The Baker's Wife--complete

by Amy Keeley

  Shaking himself out of his daydream with a smile, Vyomsi began walking toward the entrance to the Queen’s apartments. “How long do you think you’ll be gone?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Lord Felldesh is in town and he’s highly respected among the nobles.”

  He could hear the smile in her voice when she spoke. “You need my help with the nobles?”

  “It would help me for others to see how easily the Dogs obey me.”

  “The Dogs obey the King, or his appointed heir.”

  “Exactly.” He turned, feeling more like a boy than when he’d first met her. “And that’s why I need you. The others act the way they’ve always acted. You show up, and everyone falls right in line.”

  “It’s not me. You’ll do fine, my lord. The document you showed us, proving the line of succession, will appear at the correct time; the Disciples have given you their support. Only the nobles are left to win, and that will be remedied through us, if you can’t convince them.”

  He thought of the spell on his fingers and remembered the power he would gain as King. And his smile grew. “Have you ever considered,” he said as she passed him, feeling bold, “that I may want you here simply because I enjoy our conversations?”

  She lowered her lids, turned, and left.

  He watched her go, then went back to work. There was much to be done if he was going to rule this kingdom.

  “Lord Teranasin?”

  “Yes?”

  One of the masons held two pieces of paper in his hand. One had many folds, and another appeared to be a scroll that had been squished, tied with a white ribbon with black edging. Both were covered in a fine white dust. “We found these in the rubble?” He held them out to Vyomsi.

  He snickered when he saw Goodwife Gillasin’s divorce certificate. Laying it aside on a chair, he unfolded the other. And stared. “Has Dog Ishia left yet?”

  “Lord, I wouldn’t—”

  “Find her. Now.”

  ***

  Krysilla woke to the feel of someone shaking her shoulder. “Goodwife?”

  She’d been hoping it was Zhiv calling her. But the voice was distinctly female, and far more insistent.

  “Goodwife, you must wake up.”

  She opened her eyes, the feel of the hard floor under her registering in her thoughts long before she remembered that she’d passed out here. The cords and threads on her hands and fingers were gone and her hands were folded neatly in her lap. A blanket had been spread over her, but that had been the only item given for her comfort. Still groggy, Krysilla blinked. “Is Zhiv all right?”

  The same woman from before stood in front of her, still wearing her large, colorful scarf over her skirt and ribbons in her hair. She held out a hand. “That’s why I need you to come with me.”

  Krysilla took it and was surprised at the woman’s strength. Then winced. Her body ached as she got to her feet, as it had in the days when she’d first worked all day in her former husband’s bakery. It made sense, after their adventures this morning. Still, she tried to hide it. “What’s wrong?”

  “What did he take?” the woman said as they walked.

  She hesitated, unsure what Zhiv had told the woman about his use of magic. “Nothing.”

  She had expected to go up the stairs that led to the bedrooms. Instead, they walked through an open doorway to a mostly plain sitting room. However, here and there were paintings of ivy along the edges of the wall and around the windows that looked on the lake outside. And not a King’s Light that she could see. “Magical items then?” the woman said. “Amulet, earrings, anklet, sword—” She walked ahead and around a couch that had been turned to face the fire glowing in the fireplace.

  A real fire, Krysilla thought, surprised briefly. The woman reached down to touch something on the couch and she realized she was checking the fever of whoever was there. Zhiv. Who else could it be? The concern on the woman’s face made her say, “Dagger.” And soon she had told the woman all about Zhiv letting himself be cut by an Ornic dagger.

  The woman listened with wide, terror-stricken eyes. And yet, she didn’t move, didn’t breathe..and in that moment, she reminded Krysilla very much of Zhiv when the King had confronted him. “That...idiotic...dirt for brains...argh!” Racing into the kitchen, Krysilla heard the side door slam open then shut.

  Krysilla stared at the couch. Afraid of what she might find, she kept walking forward, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other until she got close enough to see Zhiv. He was pale, far more pale than she’d ever seen him. His arms looked odd, as if they’d been frozen in the position he’d been in when he’d laid down on the platform. Moving close enough she could play with his hair, she brushed a few strands out of his eyes, though they were still closed. “You’ve done something very foolish, haven’t you?” she whispered. Guilt at possibly being the cause of this, and frustration at somehow being so very important to those plans he never shared (possibly because he didn’t know them himself until the very moment they were needed) tore at her.

  The door slammed open and shut again, and the woman bustled inside with a book. Opening the book, she thrust it into Krysilla’s hands. “I doubt you can read it, so just look at the pictures and tell me which one is the dagger he used.” And the woman took out a small disk. Setting it inside a small cup, she snapped her fingers and a green flame surged upward.

  Krysilla flipped through the pages, drawing after intricate drawing, every one of them of a different dagger, none of them quite fitting the image. “What is this—”

  “Never mind that, just tell me when you find it.”

  “He has it.”

  “I know. I just can’t do two things at once.” And from her sash she pulled out a slender dagger that gleamed blue in the firelight.

  Krysilla pulled her attention back to the book, flipping through quickly. Finally, she found the match. “This.” She pointed to it as she handed the book back to the woman who now held the dagger in the flame. Glancing at it, she nodded. “Idiot,” she muttered. Then, to Krysilla, “Thank you.”

  Watching her, Krysilla said, “How can I help?”

  “Get ready to hold him down. This is going to hurt worse than if the Dogs tortured him.” She waved her hand over blade and flame and both turned the color of sunlight.

  “What happened to him?” She hoped it wasn’t the dagger, though she knew it was.

  “Hold him by the shoulders, please, and I’ll explain.”

  Krysilla moved to stand at one end of the couch. “I’m a little weak myself. I’m not sure how well I can hold him. Are you sure this is necessary?” She took hold of Zhiv’s shoulders.

  “The dagger he used is a bloodblade, powered by blood, binding through blood, and protecting from blood being spilled if the owner wishes it. But there’s a whole bunch of spells that can be attached to it and,” she sat on his legs, the still glowing blade in her right hand while she held his arm up with her left, “the owner has to be strong to use it. Zhiv, idiot that he is, doesn’t think of that when he tries to master objects like this.”

  Krysilla felt sick. “This has happened before?”

  “Once when he was fourteen, with an amulet. Which arm?” Krysilla pointed. The woman undid Zhiv’s cuff. “He’ll kill me if I cut the damn thing.” Then, she rolled it up, revealing angry, swollen flesh with streaks like black lightning through it. Horrified at what she’d put Zhiv through, Krysilla focused on holding his shoulders down. The woman picked up the dagger and raised Zhiv’s wounded arm. She took a deep breath, and, for a moment, something close to agony crossed her face. “Sorry,” she said softly, then plunged the blade into the wound.

  Zhiv’s scream tore through Krysilla’s heart. It took all her strength to hold down his shoulders as he tried to sit up and even then she only managed because he slammed back down into the couch, jaw now clenched.

  The woman drew the blade through his arm, leaving a bloodless trail of white light behind it. Yanking it out, Krysi
lla saw thick, black sludge coating it and hanging from it. The woman threw the whole thing, blade and all, into the fire with a flick of her wrist and a sign with her fingers. The fire blazed once, then quieted. Zhiv relaxed into the couch, drenched in sweat, his breath quick and shallow.

  “And you still have a fever from overdoing it,” the woman muttered, glaring at him.

  Zhiv’s faint smile calmed nerved Krysilla hadn’t realized had been frayed until now. “I’ll bet...you haven’t introduced yourself...have you, sis?”

  “Oh, no, I had plenty of time. My little brother lying above the roof of a house he never visits except in winter, at least, not from what he’s told me, sick from who knows what, a strange woman racing through the house—”

  “You were racing?” he asked, looking up at Krysilla. She blushed, uncomfortable with the question.

  “—Daegan nowhere to be seen, I have three children waiting for me, wondering why their mother raced out of the house with dinner ready to be served, and a husband who came in from the fields expecting a calm meal but no, he has to sit and make sure the children eat their food while his wife tries to save her little brother’s stupid life and hope and pray no Dogs have followed him when it was his choice to run off in the first place and try to live near the very person he hates most.”

  During this rant, Zhiv lowered his gaze to his sister, his face without expression. “I’m sorry,” he said once she’d stopped talking, “that you were worried.”

  “How did you get a hold of a bloodblade?” she demanded. “I had to look it up in Uncle Nostra’s book, and I never thought I’d have a use for that one.”

  “It was sent to me,” Zhiv said.

  “So the woman tells me,” his sister gestured toward Krysilla who looked at the floor in growing shame. I should have left the moment Zhiv told me. But she knew she couldn’t. No matter what Nitty did, she could never leave her sister to die, or something worse. If she’d known how badly it would affect Zhiv, she would have simply...no. She had no idea what should have been done, even now. Just that it shouldn’t have hurt Zhiv.

  “Problem is,” his sister continued, “who would want to give you such an awful present.”

  “That,” he said, “is going to take a little explanation. Which you deserve, by the way.”

  “Damn right.”

  “But first, Ziria, this is Goodwife Krysilla Jyomsa. Goodwife, Ziria Gorrosin. My sister, whom I have previously mentioned.”

  “Might have mentioned Goodwife Jyomsa, or I might not have tied her up the moment I saw her.”

  Concerned, he looked up once more at Krysilla. “Are you all right?”

  She could see the fever starting to take hold again in his pale face. “Just fine. Do you have medicine here?”

  “In the kitchen. Cabinet to the right of the door.” Moving as fast as she could without running, she went to get it.

  “Zhiv,” Krysilla heard Ziria say, arms folded over her chest, “where’s Daegan?” It didn’t take long to find the medicine, and a spoon to take it. She hurried back to hear Zhiv’s answer.

  He hesitated. “I don’t know.” He sat up and swayed forward. Krysilla, afraid he might fall over to the side, rushed forward and put her hand on his shoulder. He reached up and covered it with his hand, his grateful smile making her cheeks flame once more. “I am truly sorry for this, Ziri. If I could have avoided it, I would.” Taking the medicine bottle from her, he poured a little in the spoon and took it.

  “That’s what worries me most.” Ziria’s face softened, and for the first time it became clear how frightened she’d been. “Is my family safe?”

  Zhiv’s eyes closed and his hand dropped away from Krysilla’s. “I don’t know.”

  Ziria’s lip trembled, and tears filled her eyes. “What have you done?”

  “Surprisingly, nothing.” He opened his eyes and said, “Ziri, the King is dead.”

  His sister paled. “They’re blaming you for it.”

  “I have no idea.” He handed the medicine back to Krysilla.

  “You know they will. You’re Ornic, that’s what they’ll say. And me and your brother.”

  Anger laced his voice and flashed in his eyes when he spoke. “What brother?”

  “It doesn’t matter what he does, he’s still part of us.”

  “He’s no longer a Mikailzn,” Zhiv said, saying what must be his last name with an accent Krysilla had never heard him use. “He wasn’t stupid enough to keep the name.”

  Ziria shook her head, silent. When she spoke next, it was with narrowed eyes at Krysilla. “And what about her? What aristocratic ties does she have?”

  “I’m just a baker’s wife.” No longer willing to be involved in what was becoming a family squabble instead of a discussion of what had to be done, Krysilla moved to leave. Zhiv placed his hand on her arm.

  “Former wife,” he said. “She’s here of her own free will, and she’s shown a talent for more than baking.”

  Ziria nodded slowly. “Fire.”

  “That’s not her talent.” Still, Zhiv’s hand rested on her arm. She tried to ignore it.

  Ziria looked at her then with the appraising eye of a mother trying to decide the value of a woman her son fancies. “And what is her talent?” she asked with a meaning in her tone that Krysilla couldn’t miss if she tried.

  “We’re not together,” she said quickly.

  Zhiv got up. “She’s right.” He swayed, then sat back down. “I’ll explain everything, sis. But first, I must rest.”

  “With Dogs after you.”

  “I made sure there was no trail to lead them here.” He tried to wrap himself up in the blanket his sister had placed on him earlier, but it was Krysilla who finished the job. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Can you explain what you know, goodwife? I’m tired.”

  “I’ll do what I can,” she said, fighting the urge to run her fingers through his unruly locks.

  “Thank you.” His words were barely audible as he drifted back into sleep.

  Krysilla looked at him, then at the fire where the blade should have been, but wasn’t. “What did you do?”

  Ziria shrugged. “Drew out the damage, made him feel he was stronger than he was so he’d talk. It doesn’t last long, and he’ll sleep longer than if I’d left him alone. But it seems he didn’t have enough strength to get out more than a few words.”

  Krysilla stared at her wide-eyed. “How much did you intend him to say?”

  For the first time since she’d seen her, Ziria smiled, cynical, cold, and far too much like Zhiv at his most calculating. “Oh, he can talk the ears off a dog if you let him. Get him talking on a favorite topic and the words flow as wide and fast as the Naryaset in springtime.” She looked at him with fury mixed with affection, then, with a wave for Krysilla to follow, headed toward the kitchen. “Come on then. We’ll have some tea until Hon Jixsin shows up.”

  She thought of her sister and her niece, and hoped those three had managed to meet somewhere. “What about the dagger?”

  “Gone.”

  “But h—”

  “I don’t know. The book tells me what to do, I do it. I don’t overanalyze like my brother.”

  She had never spoken with any woman as direct as Zhiv’s sister. Unsure what to say, she guessed something she hoped was innocuous. “You take care of the house?”

  “During the summer. In exchange, I can use some of the rooms as my own personal pantry, I can wear some of the clothes I saw the women around me when I was a child wear, and I get to read whatever Zhiv brings home.” She reached into a cabinet and brought out a small ceramic jar.

  Krysilla remembered what Zhiv had said about his experience with Ornic. “Zhiv told me he didn’t know the Ornic wrote.”

  “None of us knew. Our Uncle Nostra found a book when he’d gone to a market to play for the crowd. He didn’t know what it was from for the longest time, and kept it here as an oddity. It wasn’t until Zhiv ran away and told us of the King’s library that we starte
d digging through this place.” She uncovered what looked like a King’s Platter, the iron disc set into every home that took the place of fire for cooking. “Soon as his fever is gone, I’ll put out the fire. The Platter uses magic, but—” she set it down in the appropriate recess, then leaned into it, head down. “Is he telling the truth, Goodwife Jyomsa? Did he cover his tracks?”

  “As best I can tell.” Krysilla briefly told her the important parts of what had happened: the King’s death, the clock tower (though she left out most of Zhiv’s conversation with the King), and everything surrounding running for their lives from Lord Teranasin. Ziria listened carefully, and with eyes that made Krysilla wonder which one was the more intelligent of the two siblings.

  “So,” Ziria said once Krysilla had finished, “my little brother managed to save the kingdom, and nearly got himself killed in the process. Sounds like him. What of you? How do you fit into this?”

  “We met when he was on an assignment for the King. I...” she thought of her struggles, of the secrets Zhiv had revealed. “I was going to use illegal magic, and he caught me.”

  Ziria chuckled, and Krysilla could see she’d already pieced together what had happened. Still, she went on. “I helped him enter the Felldesh vault, he helped me see that my marriage wasn’t what I thought it was. Now, I’m divorced, and with no other place I want to be.”

  “True?” Ziria stared hard at her, not quite puzzled, but not quite understanding, either.

  This is my family, she almost said, but it wasn’t true, so she didn’t. “Of course.”

  “You know his plans, correct?” Ziria sat down, using one chair to prop her feet. “He wants to learn how to protect others. But have you thought through what that means? He wants to be able to go against nobles and Dogs and wind up the better of them. These are men and women who’ve spent their whole lives dedicated to studying the forms of magic Zhiv only started learning after his sixteenth year. And how do you fit into that?”