The soup was tangy, more so than Mariyah had expected, with the hint of a spice that reminded her of wild onion, though not as strong. She smiled up at Nora. “It’s good.”
After they finished their soup, wine and bread was brought, along with a plate of roast meat that Mariyah hoped wasn’t from one of the beasts she had seen earlier. She noticed that neither of their hosts spoke during the meal, which made it most uncomfortable. In Vylari, meals were as much a time to catch up on the day’s events as to satisfy hunger. When the food was gone, they sat in equally uncomfortable silence while Tadrius cleared the table.
“I’ll be leaving at first light,” Tadrius informed them once the last dish was stacked and placed on a counter beside the door.
“How long will you be gone?” asked Shemi.
“Harver’s Grove isn’t far,” he replied. “So I should be back before nightfall.”
“I hate it when you go to that wretched town,” said Nora. “Not a righteous soul among them.”
He turned to Shemi and Mariyah. “My wife is convinced that any town with a tavern is a den of evil. That’s why we’re out here at the frontier. Though we do still need their trade at times, I’m afraid.”
Nora sniffed. “One day they’ll pay for their hedonistic ways.” She quickly added with a contrite smile, “No offense intended.”
“None taken,” said Mariyah. “I’ve never been one for taverns either.”
Nora looked surprised. “I would have thought … well, one assumes heretics—excuse me, non-believers—enjoy frequenting taverns.”
“Not particularly. Too loud for my tastes. And the smell…” She crinkled her nose. “You go home stinking of stale whiskey and pipe smoke.”
“It’s not the smell that I mind,” said Nora. “It’s the way people behave. It’s disgraceful.”
“I met you in a tavern, Nora,” said Tadrius. “You seemed to like them just fine then.”
Nora’s face turned red, her eyes darting from her husband to her guests. For a moment it looked as if she might strike him, but instead she spun on her heels and stormed out.
“She’s really not that bad,” said Tadrius. “Just a bit … enthusiastic when it comes to her faith. Don’t get me wrong, I’m as devout as anyone. But Nora is … truly committed.”
Without understanding what their faith was, Mariyah could only nod, feigning comprehension. “There’s no need to explain.”
They could hear the front door slam shut. Tadrius sighed, running his fingers through his hair.
“Shouldn’t you go after her?” asked Shemi.
“When she’s upset, she prefers to be alone to reflect and pray.” He pushed himself up and retrieved a bottle from the cupboard. “Join me?” The scent of whiskey filled the kitchen.
“So whiskey is permissible?” asked Mariyah.
Tadrius shrugged while filling their cups. “It’s not so much the whiskey as it is drunkenness. But even the Archbishop knows better than to expect people not to enjoy themselves. Strictly speaking, being drunk is against the law. But it’s never enforced.” He held up his cup and stared at it for a long moment. “Except in my house. There are times I envy non-believers.” He finished the drink in a single gulp. “But don’t tell Nora I said so.”
“Your secret is safe,” said Mariyah.
Tadrius grinned. “Then another cup, shall we?”
They sat and talked for a time, finishing most of the bottle. Mostly Tadrius spoke about his children and his wife and their life before moving from Lobin. Mariyah did not know where this might be, but from what she could gather, it was a large town, packed with people. Apparently, Nora had not always been so devout. Something had changed her, but what it was he did not say.
“I should be getting to bed,” said Tadrius. It was nearing midnight and Nora had not returned. “Thank you for the conversation.”
“It was our pleasure,” said Mariyah.
“Indeed,” added Shemi. “We are in your debt.”
Tadrius stood, rubbing the back of his neck. “Only if I find your friend. Lem, was it?”
Mariyah nodded.
“Well, Harver’s Grove is small. If he’s there, I’ll find him.” Apparently unaccustomed to having more than a cup or two of whiskey, he stumbled to the door. “You should stay inside while I’m gone. We don’t want any trouble.” Without further explanation, he exited the kitchen.
Mariyah and Shemi then retired to their room. Nora had left the blankets by the door, and to Mariyah’s relief and delight they were every bit as thick and comfortable as promised.
“A strange folk,” remarked Shemi as he settled in. “Not what I expected.”
“Me either. I imagined them … more … I don’t know. Just different, I suppose.”
“Of course, we’ve only met two,” Shemi pointed out. “Well, four if you count the children.”
Mariyah tried to imagine Lobin as she stretched out on the floor. The way Tadrius had described it, it seemed impossible: mighty towers climbing high into the clouds; hundreds upon hundreds of people scurrying about, like an anthill that had been stepped on by a naughty child; markets containing such a variety of goods as to scarcely be believed. In a way she regretted that she would never see it. But once they found Lem, they would return to Vylari. Though she knew it was said to be impossible, Lem’s mother had found a way. Surely they could too. And until it was proven otherwise, she would hold on to this hope.
Mariyah had never found it easy to fall asleep in a strange place. But this time, with the fatigue of travel, along with the sheer emotional stress of the past few days, she found herself falling into a deep slumber seconds after shutting her eyes.
7
THE ZARA TRAP
The deadliest blow is not dealt with a cry of fury but with a smile and a song.
Book of Kylor, Chapter Thirty-Six, Verse Twelve
After that first night, Lem’s reputation and popularity grew. Soon he found himself playing to a full house almost every night, storm or no storm. People throughout Harver’s Grove were talking about the young master at the Oak and Amber who played music equal to what could be heard at any royal palace. And when he walked the streets, he was universally greeted with smiles and compliments.
For obvious reasons, Zara was well pleased with the arrangement. The only other tavern in town, the Bull and Quail, was now virtually empty most evenings. Such was the establishment’s decline that its desperate proprietor had even ventured into the Oak and Amber a few times in an attempt to lure Lem away. On each occasion he was quickly—and roughly—thrown out before he could utter more than a few words. It was the only task involving Lem that Durst seemed to actually enjoy, and Lem was well aware that the barman would far rather it be he on the receiving end of his violence.
He had tried to make peace with the barman, even helping him clean the bar on a few occasions. But his efforts were futile; if anything, they seemed to fuel the man’s animosity. Not that it mattered. Durst worked for Zara, and Zara would not allow Lem to be touched. At least not by Durst.
She had persisted with her advances, offering him a place in her bed where, as she put it, she could “look after him properly.” It was an offer he invariably declined, explaining that he was betrothed and that his fiancée awaited his return. It was uncertain if she believed him, but to his relief she never pressed things beyond casual flirting and innuendos. As it was, even though the reason he gave for his reluctance was a lie—the betrothal having been broken the moment he left home—his heart did still genuinely belong to Mariyah. They could never be together, yet the idea of loving another was unimaginable. Not while his soul felt so empty. Perhaps never.
Although Lem had done his best to gather as much information as he could about this new world, he found that most people had little interest in life beyond their own front doors. Without pressing the issue, and thereby exposing a difficult-to-explain degree of ignorance, he found that even after speaking to dozens of the townsfolk, he still knew very little.
Not to say he’d learned nothing. From his conversations with Martha, he now understood that Archbishop Rupardo Trudoux V was head of the Church of Kylor in Ralmarstad. The king, Zolomy, controlled the government, but only with the consent and support of the Archbishop. He still hadn’t entirely puzzled out the strange relationship between the church and the king, but it appeared to him that it was the Archbishop who held the true reins of power, his position ordained by their god, Kylor—about whom he still knew very little.
Lem thought this form of hierarchy quite strange indeed. Vylari was governed by a council of elders, each town independent of the other. When decisions for everyone had to be made, a special group was appointed. Aside from that, few laws were needed. A single person ruling over the whole of Vylari was a laughable prospect. No one would tolerate it. But here it was accepted as normal.
He’d also teased out of her that while the Order of the Thaumas was not exactly forbidden in Ralmarstad, they refused to bow to church authority, which in turn set them at odds with the king. The Order was quite powerful in its own right, having mastered most of the known magics, and they’d aligned themselves with every powerful nation beyond Ralmarstad borders. Lem now realized why asking questions about them was dangerous. He’d be viewed as a heretic, there to stir up trouble. And heretics were not tolerated.
Eventually, he became resigned to the fact that to learn more would mean leaving Harver’s Grove. But that presented a difficulty. One thing he had quickly discovered was the need for gold. To leave, he needed a whole lot more than he currently possessed. Zara gave him a few coins here and there to purchase basic necessities, but beyond that, his entire wealth amounted to what little he’d had upon his arrival—two Vylarian copper coins and a silver, which would be recognized as foreign at once, so were of no use.
Another setback for his plan to move on was learning that the city of Lobin, the nearest major hub in Ralmarstad, was a two-week journey by foot. Though he could make it in half that time on horseback, there was no chance he would think about mounting one of those beasts. He’d tried to calculate how much gold he would need to set him on his way, but it was impossible to account for things of which he had no knowledge. From the few conversations he’d overheard, Lobin was an expensive place to live. At least in Harver’s Grove he had food and shelter. So, for the time being, he was forced to stay put.
Regardless of how many people came to listen to him play each night, Zara always made a point of complaining about how little gold she was making. If she were to be believed, the tavern was on the verge of shutting down. Not that Lem did believe her. Though inexperienced in the ways of Lamoria, he’d had more than enough experience with dishonest people. It was one thing it had in common with Vylari. Only four months prior he had to threaten the mayor of Olian Springs with being brought before the council for refusing full payment after a performance in his home. And Mariyah was constantly chasing down those who would attempt to avoid paying for a wine shipment. Zara did not want Lem knowing how much he was increasing her wealth. And it was no mystery as to why.
A few patrons would toss him a spare copper now and again, but that was the limit. As much as he needed more, Lem could not hold it against them. They had nothing extra to give. What little coin they earned was spent on day-to-day survival. Well, that … and ale. Unless he intended on staying here permanently, he would need to find a way to earn more. He was at present playing for a room and meals. That had to change. It had been acceptable when there was nowhere else to turn, but that was no longer the case. If nothing else, there was always the Bull and Quail’s offer. While he was grateful for Zara’s help, fair was fair.
She was sitting at her desk reading through some papers when he finally screwed up enough courage to speak to her on the matter.
“Zara, I want you to know how grateful I am for all you’ve done for me,” he began, trying his best to not allow his anxiety to bleed into his tone.
She leaned back in her chair, expressionless as she tossed a paper onto the pile. “But?”
Lem took a courage-building breath. “But if I’m to continue playing here, I need to be paid in coin as well as room and board.” He was about to launch into a well-rehearsed explanation of his merits and why his request was reasonable, but Zara’s hand slamming on the desktop cut him short.
“I take you in. I give you food and shelter. I protect you from Durst—he’d have beaten you to death by now, you know. And you still want more?” Her face had turned crimson in an instant and her typically calm and measured voice was now piercing.
Lem had never seen her angry, certainly not to this degree. There had been a time or two when a patron got a bit too drunk or when Durst would irritate her. But nothing like this. The look in her eyes chilled his blood.
He wanted to retreat; to ask her to forget he mentioned it. But he knew that he couldn’t. He had to find a way to leave. With nothing of value to sell, aside from his balisari and his locket, neither of which he was willing to part with, this was the only way. He was finding it impossible to speak in the face of Zara’s wrath, yet he did not leave.
“Are you going to say something?” she demanded. “Or just stand there wasting my time?”
Lem shoved his hands into his pockets to hide that they were shaking. You can do this, he repeated in his mind until, in his calmest tone, he said, “I’m not ungrateful. I really do appreciate what you’ve done for me. All the same, I think I deserve at least something. The tavern is filled practically every night, and I don’t have even a few coppers to buy myself a new pair of boots. I’m not asking for much. Just enough to take care of my own needs.”
She shot from her chair, knuckles pressed to the desk. “You think I’m rich? You think just because we have bigger crowds that I’m awash with gold? You know how much ale I have to buy just to keep these sorry sods happy? How much food? Every drop they drink, I have to buy more. And it’s not like I can raise my prices. Oh, no. The second I do that, they’re off to the Bull and Quail. If you imagine you can sing them into staying, you’ve lost your mind. You’re good, but you’re not that good.”
Had he retreated when first she raised her voice, the obvious attempt at intimidation and misdirection might have worked. But remaining firm and speaking out had bolstered his resolve. He detested confrontation, preferring to work out differences calmly and rationally. Shemi was the outspoken one in the family. But it was clear that to get what he wanted he would have to stand his ground. What’s more, her blatant lies and selfish greed were stirring his anger. All the same, he knew he needed to be cautious. Zara was not prone to succumbing to pressure. Not to mention that at a snap of her fingers, Durst would be only too delighted for an opportunity to pound his head to a bloody pulp.
He considered his next words carefully. “The owner of the Bull and Quail said he’d give me four silvers a night.”
Instead of another angry outburst, an expression of calm came over her, and the room fell ominously quiet. Reaching into the desk drawer, she removed a small dagger. For a dreadful moment, Lem thought he had miscalculated—fatally so.
A wicked smile eased its way up from the far corners of her lips. “Is that right?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Four silvers a night? Is that what he offered? And I suppose you expect me to do better. Yes?”
Lem could not look away from the blade. He didn’t really think she would use it; not unless he actually said he was leaving. Stay calm, he told himself. She’s just trying to scare you. It was working, too.
He held up his palms. “I didn’t say I was going to take it. But I am one of the reasons so many people are coming. Surely a few coins isn’t asking too much.”
Slowly, she sank back down into her seat and for a long, nail-biting moment said nothing. Then her practiced, welcoming expression was restored. Very deliberately, she returned the dagger to the drawer. “Of course you’re right. You deserve something for all your hard work. I’ve been unfair to think otherwise. But four silver
s is more than I can afford. And I promise you, that thief at the Bull and Quail has no intention of paying that much either. The minute you arrived, he’d go back on his word. So here’s what I’ll do. One silver a night when we’re busy, and ten coppers on other nights.”
Ten coppers? It took forty to make one silver, and forty silvers for one gold. It was well short of what he’d been hoping for. On the other hand, she was probably right in saying that the proprietor of the Bull and Quail would have changed the deal once Lem had committed himself. He was quickly learning that people in Lamoria often did not keep their word. Not that his own people were completely honest either. But a contract, even a verbal one, could be brought before the council if broken. Here, there seemed to be no consequences for dishonest dealing.
Though Zara’s sudden change in tenor was sounding off warnings, he bowed his head. “Thank you. You are too kind.”
“Yes, I am.” She returned to her papers. “Now, shouldn’t you be getting ready? There’s a storm coming tonight. You know what that means.”
On the way out, just before closing the door, he caught a glimpse of Zara shooting him a dark look. He knew that he had stepped onto the precipice. But it was too late to turn back now.
Zara was a woman who needed to control everything around her, and she was accustomed to getting her own way. Durst would do whatever she said without question, as would everyone else who worked for her, apart from possibly Martha. Even the few townsfolk who did not frequent the taverns knew better than to cross her. Yet what else could he have done? He needed to be paid. Perhaps in time she might have thrown him a few extra coppers. But that could have been months from now … or maybe never. The real danger, he considered, was that she likely suspected his desire to leave Harver’s Grove. Remembering the look on her face and the sound of her voice, he had serious doubts that she would just sit by and watch as he walked away. She might offer him more coin to stay. But then she might choose to do something more … drastic.
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