by Amy Keeley
She knew she was headed in the right direction when the buildings looked better kept, more bright and cheery, with designs sometimes formed in the stucco. Though the buildings were still tall and pushed together, people walked the streets openly, children ran past, and women with baskets meant for shopping gossiped on their way. Small crowds formed here and there, though Krysilla couldn’t always tell why. Some were groups of men, gossiping as much as any group of women.
The sound of music floated out among the crowd. A fiddle. Krysilla stopped, her heart pounding, her eyes wide. Closing her eyes, she waited for the glamour to appear. Nothing.
Zhiv didn’t use magic when he played.
Frightened of what might happen if she were to see him again, she turned and walked fast as she could back to the inn where she’d stayed last night. It’s been long enough, she told herself. Long enough that whatever hold he had over her should have weakened. But she remembered the look in his eyes in her kitchen, that warm, smoldering gaze that pulled her toward him as surely as his music captured her heart. It had taken everything in her at the time to tell him no. If she stayed, and it was him, if his music captured her once more, she would stay and listen. And he would see her. Before long, they would talk and once they talked she was afraid she would follow wherever he led and Circle knew where that might be. She’d followed him once and her marriage, already troubled, had fallen apart. Following him again, what might that bring?
She didn’t slow until she saw the inn and was inside. Closing the door a little too hard (as if he’d tried to follow), she leaned her back into it, covering her face with her hands briefly before giving it a hard rub. “You’re here to think,” she whispered, “and because your sister lives here and you thought she could help. That’s all.”
Taking a deep breath, she snatched her bag. Might as well check out, she decided.
As she had every night since she’d left the village, she opened her bag and checked to make sure everything was there. Wrapped inside an extra blue sash, she felt for the curves of the cup she’d taken with her, the one with the date she’d marked on it. The date she’d met Zhiv. Giving it a shake, she smiled at the sound of the metal lock it held. The Dogs were thick here in the capital, otherwise she’d risk taking it out and playing with it, just a little. Though, to be honest, a simple lock like this had begun to bore her. Nitty had said she was the kind who loved house magics, but she’d always wondered. Touching a different kind of magic, the kind that opened locks and doors (and she could see the ancient Ornic door in the Felldesh manor if she closed her eyes and could hear Zhiv speaking that ancient tongue as he worked the combination) had made her wonder even more.
But when she asked herself what she wanted, she felt she wanted a house. A little house that she could putter in. Maybe Nitty was right after all.
Slinging the bag over one shoulder, Krysilla waved her hands and straightened up as best she could to take a little pressure off whoever might clean the room for the next guest. “And that’s that,” she said. And lingered. This might be the last room she would stay in for a while.
Not wanting the depression that she could feel creeping inside that thought, she left. Once the key had been returned, she felt the first real twinges of desperation start.
From far away, the sound of bells tolling rolled through the city. A remnant of the rift the Ornics had built, she had been told. They chime every hour. It had a haunting sound that pulled at her with its beauty.
Midday. Dinnertime. She didn’t eat, though. Couldn’t afford it. She asked around and discovered there were three services, as they were called, where she could register.
The first went well, she thought. But after the second, she realized both women she’d spoken with to register had glanced once too often at her waist. At her blue sash. She began to feel terrified no one would hire her after all.
She was almost to the third when she heard a fiddle’s song drifting through the air, pure and sweet. No magic surrounded the tune, and yet she could feel it captivating her.
Zhiv. And right across from the place she needed to be.
Being around Zhiv, she realized, tends to make one a little paranoid. He’d spied for the King at least once. And Byor, the assistant who had carried the message, said that Zhiv had used him to gain information. Did he have a network of spies, and had he told them to watch for her?
Setting her jaw, she continued forward. No longer frightened, it was swallowed up in anger that Zhiv might have done exactly that. I told him no, she thought, continuing on in spite of the lovely melody that played.
And then the tune stopped. To her left she could see a small crowd. Keep walking, she told herself and forced her eyes to look straight ahead. Murmurs of appreciation came from the crowd, and she could hear the sound of coins falling into a pile.
He takes their money, and yet he’s the King’s minstrel, she thought with a grimace. He probably thinks of it as a game. How much money can I squeeze from—and then she remembered his fury at her husband’s hypocrisy and wondered if he searched for a way to give some back to the citizens. Or if he kept any of it at all.
But this meant she was thinking about him. Obsessed, she decided, that’s what I am. She stopped in front of a white, wood-frame building, with the symbol of a bucket cut into the door. Going inside, she made sure she didn’t look behind her at where Zhiv likely stood. She would have no part of whatever plans he had.
Like the others, this establishment was well-kept. Like the others, the one who registered her was pleasant. And, like the others, Krysilla noticed she kept glancing at Krysilla’s sash.
It was a bit much to take.
Unlike the others, the woman who registered her said, “Are you sure you wish to be employed?” She was an older woman, with kind eyes and a gentle smile.
“Yes.”
“I see.” The woman looked over the paperwork she’d completed, as if looking for something in the beautiful calligraphy. “It may be a while. Where may we reach you?”
Krysilla hesitated. The door opened behind her and the old woman frowned. “May I help you?”
Krysilla was about to turn around to see who it was, when she heard Zhiv’s voice. “I’m here to see your husband.”
“About what?”
“He owes me.”
The old woman’s frown deepened. “He’s not here. You’ll have to come back later.”
Krysilla focused on the wall straight ahead. Behind her, she heard a chair creak as Zhiv sat down. “I’ll wait.”
“He may be a while.”
“I’ve got time.”
A sneer twisted the old woman’s mouth briefly, and Krysilla wondered if she’d had dealings with Zhiv before. “Perhaps I can help you?”
“Oh, I doubt that. But, just in case you can, he owes me thirty linirns for a carriage yesterday. He forgot his purse.”
“And you had them.” The old woman obviously didn’t believe him, and Krysilla began to wonder if she knew who Zhiv actually was.
“It was a good day.” She could see his shrug in her mind’s eye.
“What is your name?”
“Parlay.”
Ah, so she didn’t know. He kept his identity a secret, even here. But how did Lord Felldesh recognize him when they had spoken with him in the manor?
No questions, she decided. Questions would only bring him closer.
The old woman sniffed. “Wait just a moment.” Turning to Krysilla, she said, “I’ll be right back. This won’t take long.” She got up and walked through a door, leaving Krysilla and Zhiv alone.
“You remind me of someone,” he said.
Trying not to smile—a smile would only encourage him—she said, without turning around, “Oh? I can’t imagine who. I’ve only been in town since last night.”
“Really?” She heard the interest in his voice. “And now you’re looking for work?”
“Yes.”
“Good luck with that.” She couldn’t tell if he truly meant it o
r not.
The old woman came back and handed Zhiv thirty copper coins. “If I find out you’ve lied, I’ll ask for them back,” she said with a tone that made it clear she meant it.
“And a good day to you, too, goodwife.” Krysilla nearly laughed at his response. “You’ll get good service with this one.” And then she realized he was talking to her. Facing him so that she wouldn’t appear rude, she felt her heart stop once more at the sight of him. His unruly, wavy hair, lightened a bit by the sun since she last saw him, was still a mix of gold and brown. His aquamarine eyes did not, however, have the same calculation in them as they had the last time they spoke. Must be hiding it, she decided, and that irritated her enough that she didn’t look like a complete love-sodden mess. Gesturing to the old woman, he said, “She placed a girl just yesterday in the house of Lord—”
“Very good,” the old woman interrupted with a glare. “Take care, Hon Parlay, and have a good day.”
With a wink at Krysilla (who blushed and glared), Zhiv left, his fiddle case slung over his shoulder.
Once he was gone, the old woman huffed and sat down again. With a glance at Krysilla’s blue sash, she asked, “Now, where should I contact you?”
She thought of her sister’s apartment. Curious to see how the woman would respond, she gave that as her location. The old woman wrote it down and gave Krysilla’s blue sash a harder look. “And what is your husband’s name?”
“Why does it matter?”
The old woman blinked in surprise. “So we’ll know if you can or cannot work at a particular location.”
Is that why? Krysilla tried not to narrow her eyes and only somewhat succeeded. “He’s a baker.”
“And his name?”
“You know his profession.”
The old woman put down her pen and laced her fingers together, settling them in her lap. “My dear, working in the home of those with either more powerful magics or more money requires a level of trust. If you cannot answer my questions, I cannot give you employment.”
Because she had no choice, Krysilla sighed and played along. “Lejer Gillasin.”
The old woman stared.
Unsure why this news would shock her, Krysilla continued. “I came into the city last night. He doesn’t live here.”
“He lives on Felldesh lands, doesn’t he?”
How would she know that? Krysilla now stared at the old woman, a terrible fear clutching her stomach. “Yes.”
“Oh.” If the old woman was going to say anything more, she apparently thought better of it. Gathering the papers, she said, “I’m not sure when we may contact you, but rest assured, the moment we find something, we will.”
Lies, Krysilla thought, though she wasn’t sure how she knew. Something in the way the old woman didn’t look at her and her one too many glances at Krysilla’s paperwork, perhaps. But she knew there would be no job. And that it had to do with her husband.
After she left the place, she stood in the street, turning neither left nor right. Zhiv would know. Byor worked for him, after all. If anything had happened to Lejer, Byor would have sent word and that meant...she sighed. If she wanted to know what her husband had done, she would have to talk to Zhiv. Adjusting her bag, she thought through the last few coins she had. Just enough for one more meal.
If Zhiv knew she was here, he would wait for her in a place he knew she would visit. She looked around for a place to eat, not wanting to go back to the inn. Not yet. A carriage slowed in front of her, and she moved to the side to let whoever had arrived enter. Out of the carriage came a man with hair so golden, it seemed to shine, and amber eyes that didn’t even notice her presence. His step was light and quick, and reminded her in a way of Zhiv, though his seemed less grounded and focused.
I’m obsessed, she thought and, began to walk.
Next to the service where she’d applied, there was a tavern where she could eat. If she’d been with Lejer, she would have entered without another thought. But alone, she hesitated.
If Zhiv was there, it would look very bad if he sat with her. And, unlike in her village, where she hadn’t thought twice about bringing a strange man burning with fever, husband or no, into her home, here, he was known and she wasn’t.
But she was hungry. Opening the door, she entered and sat at a table near the front and the open window, the low noise of the place calming her. Perhaps Zhiv would think twice about approaching if he knew everyone could see them, within and without.
She heard laughter from the back, feminine and light. And then Zhiv’s voice. Unable to stop herself, she looked toward them and watched for a moment as Zhiv flirted with a woman who wore a sash as white as the kerchief Zhiv had in his vest pocket, both signifying the two were unmarried.
Feeling miserable, Krysilla looked away and studied the street. Even in the low noise, she heard the two get up and walk toward the front. They must have spent some time talking after dinner, she decided.
She had to think. The only option presenting itself at the moment was one she didn’t want to entertain: go back to Lejer, if only to find out what had happened. Though, the way the old woman had looked when she said his name—frustrated at the lack of focus in her thoughts, Krysilla hoped the serving boy would come round soon.
“You look lonely, goodwife,” Zhiv said. “May we join you?”
Of course. He had found someone to keep it from being just the two of them at the table. “Yes,” she smiled, “please.”
You want to talk to me? she thought. Fine. But I want to talk to you, as well.
The young woman sat across from her, her back to the window, while Zhiv took a seat next to her. Did he look uncomfortable? His usually casual manner appeared to be a little strained.
“Goodwife, let me introduce to you, Sessin. She’s the woman I mentioned in the service next door.”
Pleased to meet yous went by quickly with Krysilla noticing the same calculation on the girl’s face that Zhiv’s often held. But she’s not as smart, she realized. She wanted to be, and that was what annoyed Krysilla the most about her.
Once done, Zhiv took the lead in the conversation once more. “I was telling this goodwife about how quickly they were able to place you with a good job.” Facing Krysilla directly, she tried not to notice how close he was when he spoke. And he still wore that cologne that made her think of faraway markets and spices. “I thought you might appreciate it if she described her experience with them.”
“Please,” Krysilla smiled, wondering when Zhiv would find a reason for the girl to leave. Or would he pass a note? She remembered the ones he’d given her before and the feel of focused clarity...and a plan. He had a plan in mind, and she was part of it.
Sessin, thinking herself already part of this plan, obviously, prattled on about her job, while hinting that she was trying to leverage it so that she could move to better things. Or people. From the sound of it, Sessin hoped to snag a young, lovestruck noble. Poor girl, Krysilla couldn’t help thinking. Unless he takes pity on you, you’ll be just another body to warm him.
She felt Zhiv’s hand nudge hers and the feel of paper between her fingers. “See?” His cheery voice was almost convincing. “You’ll have a job before the sun is down.”
“I imagine so,” she grinned back. I know what you’re trying to do, she wanted to say. And it’s only the need for more information that’s kept me here in the first place.
“So,” he said, “don’t be discouraged.” For that one brief moment, his words appeared to be sincere. “You’re not as alone as you think.”
“Thank you.” She hated the fact that her reply was just as sincere as his.
He and Sessin got up. “We’ll be off. Enjoy your meal. Order what you like. The owner knows me.”
Does he? she almost asked, but the question must have shown in her eyes. He winked. And then, he and the girl walked through the front door. Krysilla watched them, a small bit of jealousy pricking her heart, though she couldn’t tell if it was because of the girl’s
laughter as Zhiv spoke with her, or if it was the sight of a possible romance when she, Krysilla, had nothing.
And then, from across the street, she noticed a large, muscular man, wrapped in a cloak in spite of the summer’s heat, watching them. The man’s gaze shifted away from Zhiv and toward Krysilla. His eyes briefly widened when he realized she was watching him back. He turned and walked in the opposite direction Zhiv had taken.
Exhaustion of a different kind swept through her. She tucked the note into the fold of her sash and left without buying anything. Better to save her coin and stay out of debt. She wasn’t hungry anymore anyway.
She wandered through the city, only stopping to sit by the public fountain.
It would be better, she thought, if we could find a place of my choosing. My ground, not his. But the city obviously was his. At least, he knew it well enough. A shadow fell over her, and Zhiv sat down next to her. “You haven’t opened the note, have you?”
She didn’t look at him. “No.”
He chuckled, and, from the sound of it, wasn’t looking at her, either. “Did I come on too strong when we last spoke?”
She remembered the desire in his eyes and his obvious invitation. “You might say that.”
“And yet you’re here.”
“Not for you.”
“To clear your head, correct?”
Krysilla’s eyes widened, yet she refused to look in his direction. It would imply they were together when they most certainly were not. “My sister lives here.”
“And she’s taken you in?”
“No.”
For the first time, Zhiv had no ready response. When he spoke, she swore she could hear some concern in his voice. “Where are you going to stay?”
“Why? So you can find me easily?”
“At the risk of sounding a greater threat than I am, I can find you whenever I wish. I ask because I happen to know what it’s like to be without a roof for the night.”
She thought of him traveling as a lowly fiddler and some of her anger faded. “The sky is clear. The forest, probably.”