by Joseph Lallo
'Thanks, Ma,' she said at last. 'I'd better go and finish up that ring. It's the last piece for tomorrow.'
Ynara kissed her cheek and gave her a brief hug. 'I'll be with you early in the morning, love. I'll bring breakfast.'
Llandry made herself smile again and waved, trying to suppress the forlorn feeling she always suffered whenever she flew away from her mother's house.
Chapter Two
Her carriage may be the best that money could buy, but Lady Evastany Glostrum was still lamentably cold. The chill seeped through the plush upholstery inside the vehicle, nimbly evaded the best attempts of the fitted glass windows to keep it out, and assaulted Eva's pale and shrinking flesh in spite of her heavy fur wrap. It was really too detestably cold to step beyond the door of her handsome and thoroughly comfortable house, but today's errand was too important to be missed. She was on her way to see her tailor.
Naturally she had wardrobes full of delightfully sumptuous gowns, but this was different. Something of an emergency, in fact. In a week she was to give a ball at her own house, at which she would be announcing her engagement. Such a momentous event in Glour society called for very careful treatment indeed. Eva knew she would be subjected to the closest scrutiny. The gossips and the reporters would be there in approximately equal measures, ready to tear apart every aspect of her appearance, her house, her entertaining. Most of all, they would be examining her behaviour towards her fiance. The speculation had been running high for weeks - would the elusive Lady Glostrum finally fall to matrimony? - and she had allowed for a rumour to leak out about the purpose of the ball. It was imperative that she was looking at her best.
That being the case, it was of course inevitable that the gown she had had made for the day had been ruined. One of her maids had managed to stain it with furniture polish while cleaning Eva's dressing room. She hadn't scolded the girl - the maid had been devastated enough - but nonetheless this created an unwelcome problem. As High Summoner, Eva was in the middle of interviewing candidates for two high-ranked positions within the Summoner organisation. She didn't really have the time for any more complications.
Her carriage came to a stop and Eva drew back the curtain that covered the freezing glass window. Her coachman opened the door for her and she stepped out with a smile, pulling her wrap as close around her shoulders as possible. She stepped quickly into the tailor's shop, shuddering with cold. Baynson was in the back, but he came running quickly enough when she rang the bell.
'Good morning, Mr. Baynson. I'm afraid there's been a small incident regarding the gown I purchased last week, and I'll be needing another. Before the ball.' She didn't smile. Baynson wasn't the type to appreciate it. He regarded her with an air of grave disapproval as she delivered this piece of bad news, his thin eyebrows careening up his face towards his nearly bald head.
'You'll forgive my saying so, your ladyship, but summoner or not, you ought to keep them animals away from your wardrobe. Ten to one something'd happen to your finery sooner or later.'
'Sage advice, Mr. Baynson, but in this case the culprit was one of my maids. Not her fault; these things do happen. Naturally I will pay you a considerable bonus if you are able to make me a replacement in time.'
Baynson tutted and tossed his head, muttering unflattering observations under his breath. Eva waited. The man was rude, uncouth and unpleasant but he was the best tailor in Glour City.
'I'll get it done,' he conceded at last. 'It'll take a lot extra, though. I'll have to pull my girls off a couple of other orders.'
'Fine.' Eva untied her purse from her waist and opened it. She had to count quite a large number of coins into Bayson's hands before he was satisfied, but this was to be expected with him.
'Same as before, I take it?'
She thought for a moment. 'Yes, but perhaps you could drop the neckline just a little. On the last one it was practically demure.'
Baynson tutted some more. 'Don't want to make a spectacle of yourself, your ladyship. A low neckline's the province of a woman who's not fit for polite company.'
Eva laughed. 'On the contrary, making a spectacle of myself is precisely my intention. I'm no debutante at her first season. On me, "demure" would look unforgivably coy.'
Baynson grunted. 'Reckon you could get away with it, praps,' he conceded, eyeing her figure in a manner devoid of all but dry professional interest.
'I'm certain of it. If there is an advantage to being barely shy of forty, it is that I am a mature woman quite able to carry off a hint or two of the provocative. And I'm quite determined to, while I still have the figure for it.'
'Forty, ma'am? You don't look a day over thirty-two.'
'That is my official age, Mr. Baynson, naturally, but I trust you not to give me away.'
Baynson flicked his hands at her in a shooing gesture. 'Very well, get thee gone. I've a deal of work to do. Come back in four days. It'll be ready.'
Eva smiled warmly. 'Thank you, Mr. Baynson. I can always rely on you.'
***
Later, Eva sat dejectedly in the large wing-back chair in her office, her feet tucked under her skirts and her hands thrust into her shawl. Was it completely impossible to keep warm in this cursed chill? Interviewing was one of her least favourite duties: she had gone through six applicants in the last three hours and none of them had been suitable. She now awaited the seventh, wondering whether she could get away with pulling her chair a little closer to the heating pipes.
A knock came at the door before she could put this plan into action, and her seventh interviewee appeared. This one was a woman she didn't recognise, apparently a little older than Eva herself. She wore plain, unaffected clothing and an air of cool capability that seemed promising. The previous six had been mostly men, mostly young, and mostly cocky. They had also mostly tried to flirt with her. Eva looked on this with the stern eye of decided disapproval. There was no place for flirtation when she was at work.
'Oona Temble,' the woman introduced herself. 'I'm from the Summoner Guild in Orstwych.' She didn't curtsey, or even bow: instead she approached the desk and offered Eva her hand. Eva shook it. It may have been a departure from protocol, but she rather liked Oona's straightforward manner.
'Sit down, Ms. Temble,' Eva said. 'Thank you for coming all this way to talk to me. I'd like to be able to offer you some cayluch, but my last interviewee seems to have been something of an addict.' She tapped the cold cayluch pot sitting on her desk, which rang emptily.
'That's quite all right, Lady Glostrum. I'm not thirsty.' Oona sat down in the chair Eva indicated. Her hair was short, rather against the prevailing fashions, and threaded with grey. The unpretentious style suited her strong face.
'You'll be aware that the position is a new creation. When new summoners come out of the Academy, they're still woefully ill-informed about the reality of a summoner's work. We're in desperate need of someone to take them in hand and give them a bit more practical education in animal acquisition and training. I'm looking for somebody to head up this proposed department.'
Oona nodded. 'Your notion was it, Lady Glostrum?'
'Yes, I believe it was.'
Oona raised her brows sceptically. 'I see.'
'Does that surprise you, Ms. Temble?'
'Somewhat,' said Oona blandly. 'You don't strike a person as made for practical measures, if you'll forgive my mentioning it.'
'Excellent. Plain-speaking is exactly what I need for this role.'
Oona lifted her brows again.
'Ah, you expected to find a pampered and temperamental noblewoman, good for nothing but the ornamental and essentially incapable of useful activity. Well, that's understandable if you read the papers. Let's just agree that appearances can be deceiving and leave it at that, hm?' She stood up, smiling down at Oona's eminently capable face wreathed in an expression of mild surprise. 'I'd like you to begin in two days, Ms. Temble. Your first task will be to choose your department members. I've budgeted for up to
five to begin with. You'll inform me if that's insufficient.'
Oona pulled herself together. 'Thank you, Lady Glostrum. I'd best make my preparations.' She smiled then, unexpectedly. 'I've a feeling it may be interesting working with you.'
Eva chuckled. 'Let's hope so, indeed.'
***
Eva had a desk at home as well. She had resisted getting one for a long time after her appointment to the role of High Summoner, preferring to keep her professional and private lives separate. But at last she had capitulated. She was too often obliged to carry paperwork home with her, and she needed somewhere to keep it. At least she could keep her study as warm as she liked.
Her agenda was becoming complicated. Her working hours for the next few days would be occupied with introducing Oona to her new role and setting up the department. She anticipated some extra hours at the Summoners' Hall, a prospect which sank her spirits. No power in the Darklands could keep that place even remotely warm.
On top of that, there were still preparations outstanding for the ball. Fortunately the Darklands Market was scheduled for the morrow. Eva knew she could send servants to do her shopping for her, and certainly she would take some of them along as her assistants. She liked to visit herself, though. The Market always had an air of jovial confusion which delighted her, and its sheer variety of wares was no less enthralling. She planned to go in search of some rare curios and delicacies for the ball. She wondered, briefly, whether to take her fiance with her, but she decided against it. There was more than enough speculation circulating already.
Eva worked until her fingers grew cramped from holding her pen and her eyes refused to focus. At last she retired to bed. As she sank gratefully under her blankets, appreciating the warmth of the stone hot water bottles that warmed the layers, it occurred to her that she would not have this space to herself for much longer. In a little over a moon, she would be bound to share her free time, her personal space and her body with one man for the rest of her life. As if in defiance of this thought, Eva positioned herself in the middle of the bed and stretched her limbs out as far as they would go. She smiled. At least she could enjoy the vestiges of her freedom in the meantime.
Chapter Three
Llandry stood on the edge of the Darklands Market, watching the surging crowds of Daylanders and Darklanders who gathered to admire and purchase its myriad wares. Held on the southern edge of Glour, its position within the Seven Realms was nearly central, and it attracted visitors from most of the realms. She saw many Glour citizens browsing the stalls, dressed in full gowns or tailored coats, their hair typically dark brown or black. Many small, slender Glinnish folk were present, honey-skinned and winged like herself. She saw a group of Orstwych Sorcerers, their draping robes painted in every imaginable colour. Nimdrens filled the air with their musical tongue, their chatter mingling oddly with the precise, clipped speech of Irbellian shoppers. Llandry regarded them all uneasily, hiding herself within the folds of her dark blue cloak.
Every single one of these people represented a threat. She knew that if any of them spoke to her, she would freeze and stammer, unable to string sentences together under the pressure of their expectant gaze. And yet, she was here as a vendor. It was her job to be communicative.
How she wished she had her mother's easy way with strangers. Nothing ever fazed Mamma. She had all the confidence that Llandry had never known; she conducted herself in company with a combination of easy friendliness and quiet, firm dignity that enchanted people. Llandry loved her with a fierce pride and loyalty, but she could not help suffering envy. How she wished she could learn that skill. As it was, she had reached the age of twenty without developing so much as a shred of it.
She gathered her courage and stepped into the throng. Threading her way carefully through the crowds, she clutched her cloak close to herself as if it could protect her from their glances, their curiosity, their words. Her stall was near the outer edge of the market - she had chosen a location near to the relatively open spaces of the Glour woodlands, in case she should feel the need to escape. Her lips quirked involuntarily at the thought. As if she should feel the need? It would be a miracle if she survived more than an hour of this nightmarish experience without disintegrating.
The market was always held during the natural night hours, and the moon shone full overhead. But the skies held a scattering of thick clouds, stunting the progress of the moon's gentle light. To correct this, the market organisers had set floating light-globes drifting low overhead, illuminating the stalls with a cool white glow. The effect was gentle to Llandry's eyes, just sufficient to see by; but she noticed that many of the Darklanders wore spectacles with dark lenses in them, as if the light conditions hurt their eyes. She'd kept the lights on her own stall to a minimum in response. As a result, she could barely see the expression of anxiety on her mother's face as she stood guarding the stall.
'Mamma? Is something wrong?'
'Goodness, no. No, love, nothing's wrong. I was wondering if you are all right.' She smiled, but Llandry could still see the shadow of concern in her face. She sighed inwardly. If her social inadequacies were a source of pain to her, they were a still greater source of anxiety to her parents. The thought added guilt to Llandry's troubled mixture of feelings about herself. She hid it behind a smile and hugged Ynara.
'It's kind of you, Mamma, but I'm really all right. I have to learn, don't I?'
Ynara shrugged slightly, bending to assist as Llandry began to unpack her boxes. They worked quickly, and soon her table was covered with Llandry's jewellery. Gems in rich colours sparkled and winked in the light, polished metals gleaming with a cooler sheen. The best went in the centre, her prize pieces: pendants, rings and circlets of pale silver set with her precious istore stones. They seemed to swallow the silvery light and throw it back out, gleaming pale and twinkling under the moonlight. Truly they displayed to their best under the night time conditions.
As a new vendor, Llandry had expected - nay, hoped - to go largely unnoticed at her first market. To her extreme surprise (and terror) she soon found that her wares were attracting considerable attention. Most of those who passed her stall stopped to admire her work, and many bought. They exclaimed over the richness of the colours, the intricacy of her metalwork, and most of all they pored over the istore stones.
'I've never seen anything like this before. Where did it come from?'
'By the Lowers, there's a sight. Like night itself caught in the metal. Remarkable.'
'What's this dark one, the one with the silvery sheen? What's it called? Istore? Never heard of it! Where does it come from?'
Llandry wanted desperately to answer all of these questions, but when she tried her lips trembled and she felt a constriction in her throat. It was all she could do to force a few words out. She was frowned at, less in irritation than in puzzlement at her odd silence. Words circled dizzyingly through her thoughts, words she would never be able to articulate. She hovered on the edge of panic, only the soothing warmth of her tonic keeping her largely under her own control. This was a very bad idea. Why did I allow myself to be persuaded?
Still, those whose questions went unanswered still bought, and Ynara's conversation satisfied the more persistent ones. The moon still shone high in the sky when Llandry's wares were almost gone. And still a stream of market-goers visited her stall, asking about the stones they'd seen their friends wearing. The word istore was repeated, over and over. Llandry's head swam. She brought more and more pieces out of her boxes until they were almost empty, and at last she found herself with only one of the istore items left: a silver ring set with a large oval of the dark, beautiful gem.
There was a little bustle as she brought it out, a stirring and a muttering among the crowds around her table. She looked up to find a tall, richly dressed woman in front of her, a native of Glour judging by her pale hair and dark blue, slanting eyes. Her clothes, her bearing, her manner all revealed her to be of considerable wealth and probably of
high standing. Llandry inclined her head and the woman returned the gesture, smiling.
'Elder Sanfaer. I may have expected to see you in front of a stall, but not, I confess, behind one.' Llandry stiffened, but the woman's face betrayed no malice. Rather, she seemed amused. Ynara laughed, taking no offence at all.
'Lady Glostrum, what a pleasure. I am assisting my daughter.'
The lady's gaze flicked back to Llandry, studying her quite intently. 'So this is Llandry. You've spoken so highly of her.'
'Never highly enough, I assure you.'
'I've been hearing the buzz about a certain night-coloured gem. Your work, is it, Miss Sanfaer?' She pierced Llandry with a direct, uncompromising gaze. There was no getting out of giving a response.
'Yes, Lady Glostrum.'
Is that the best you can do? Pathetic.
'Very, very impressive. I don't say that merely because I know your mother.'
Llandry swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump that occupied her throat. 'Thank you.'
'Tell me about... this one.' She reached out a slender hand and picked up the istore ring, the very last one. Llandry sensed a renewed tension in the crowds around her as they watched her movements, listening for the response.
Don't panic; just talk to her. Llandry focused on Lady Glostrum's face, pleasant enough in expression and bare of judgement.
'Istore. I mean, that's what I call it. The stone.'
'I see. I have never seen it before, and I am quite an experienced collector of jewels. Who do you buy it from?'