
After an interminable wait, Lucy and Ben joined the mystic at the front. The holy women led the devoted in a final song before Lucy stepped forward to dismiss the congregation. “Those who wish to stay and rest or meditate are welcome to do so. If you require a private blessing or desire to release a bird, please come to the altar.”
As murmured conversations swirled through the sanctuary, Em selected a cage of songbirds. Simon’s presence behind her was an itch between her shoulder blades she dared not scratch until the parishioners departed.
A couple dressed in wedding finery approached Patricia. The bride lifted her left hand which was tightly bound to her husband’s right with a braided ribbon. “We ask for Fermena’s blessing on our union.”
The old mystic frowned, confusion clouding her eyes.
Lucy picked up Patricia’s hand and laid it over the couple’s clasped fingers, leaving her own on top. “May you live fully in each moment together, forgetting your past mistakes and your future hopes, for Fermena is the Goddess of Now.”
Patricia’s face cleared and her voice joined Lucy’s for the rest of the traditional air blessing.
Em’s throat tightened. There was so much hope and love shining in their eyes, she had no doubt they would relish each moment together. A blade of jealousy stabbed her. Such a joyful union was not what her father had in mind when he told her to wed. The knife twisted. Aside from her father’s wishes, the needs of the temple denied her the choice to marry for love.
As the blessing drew to a close, the man handed Lucy a small purse with his thanks.
“Would you like to release a bird for luck?” the acolyte asked, gesturing at the cages.
Remembering her manners, Em cleared her throat. “Ben managed to catch a pair of love birds if you would like them.”
The bride smiled. “How lucky!”
Careful not to acknowledge Simon in any way, Em led the bridal couple and a few other devotees to the narrow landing outside the door. Ben squeezed through the group and stood on the top step, a giant macaw perched on his forearm. He tossed his arm into the air, and the huge red bird took flight, soaring in circles around the yarumo tree.
Em opened her cage and shouted, “Blessed be, Wise Fermena.”
Her words were echoed by the other parishioners, as they opened their cages. The landing was alive with flapping wings and squawking as half a dozen birds flew into the air. Em stomped her foot, sending the bells on her ankle jangling. The bride joined in, while none of the other women present had payal adorned with bells. As the birds disappeared over the top of a neighboring building, the congregants slowly dispersed down the staircase.
Em returned to the sanctuary where Lucy was leading Patricia back to the steamroom. Ben followed after her to release the rest of the caged birds. A lone petitioner, a pilgrim who subsisted on the scant offerin
gs from temples each day, was deep in meditation on his prayer mat, while Simon sat silently in the shadows by the door.
Beckoning Simon to follow, Em headed to Lucy’s room, where they could speak privately. Once they were alone she allowed herself to show her relief. “Would you like more tea?”
“Please.” He sank down next to Lucy’s low table with a sigh. His normally golden skin had a sallow tinge. “Jenny told me not to come. Begged me not to, but I wanted to tell you in person. Figure I owe you and my sister that much at least.”
Em handed him a cup of tea, wishing she had something more to feed him. He had always been thin. Now his clothes hung off his shoulders.
“Tell me what?” she asked, though she wasn’t certain she wanted to know.
“I’m leaving Trimble. You heard the crowd when I came in, whispering about me.” His face tightened, his cheekbones sharp as knives. “There’s no place for me here now.”
“But, but . . .” Her throat closed, choking off her words.
“I know you’ll be in a bad way without me.” He gripped the cup with two hands. “I’m sorry I didn’t get you the payment for your last job.”
“I got paid.”
The teacup rattled as he placed it on the table. “Impossible!”
“The job was impossible! You don’t want to know how many ways it went wrong, though I did get paid, and got a few extra beans for your wife as well. It might not be as much as you were owed—”
“Anything at all is more than I’d hoped for.” He closed his eyes. Wrinkles fanned out from the corners of his lids, tired creases that hadn’t existed a week ago. “It doesn’t matter. The stocks ruined me. I’ve gotta leave. Jenny’s uncle has work for us, away from the city and all its troubles.”
“What will I do without you?” she whispered, barely registering his words over her growing panic. She was doomed. With her one source of independent income wiped out, she would have to rely ever more heavily on her father. Not only would she have to find her own sneak work, she would have to sell her own goods. Quintin’s fine cloth couldn’t help Aerynet survive if she didn’t get a good price for it. All she had worked for was collapsing around her.
“A Lady like you can find a better way to get beans.” Simon sighed, regret making him look older than his twenty years. “I never should’ve dragged you into the sneak business in the first place. Now you can marry some fine Lord like you’ve always wanted.”
She closed her eyes, fighting tears. Simon had offered to marry her once, more out of obligation than affection. She’d turned him down flat, ending their tenuous affair. He’d had an inflated sense of her prospects ever since.
“I’m sorry it has to be this way.” He stood and bowed. “Fare thee well, Lady Emmanuella.”
Lucy cleared her throat from the doorway. “May I accompany my brother home?”
Em nodded, holding on to her composure by the thinnest of threads. “May Fermena watch over your travels, and Marana guide your future, Simon.”
He bowed again and left with his sister close behind.
While Lucy would try to change his mind, Em doubted she would succeed, nor should she. Simon and his wife were moving on to a better, safer life. Em’s dependence on him did not change the wisdom of his decision. Simon had always been her salvation, though it had cost him dearly. He was right to end it.
How will I manage without him?
~ ~ ~
The afternoon was well advanced when Quintin turned his okapi away from a banana grove and rode deeper into the forest. The sounds of laborers calling to each other and the thwack of blades separating the fruit from the trees faded behind him to be replaced by the screeching of birds and monkeys. He took a deep breath and used his air gift to recall Lord Harold’s map of his lands.
“Are we finished yet?” Jonathan asked from the okapi behind him. “We’ve been wandering around all day and this path leads to trackless jungle.”
Quintin’s mouth tightened with irritation. Master Jonathan had spouted one complaint after another since they left the manor. Would he have been better off in Em’s company? For all that she was a dangerously tempting enigma, at least she wouldn’t fuss about the trials of missing her aestivation.
“This is the last section. Once we finish here we can head back to the house.” Quintin closed his eyes to focus on his mental map.
“With all its winding trails, this section will take hours.” Jonathan heaved out a sigh. “I swear to you, it’s only suitable for tapir hunting and my sister’s jaunts.”
Quintin’s eyes snapped open. “Lady Emmanuella enjoys riding in the forest?”
“Em loves hunting. She’s always riding off with her atlatl and coming back with monkeys or birds. When she’s not at her temple, she’s out here in the trees.” Jonathan chuckled. “I think she likes the excuse to escape Isabel and her matchmaking.”
Without acknowledging the painful bit of gossip, Quintin urged his okapi forward onto a narrow track between the trees. A clever man could hide an illegal cacao tree or two in an overgrown area like this. The Novenary controlled the sacred plant, only allowing its cultivation on lands dedicated to the support of temples and holy orders.
The primary purpose of an audit was to catch any landowners growing the forbidden beans. “Let’s get started on those winding trails. It is my duty to inspect all the land and I won’t have it said I was negligent.”
“Oh, negligent you are not.” Jonathan’s okapi plodded after Quintin. “I can attest to it.”
“You’d better,” Quintin muttered. Fredrick was sure to scrutinize the accounts of this particular audit for any hint of favoritism. True to his intentions, Quintin scanned the surrounding vegetation for hidden trails. He stretched mental fingers into the jungle, attuned to the gnats attracted by cacao flowers.
The underbrush rustled as Elkart ranged away from the trail to sniff out water sources for cacao trees. Bogbear!
Quintin yanked his okapi to a halt.
Jonathan cursed as he struggled to control his mount at the sudden stop. “What are you doing?”
“Silence.” Quintin made a slashing motion with his hand. Is the bogbear here?
No. Scent old. Elkart moved deeper into the jungle. From before goat attack.
Quintin’s tense shoulders relaxed. He nudged his heels into the okapi’s side to get it moving again. “My waccat scented a bogbear,” he said over his shoulder by way of explanation to Jonathan.
“Are you certain? We’re too far north for bogbears.”
“Some wild animal attacked a homestead upriver. Our best guess is a bogbear. Elkart says the trail here is old.”
“By Taric’s Bones, I would hope so. Running into a bogbear would be about the only thing to make this day any worse.”
Quintin twisted around to face his companion. He had let any number of complaints slide, but the spoiled noble went too far. “Is my company so distasteful? Or is it doing your duty for Merdale that you find objectionable?”
Jonathan shifted in his saddle. “I meant no offense, honored Han-Auditor.”
Quintin grunted and turned his back on the man.
“You’re a good sort, especially for a tax collector.” Jonathan sighed. “It’s just we have some very special guests visiting right now, and I’m most aggrieved to miss a day of their company.”
“Understandable, but duty comes first.”
“I know,” Jonathan grumbled. “I’m here, aren’t I? Though I don’t know why you’d prefer my escort to my sister’s. Even if she’s no great beauty, she’s better company than I am.”
“She is a Lady of Air,” Quintin said, torn between amusement and disgust. “It is an affront to the gods to have a Lady of the Realm attend an auditor on her holy day.”
“Lady or not, she has a duty to Merda
le as well.”
“Which she fulfilled yesterday, and I imagine will fulfill again tomorrow when I am assessing your father’s stores, while you are given plenty of time to visit with your diverting guests.”
Jonathan grumbled, not arguing the point.
Given her family’s blatant disregard for her temple duties, why did Lady Em stay in residence at Merdale? Perhaps she had no choice. Quintin shivered at the memory of the angry man who haunted Em’s thoughts. Desperation had led her to risky dealings with such criminals. He could understand why she would not want to stretch her resources further by feeding and clothing herself. Even if the price was her pride.
Worry washed over him, a familiar feeling where Em was concerned. Strange how learning she was a Lady of the Realm only heightened his confusion, without reassuring him at all. He wished he could spare her the need for her nocturnal activities. All he could do was keep her secrets and protect her from the worst of the Bursar’s schemes.
Hours later, they exited the winding trails through the jungle and entered Merdale’s more cultivated lands.
Elkart leapt out of the underbrush. Mud caked his paws and spattered over his flanks. All done?
The survey is finished. Quintin pulled a twig out of his hair. And no cacao to be found.
Eat soon! Elkart dashed down the trail toward the manor house. His waccat’s boundless energy made Quintin feel even more tired by the day’s work. Scratches from overhanging branches stung his arms, while sweat trickled down his spine, providing no relief in the muggy heat.
As the path widened, Jonathan urged his okapi up to ride abreast.
Quintin slanted a glance at his escort. “We’ve finished in plenty of time for your evening meal.”
Jonathan brushed a leaf from his shoulder. “I hope I have time to change.”
Taxing Courtship (The Hands of Destin Book 1) Page 14