The Pearls

by Deborah Chester

  “I’m glad.”

  “My one regret is that you did not see fit to join me in prayer meditations. You would have found it most edifying, Lady Lea. Of course, I am available to assist you in prayer now, if that is convenient.”

  “No, not now,” she said.

  She did not subscribe to the Reformant religion, a sort of revised version of the Vindicant doctrine mixed with whatever pre-Vindicant texts scholars had found. Chanting did not edify her or provide spiritual comfort. Nor was she about to seclude herself with Poulso for any reason.

  His brown eyes, large and slightly protuberant, rather dewy at the moment with admiration, were staring at her right now, staring and fixed with a rudeness she found disconcerting. Almost all men stared at her, of course, but this was different. She was well aware that her pale golden ringlets and the whiteness of her complexion were considered unusual, even a little exotic, by Itierian standards, and in New Imperia she’d been acclaimed a beauty. Although she wasn’t conceited about it, she liked being pretty and enjoyed the admiration, within reason. But carrying on a conversation with someone who stared like a half-wit while breathing heavily through his mouth was less than enjoyable.

  “No,” she repeated gently now, as he showed no signs of going away. “I have no need of joining your prayers. Is there anything else you wished to say or ask? Because—”

  “Oh, er, yes, my lady,” he said, blinking and coming out of his daze. “How kind of you to remind me.” As he spoke, he fumbled in his purse and handed over a cabochon ruby. “Thank you for letting me examine this jewel that you found yesterday. It is quite fascinating how frequently you discover these, er, treasures. Quite fascinating. What a very sharp eye you must have. I do not know how you do it.”

  Thirbe choked back a laugh and coughed. Lea resisted glancing at him, knowing she couldn’t keep her composure if their eyes met.

  “Perhaps you should keep it for further study, Poulso.”

  Greed flickered in his eyes. He licked his fleshy lips, and his blunt fingers twitched a little. “Oh no, dear Lady Lea. My dear, generous Lady Lea. How kind you are. How ready to bestow favor upon your subjects—”

  “I have no subjects,” she corrected him sharply. “I do not rule.”

  One of the cavalrymen riding in front of them glanced back at Poulso with a warning scowl.

  Looking alarmed, the priest slouched in another of his awkward bows. “Forgive me. I am clumsy in my mode of expression. I do not wish to offend you, or to speak improperly against His Imperial Majesty, His Supreme Excellency, the emperor who is my most esteemed benefactor. I meant to say, dear lady, that you rule our hearts, and your admirers are your subjects in—in the sense of—”

  “I see,” she said, cutting off this nonsense. “You should keep the ruby. Make sure it’s acceptable and contains no magic.”

  “My dear Lady Lea, I could not possibly accept such a magnificent gift,” he protested.

  But when she held out the jewel his fat fingers closed over it so avidly his knuckles whitened, and he took great care in securing it away.

  “My lady,” he said, bowing low. “You would make me a wealthy man, me, a humble servant of Gault—a man sworn to vows of humility and poverty. What am I to say?”

  “Sell the stone and use the money to buy more ancient texts for your order’s library,” she said impatiently, eager to be rid of him. “Repair your temple. Whatever you see fit to do with it. You need not gain personally from this gift.”

  “I—I see, my dear lady. I shall do as you say. Thank you. And now may I—”

  “That is all for now, Poulso. You may leave me.”

  With a look of disappointment, he obediently reined up his horse and dropped back. Lea could not suppress a sigh of relief. She’d thought he would never go.

  “Them little bribes of yours ain’t such a good idea,” Thirbe said quietly.

  She glanced over her shoulder to make certain Poulso was out of earshot. “It got rid of him.”

  “Aye, but they’re getting jealous of each other, wondering when you’re going to give out another big jewel and who’ll get it.”

  “Why should it matter?” Lea asked. “When I find the stones, why shouldn’t I share?”

  “There’s a time to be kind, m’lady,” Thirbe said gruffly, “and a time to keep things close. Let’s get you safely delivered to Trau, and then if you want to bestow gifts, do so at the end of your journey. Eh?” He peered at her from beneath the edge of his helmet. “You understand?”

  “Yes. I’ll try to remember.”

  But she frowned as she promised, unhappy about hoarding stones that were simply jewels without any inner gli. Without magical properties, they held little interest for her, and she did not like to be burdened with too many possessions. That was not the way of balance. Besides, it seemed wrong to withhold the gifts, no matter what Thirbe said.

  “Look, m’lady!” Thirbe said, pointing again. “More ruins! Just like I said there’d be.”

  This time she had no difficulty seeing them. Lea stared at foundation stones and fallen walls shrouded in frost-withered vines. Rubble was strewn in all directions, half-seen in the dead grass. She saw a large structure standing at the end of an overgrown field. A barn, she supposed. Its roof was half-fallen in, its walls skewed. The whole thing looked as though a puff of wind would send it crashing down, yet she supposed it had been standing like that for years. Beyond it, a large town—all in ruins—stretched to the east.

  “What happened here?” she asked in wonder. “This is no small village.”

  “Aye, a big town in its day. And this road provided a pass through the hills to the north. Plenty of traffic and custom through here in the past. If we come to an imperial arch over the road in a while, we’ll know.”

  “We’ll know what?” she asked.

  “The name of the place. It’ll be chiseled on the base of the arch, along with the date of construction and Kostimon’s Imperial Seal. By rights, that should be struck off and the Light Bringer’s seal chiseled in, but abandoned roads like this ain’t likely to see that kind of attention.”

  “Imperial towns of this size don’t usually lie abandoned,” Lea said, still curious. “Was it invaded, torn down? Swept by fire or plague?”

  Thirbe shrugged. “Gone is gone, m’lady. The why don’t matter.”

  When a sudden clammy feeling rolled over her, she reined her horse to a sudden halt. The men around her stopped as well.

  “M’lady?” Thirbe asked in concern. “Are you faint?”

  She blinked rapidly, forcing back the bad quai that had momentarily overtaken her. “No, I’m…” Her voice trailed off as she stared at the ruins. Her gaze was caught by a roofless stone building standing with vacant holes where windows had once been, one rotted shutter still dangling by a bolt. “There’s no harmony here. The jaiethquai is so very bad. Whatever befell the town—”

  “Be at ease there, m’lady,” Thirbe broke in, his voice gentler than usual. “A long time back it was. A long time back.”

  She frowned. “It must have been dreadful. The quai…everything here is so disturbed…tainted. Their souls do not lie easy.”

  Thirbe cleared his throat in concern. “Whatever ghosts and bad hoojoo you’re talking about, best we ride through here fast and get on to somewhere better.”

  “Yes,” she said, still feeling shaken. She touched her necklace to draw strength from it. “I agree we’d better go on.”

  “What’s the matter?” asked Captain Hervan, suddenly pushing his horse through the milling cavalrymen. His gaze swept over her, and he frowned. “Great Gault, my lady. How pale you are. You’re unwell!”

  “No, I—”

  Before she could explain, he was off his horse and at her side, pulling her from the saddle without heed for her protests.

  “I told you that riding would fatigue you,” he said, his arm still around her for support. “Let us rest a bit.”

  “No!”

  But he wasn�
��t listening to her, as usual. He called up a sergeant and issued orders for the horses to be watered and dry rations to be issued.

  “I shall share my rations with you, Lady Lea,” he said, leading her over to the bank of the stream. “Humble food, of course. But it will revive you marvelously. Just see if it doesn’t.”

  She pulled away from his arm and looked up at him, ready to tell him that she didn’t want food or rest. She wanted to ride on as quickly as possible from this dreadful place.

  But the others were dismounting, and grooms were running up to take charge of the horses. Ysandre was already being led away to water. The skies darkened, draping low clouds over the hills, and at that moment it began to snow.

  Chapter 6

  “Snow!” Captain Hervan announced. “Shelter for Lady Lea, at once!”

  But Lea pulled away from him and lifted her face to the snowflakes spiraling down. The cold kiss of them on her skin cleared away the clamminess she’d been feeling, and she held her necklace in both hands, drawing in its power while she drew in deep breaths of cold air.

  “More,” she whispered. “More!”

  Snow fell heavily now, making a soft, hissing sound as it came down to collect in the folds of her cloak and blanket the ground.

  Restored, she smiled, pushing back her hood to let the snow adorn her hair. Holding wide her arms, she twirled around like a child, laughing.

  “Isn’t it lovely?” she called.

  No one answered her.

  She stopped twirling and saw everyone staring at her. That’s when she realized the heavy snowfall was centered on her alone. Only at her feet was the ground white. Elsewhere, a few sporadic flakes were floating down, nothing more.

  The astonishment on people’s faces made her laugh. She stepped away from the spot, stamping snow off her boots, and shook out the folds of her cloak.

  “Do you dislike snow?” she asked them. “It’s just…I’ve missed it so much, you see.”

  The heavy snowfall in that one spot stopped immediately, as though it had never happened. In her heart, Lea sent swift thanks to the air spirits. They were whimsical and capricious, benign one moment and aloof the next, yet never as hostile and vicious as their cousins the wind spirits. She felt them blow against her, ruffling her curls back from her brow, sensed faintly that they wished she’d lingered inside the circle of snow long enough for them to communicate with her, but it was too late. They were gone.

  Thirbe joined her. “All right, m’lady?”

  She gave him a radiant smile. “Oh yes.”

  The others began to relax and move about. Many continued staring at her, but others just shook their heads. A sergeant rapped out orders, and horses were led to the stream.

  Lady Vineena, the second of her attendants, ventured up to her with a small curtsy and reached out cautiously to brush snow from Lea’s hair.

  “It’s real,” she said in wonder.

  “Of course,” Lea said. “Why shouldn’t it be?”

  “But you—did you make it snow harder, just on you?” Vineena asked. Her eyes grew rounder. “Can you control the weather?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “But—”

  Lea turned away from her, only to find Hervan blocking her path. His eyes looked dazzled.

  “Lady Lea,” he said ardently. “Whatever that was…your skin, your eyes…they’re glowing. You’re actually radiant. Beautiful. I—I have to tell you how much I—”

  “Please,” Lea said, and walked away from him swiftly.

  He did not follow, much to her relief, and she picked her way over the muddy ground to the stream.

  There, she saw the water was starting to turn slushy at the edges. As she ventured out onto a large, flat rock jutting over the stream, a servant came running up with her drinking cup of Choven silver.

  “Shall I fetch you a drink, m’lady?”

  Lea took the cup with a gentle smile of thanks. “I’ll do it.”

  Carefully she crouched, tucking her long skirts and pale blue cloak neatly around her legs, and dipped her cup into the water. It tasted pure and sweet, and was cold enough to numb her tongue. Glad to find that none of the poor quai hanging about this place had tainted the stream, she sipped with pleasure before refilling her cup.

  “Take care you don’t fall in,” Thirbe said from behind her.

  She ignored his warning, ignored also the chatter and movement of people and horses until the marching cadence of booted feet reached her ears. Thirbe spun around, reaching for his sword, but it was only the small group of Cubrian archers who’d been left behind to guard the wagons and had now caught up.

  “Looks like maybe the wagons and your litter, m’lady, are past the mud,” Thirbe said.

  Indifferently Lea turned away. It meant that instead of continuing they would now linger for the wagons to catch up, and she didn’t like that idea. They were spending too much time in this strange valley. She didn’t know why, exactly, but the instinct inside her to move on was strong.

  Just as she was about to rise, a ripple across the flow of water caught her attention. Drawing off her glove, Lea trailed her fingers in the clear water. A face not her reflection glimmered up at her, then vanished. The cool touch of a water spirit glided over her palm.

  “Peace to you,” Lea thought to it.

  “Beware. Beware,” the spirit murmured in her mind.

  When Lea lifted her hand, she was holding an opal, the symbol of mourning.

  Pale and smooth, the stone was shot through with colors of white, gray, pale green, and pink. She admired it, turning it this way and that, wishing the sun would break through the heavy clouds to bring its pretty iridescence to life. Still, it was a sad stone, with a sad meaning, born of the sorrow here.

  The warning disturbed her, renewing her uneasiness. She rose to her feet, clutching the opal, and looked around a little wildly.

  “Have you found something, Lady Lea?” Fyngie asked, suddenly beside her and looking avidly at Lea’s hand. “Another jewel? May I see it? How pretty!”

  Distracted, Lea handed it to her, letting Fyngie hold it up and exclaim over it. She made so much noise that she attracted attention.

  Lea glanced around and caught a look of intense jealousy on Lady Rinthella’s beautiful face before her chief attendant smoothed her expression. Thirbe’s warning came back, and Lea found herself annoyed.

  There was something here, she thought. Something aware that was feeding on people’s darker emotions and intensifying them on purpose. She focused a moment, but could not identify it as either a spirit or a living entity. Whatever it was, she did not want more contact with it, she told herself, and shivered.

  “Are you growing cold, Lady Lea?” Fyngie asked, dutifully giving back the opal. “Shall I order a fire kindled to warm you? Perhaps we shall stop for the day and make camp. I’m tired and half-frozen. Aren’t you?”

  Thirbe stepped forward. “This is a right sorry place to camp,” he said gruffly. “We’ve no business to be lingering here.”

  Fyngie’s pale blue eyes widened, and she sent her most winsome smile to Lea. “Oh, please? May we not stop here? It’s so pretty. And look at those men trying to walk over the old footbridge. I wonder if they’re trying to fall in.”

  Lea looked at the two laughing young fools in their bright cloaks, teetering on a rickety structure still spanning the stream. Chunks of rotted wood fell into the water, and one man wavered, flailing his arms for balance while the other one hooted with derision. Her gaze, however, shifted past them to the ruins, looking for movement, any evidence of life.

  Again, that sense of clammy coldness reached out to her, sinking into her very bones. She gripped her necklace and stepped back. “We should go,” she said firmly. “Now.”

  “I’ll convey m’lady’s order,” Thirbe said at once.

  “Oh no,” Fyngie protested softly, but Lea ignored her.

  Swiftly she returned to the water’s edge and crouched there, intending to slip the opal
back into the water, but the water spirit did not respond to Lea’s call, did not return. She placed the opal on top of the rock where she’d been standing. She had accepted the gift, but respectfully she would not keep it. The jaiethal in it was too sad, too strong and dreadful, like a killing breath. It would be foolish to take such sorrow with her, as foolish as befriending a little sand scorpion and keeping it in her pocket.

  When she turned to go, she saw no one mounted. A red-faced Thirbe stood near the road, arguing with Sergeant Lor.

  “What now?” she asked impatiently. “What delays us?”

  “Here, Lady Lea,” Vineena said, skipping up to her with the opal. “You dropped this.”

  “No, she didn’t,” Fyngie said. “She wants to leave it behind.”

  “Then may I have it?” Vineena asked, smiling.

  “You already have one,” Fyngie said.

  “Not an opal. It suits me so well. Please, my lady?”

  “No,” Lea said more sharply than customary. “Leave that where I placed it.”

  Vineena’s eyes widened. “But, my lady, it’s valuable. You don’t usually leave behind the jewels you—”

  “This time is different,” Lea said. “Now put it back by the water where you found it.”

  A pale raven flew over their heads, startling them all. It seemed to come from nowhere, and it flew so close to Lea that she ducked a little. Then it vanished as though swallowed into thin air. She turned around, staring at the trees overhanging the road, but did not see the bird again.

  “Must we leave now?” Vineena asked as though nothing had happened. “It’s so romantic here. I wish we could explore the ruins. Perhaps some of the men will escort us over there, although I do not think I dare trust that bridge.” She sent Fyngie a sly look. “Fyngie might, though, if a certain young adjutant gives her escort.”

  Fyngie blushed to the roots of her hair, while Rinthella came up to them and quelled both of the young girls with a scornful look. She held out her hand imperiously to Vineena.

  “Shame on you for disobeying Lady Lea,” she said. “Hand it over at once.”