The Baker's Wife--complete

by Amy Keeley

  She remembered the look on Zhiv’s face when they’d spoken in the meadow all those months ago. She remembered how he’d spoken of possibilities, of enormous potential. Given time, he’d said, what do you think you might accomplish? “I don’t know. He’d just begun to explain when everything fell apart.”

  “That’s his luck,” Ziria grinned, her lopsided smile almost warm. “Well, if you don’t know, it’s probably not worth the trouble to think too much on it.” She studied Krysilla a moment. “I think you have one of the higher earth skills. And the higher the earth skills are, the closer you get to fire.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  Ziria got up and got a piece of paper from the drawer and a rectangular pencil. She drew a circle, as Zhiv had before Nitty appeared, and put twelve points on it. “There are four physical points, four spiritual points, and four mental points. I’ll bet you’re rhythm, the spiritual point just above earth, which means you are more interested in puzzles, but you’re steady, the beat that everyone around you relies on.”

  Krysilla shook her head. “I’m not as steady as you think.”

  “Only because you’re around my brother. His main talent is either passion or clarity, both higher forms of fire. The first is discouraged by the Tothsins, for obvious reasons, and the second has been buried under all the things we’ve gone through.”

  But he can navigate things so quickly, she thought. And he never seems fooled for long. And she remembered the look in his eyes when he’d held her sash against his mouth. If she’d allowed it, he might have pulled her into his arms.

  Ziria’s laughter pulled her out of her thoughts. “Circle blessed, you’re far gone.”

  She blushed. “We’re not—”

  “Well, if you’re not now, you will be.”

  Krysilla snapped, “No. We won’t. We haven’t, and we won’t.”

  Ziria stared at her, wide-eyed. “Well, then,” she whispered. “That’d be a first.”

  As if I’m one more girl sighing over his white handkerchief, Krysilla thought and filled a small pot with water from a jug on the counter. She cast a quick purification spell on it with a wave and a tap on the pot. “The water’s good, isn’t it?”

  “Purified it when I was preparing the spell earlier. I wasn’t sure if I’d need it or not.” Ziria watched her closely. “If your talent has anything to do with earth, it might explain why he brought you here. Why he keeps you close.”

  “And why is that?” She set the Platter’s spell and sat in one of the kitchen chairs across from Ziria.

  “You saw the cave.”

  “Somewhat. I was a little distracted at the time.”

  Ziria grinned, the first bit of sympathy she’d shown. Her smile faded. “I don’t like that cave. It feels wrong. All of it. I walk too far in and I can feel things in the walls and under my feet.” Her lips pursed briefly. “I don’t know what those things even are. Daegan’s only been there once since Zhiv discovered it, and neither Zhiv nor I have the talent to discover what that might be. But Zhiv says there’s a rhythm to whatever’s in there.” Ziria hard at Krysilla then. “If you’re not his lover, you have to have some use. He never keeps anything near unless it’s useful to him.”

  She didn’t like thinking like that. She’d begun to think Zhiv had truly started to like her, that she was, in a sense, his friend. It was a silly thought, she realized. Once, she’d felt his clarity of thought in one of his spells, his focus on her, his need for her in his plans. And she remembered how he seemed to honestly enjoy talking with her. But none of this was Ziria’s business. Not yet, anyway.

  “Whatever he has planned for me,” Krysilla said, unsure if she should say anything at all, “I have no interest in forming anything other than a businesslike relationship with him. He uses me, I use him. He has a purpose in mind for me, things he wants me to do, and for now, I see no reason to refuse him whatever magic I may have. In return, I get a place to stay, food to eat, and the chance to do more good than I first thought when we met. And sometimes—” she probably shouldn’t say this to someone as cynical as Ziria, but she couldn’t help it. “He once talked about possibilities.” Ziria smirked. “That’s probably all talk on his part, and I’m sure he’d be the first to deny it, but...whether or not he’s known for it, I think Zhiv Mikailsin will do great things.” She laughed softly. “He’s already saved the kingdom once. Who knows what else he’ll do?”

  Ziria didn’t laugh, didn’t smile. “Then you see it, too.” Folding her arms tightly against her chest, she said, “I dreamed about him once. We were walking through the forest, Zhiv, myself, and our brother, the one who renounced our name. We were kids again. Zhiv ran ahead, as he had when we were young, and I yelled at him to wait, but he wouldn’t. Wolves jumped out from behind the trees and we scattered, all three of us. One of the wolves ripped my throat out, and I watched, dead, as my brothers ran in opposite directions. One threw his arms around the wolves that attacked and was raised as their own. The other, Zhiv, ran deeper into the thickest parts of the forest until I could barely see him. When he emerged, he was fully grown, and tired. He had his fiddle case slung over his shoulder, and he had the amulet of the Ornic lords around his neck. And he sang.” Tears filled her eyes. “I haven’t heard him sing since our parents died. Not really, truly sing.” Getting up, she said, “He wasn’t a fiddler when I had that dream. He hadn’t run off to kill the King, and he hadn’t inherited this place.” She gestured around them. “Our uncle was a minstrel for a noble in the southern part of the kingdom. When he retired, he spent most of his riches building this home. Now and then he’d travel, and if he found anything odd, he’d place it here. He gave this house to Zhiv because he was the oddest among us. That’s what he said. I’m starting to wonder if he saw the future, too.”

  Krysilla’s skin felt cold. “He won’t become an Ornic lord.”

  “I never said he would.”

  “But the amulet.” Krysilla shook her head. “He’d never burn the world. He’s too kind, even if he doesn’t believe it himself.”

  Ziria studied the table with a grin. “By the way, how does the castle look now that he’s run from it?”

  Her point was unavoidable. “That was in self-defense.”

  “You think the rift was an attack?”

  “Of course. They wanted to burn the world to hold onto their power.”

  “Did they?” Ziria raised an eyebrow. “I was always told it was self-defense.”

  Krysilla had never heard that.

  Apparently, her ignorance showed in her face. Ziria only laughed. “Come on. We’ll drink some tea, and you can watch over the minstrel you serve.” She stood and took the now steaming water off the platter. Laying down a thick cloth, she put the tea leaves inside and covered it.

  Ziria’s words still needled Krysilla. Zhiv was many things, but he would never be as disruptive a force as the Ornic lords. “Do your dreams often come true?”

  “When they’re more real than my waking moments, yes.”

  “Then why are you still alive?”

  “Ah. That’s because I’m not.”

  Krysilla rolled her eyes. This was worse than talking to Zhiv. They walked back into the sitting room, Krysilla carrying the pot (“I’ll feel useless if I don’t”) and setting on a small table at the foot of the couch. “By the way,” Ziria said, “if the Dogs are looking for you, you’ll need to avoid using magic whenever you can.”

  “What about the healing?”

  “As I said, whenever you can. And if the Dogs get past that door, I doubt what I did will be the greatest of your worries. Small magics for cooking and such might be fine as long as they aren’t used often or for long periods.”

  Krysilla tucked that bit of knowledge away. But it was Ziria’s dream that bothered her most of all. Only in the tales of her childhood did people have dreams that came true. “You’re obviously not dead.”

  “In a very real way, I am.” Her smile was bitter. “I married outside the tribes.
My husband is a good man, but very devout. He knows my heritage, knows what I do when I’m here, but would panic if I tried to pass any of it on to my children. I’m lucky he lets Zhiv visit now and then. Because he works at the castle, you know, and has connections, even if we never use them.” Her bitter smile softened. “He’d rather all my heritage disappear like smoke on the wind.”

  We aren’t that different then, she almost said, though she didn’t use illegal magic to touch a heritage she was about to lose. But she knew how it felt to try to live under someone else’s needs. Perhaps, she thought as she remembered Zhiv’s passionate hatred of Lejer’s hypocrisy, that’s why he felt so strongly about my husband, and about giving me freedom.

  “I’ve renounced my heritage in every way that matters,” she said. “Zhiv was furious when he found out I wouldn’t be passing on the traditions, but I married a good man, one who loves me, and I have a good family that makes all the neighbors jealous. My boys will grow up as good Tothsins, learn a trade, and stay with that trade for the rest of their lives, raise families themselves, and never have to worry that someone has decided to hunt them down for some small magic that makes their lives better. That’s enough for me.”

  “And this house.”

  Ziria’s smile grew. “Yes. The house helps.” She sighed. “I’ll need to get back home soon.”

  Krysilla nodded. Ziria got two mugs from the kitchen. Bringing them back, she said, “Daegan doesn’t care for tea, and Zhiv only likes one kind. I’ll see if I can’t get you some variety when I get back.”

  “That’s fine.” Krysilla poured the tea into the mugs, and was surprised when Ziria took hers and grabbed a bag tucked into a corner behind a chair.

  “I can’t put off my family any longer. In the kitchen,” Ziria said as she hoisted the bag onto her shoulder, “there’s a secret door. If you get bored waiting for Zhiv to wake up, you might want to look for it. Oh, and I put your bag in the guest room upstairs, and there’s some food I grabbed on the way out in the cupboard. Tell Zhiv I’ll be back day after tomorrow to check on him. If he wakes up in that time, of course.” From the look on her face, it seemed she doubted he would. She gave Krysilla a hard stare. “Daegan should be here long before then, though. Can you handle him by yourself?”

  “Yes.” She’d done it before, hadn’t she?

  “Then, hopefully, I’ll see you both, as well as Daegan, wherever he may be, when I come back.” She paused, then said, with a small nod, “If he dies, I’ll kill you.” And, with a brief smile, she left.

  Krysilla went back and checked on Zhiv’s fever. Perhaps, she thought, it’s because he’s gone through this twice. The panic that had seized her the first two times felt distant now. Or perhaps it was because she knew there was help nearby. Or perhaps, it was because this house that Zhiv had kept hidden felt so quiet and still.

  Hours went by in silence. Only the sound of Krysilla tending the fire to keep the room warm, waking Zhiv now and then to take his medicine, filled it. She only left his side once to get a blanket and her sack from upstairs.

  It looked awful. But it still held the things she’d put in it, including the primer Zhiv had given her. Rummaging through the contents, her skin went cold.

  Her divorce certificate was gone. More importantly, so was the map.

  Holding her sack in her arms, she slowly walked down the stairs. It’s probably destroyed, she thought. And even if it’s not, what can I do now? Now was not the time to panic when she had to focus on helping Zhiv pull out of the fever that wasn’t a true fever.

  Concentrate, she decided. I need something to help me concentrate. In between doses, she practiced her alphabet without ink, tracing out the figures with her fingers until her thoughts wandered to the missing map again and she studied the primer he’d given her.

  A guide for those who have gone to preach to the renegades who refuse to believe, she read, both to protect from Ornic spells and create a mutual understanding that might encourage conversion. Inside were all the warnings against Ornic sins: arrogance, independence, disregard for others, cruelty, greed, lust, and so on. She skipped that part, having heard it all her life. When she opened it to the first lesson, she started. Zhiv’s handwritten notes filled the margins.

  Not enough stress on rhythm, read one. Almost, read another, and next to it, strange way of putting it. How did he expect her to learn if this guide was only almost correct?

  Because he’d intended her to come to him to learn it, she realized.

  She tried to muddle through in spite of his criticisms of certain aspects, and found they were mostly his comments on the approach to the pronunciation of the language. And then the notes changed, with little things to remember underlined in pencil and one-word markers in the margins to find something easily. Mouthing the words, she tried to remember the simple sentences the primer used, mostly greetings. However, toward the end of the chapter were a number of phrases that, the book said, should serve as warnings. Hear them, it said, and you should prepare to run for your life. One of them stood out. O arev zhiv bo.

  I give you the gift of pain.

  It wasn’t a literal translation, the book explained, and broke the phrase down into its components. O meant I. Arev could mean both give, gift, or both at the same time depending on the context. Bo meant you.

  And zhiv, the name she’d called out on the stairs that had woken the dagger, roughly meant pain.

  She closed the book softly and set it on the floor next to her. What kind of parent would name their child Pain? What kind of childhood had he had, where pain would be considered a gift? For several moments, she listened to the crackle of the fire and watched Zhiv quietly struggle with the fever that always came when he cast more than he was able to bear. And, for the first time since she met him, she allowed herself to truly think of him, and all the questions those thoughts conjured, both good and ill.

  Sliding down from her chair, she crouched next to him. Touching his forehead, she wondered how asleep he might be with a fever like that. “Zhiv?” she whispered softly. He didn’t stir.

  The soft light from the flames made him look peaceful. But, she reminded herself, he had killed at least one man, without hesitation. There was no guarantee that he hadn’t killed more than that.

  What kind of man was he?

  “Zhiv,” she whispered again. “I have so many questions. If I sit here and only think them, I may push them away. So please forgive me. I have to ask them and risk waking you up when you’ve already done so much and deserve the sleep.” Just as she said that, she thought of how easily he’d slit Lord Teranasin’s throat. Her voice barely above a whisper, she asked, “How many have you killed? Did the King ask it of you, or did you...did you do it yourself? Do you hate yourself for not stopping the execution, even though the law was technically on the side of the Dogs?” She paused. “I do. In fact, as soon as you’re feeling well enough, I want you to teach me what you know. Everything. Show me all the combat spells, all the modifications you’ve made to more ordinary trade ones.” She thought of the Dogs coming here, or going after Ziria and her children and her husband because of her use of magic. Or attacking Daegan, her sister, and her niece. “If you do this, I promise I’ll become good enough I can stand against the Dogs. Not for power’s sake. And not because you’ve asked me to join you. I want to protect those I’ve come to love.” Feeling miserable, she brought up her knees and leaned her head on her arms. “I thought, when you spoke of potential before we opened the Felldesh door, that you were pointing the way to the same sins as the Ornic, to greed and all kinds of license. And then I thought, I must have been mistaken. All you want is to protect what you have. But now I’m starting to wonder if you were talking about not being helpless. Of having choices, and creating more choices.”

  Tears formed in her eyes. “I don’t want to stand by again and watch someone die. So...teach me. I know you’ll ask something in return. I can’t promise I’ll give it, but I can promise, if I can’t, that I’ll f
ind something just as valuable to you. And I also promise,” she said with a smile, “that I’ll have more questions for you when you’re able to answer them.”

  She watched the light on his handsome face, remembering that he’d worn the amulet of an Ornic lord in his sister’s dream. “You’d make a terrible lord, you know?” she said softly. “I know I once accused you of being a noble, but, if you’re willing to listen to me while you dream, stay a minstrel? Please? You’re very good at it, and there’s not nearly as much risk.” She felt his forehead and the back of his neck. Still feverish, and it was getting worse. Looking outside, she noticed it was getting dark, with stars appearing above the lake. She woke him just long enough to give him some of the medicine. He shuddered, and wrapped himself more tightly in the blanket, as if he were freezing.

  Krysilla built up the fire and brought more blankets down, checking the locks through the house before settling down in the sitting room. All night, she watched over Zhiv. Her concern grew with each passing hour that the fever lingered. And when she got to the final dose of medicine, with no more in the cabinets, she knew this was a worse fever than he’d gone through before.

  Wrapping him up, she began giving him water in small, frequent doses. “I wonder if a plunge in the lake would do you good,” she muttered at one point.

  But this wasn’t an ordinary fever. It was possible everything she was doing right now was wrong.

  Finally, just as the sun rose up over the lake, making it appear a mirror for the sky, Zhiv’s fever broke. Krysilla snuggled into the chair, and hoped that was the end of it.

  The next morning, Krysilla woke with a start. The sun was high, and she couldn’t tell immediately if it was late morning or early afternoon. She checked Zhiv’s fever. Low, but that’d be fine if it disappeared soon.