by Kat Parrish
The queen’s lip curled in what might have been a smile but looked more like a snarl.
“No, I don’t think that’s what you meant,” she said.
She narrowed her eyes at Mirielle. “You can hear them, can’t you? You can hear the song of the rainbow stones.”
Again, it wasn’t a question and so Mirielle didn’t answer, knowing she’d already told the Queen of Thieves far more than she had intended to.
“Interesting,” the woman said. “Very interesting.”
Mirielle forced herself to stand still. She needed the woman’s help, if only to give her safe passage in Thieves’ Alley.
“I have a proposition for you, Daughter of Light,” the Lady said finally.
“I’m listening,” Mirielle said..
“If the stones are, as you say, still in Idrissa, then there are only a few places they might be. My son will help you find them.” She turned to her right and barked out a name. “Loic!”
A slender young man detached himself from the shadows that had hidden him and walked into the light.
He was not much older than Mirielle, although he wore a well-used sword by his side that did not look as though he’d stolen it. He moved like a cat, so gracefully he didn’t make a sound.
He had his mother’s beauty, but it was comingled with something foreign that gave his skin an olive cast--Zoorish blood perhaps, Mirielle thought.
His hair was the color of fresh-cut dragonwood, a reddish brown that sparked gold where it caught the light. That same gold light was in his eyes, which were the deep gray-green of moss agates in water.
Mirielle realized she had seen him before in the marketplace and once or twice with Florin. Seen and remembered him, she thought, blushing.
He bowed to her, “Daughter.”
She felt heat scorching her neck and cheeks. He really was very handsome.
“Doesn’t he have nice manners?” the Lady asked, her question a taunt directed at the young man.
“I don’t know where he gets them,” she added as Loic’s skin flushed a dull red. Mirielle couldn’t tell whether his high color was the result of embarrassment or suppressed rage. She did notice that Arnaude looked bored. This sort of thing must be a regular occurrence in the House of Thieves.
The Lady spoke again, almost as if she was talking to herself. “If the jewels have been stolen, then the thief hopes to make a profit on them. And that means taking them out of the city. If I had them, I would go north, where they might find a buyer.”
“The girl is right,” Loic said. “The Tears haven’t left the city.”
“My name is Mirielle,” she said, though she was not sure why.
“Mirielle,” he repeated, and there was mockery in his tone, which made her bristle even more.
The Lady turned to her son, curious.
“Why do you agree?”
“It’s simple,” he said, and then when he saw that neither his mother nor Mirielle seemed to follow his unspoken reasoning, he continued. “The only real value the Tears hold in the north is their worth as ordinary jewels. They’d be currency to pay for food or weapons or both, but the government there lacks the imagination to use them as a rallying point, to gather power and focus in their grievances against Idrissa.”
Mirielle realized the young thief was speaking her own thoughts.
“I agree,” she said. “If they’re still in the city,” she said, “then someone will either try to sell them back to the Holy Mother or they’ll offer them to the Governor-General.”
Loic did not smile but approval lit his green eyes. “Who’ll pay more, do you think?”
“The Governor-General,” she said. “The Holy Mother will think the Tears are hers by right and will not want to bargain with whoever took them. Her own pride will cause her to lose the prize.
“My thinking exactly,” he said.
“The Lady turned back to Mirielle. “I think if anyone can find the Tears, it might be you,” she said. “But traveling about the city by yourself is like letting a lamb wander in a butcher shop. Take my son with you. He has been known to be useful.”
Arnaude snickered at that and Loic flushed again, but did not rise to the bait.
“And what’s in for you?” Mirielle asked, somewhat surprised at herself.
“I am a follower of the goddess,” the Lady said smoothly. “I am offended that anyone would steal her Tears from the Daughters of Light.”
Arnaude snickered again and this time the Lady gave her a scathing look that caused her to blush as red as Loic.
Mirielle was skeptical but nothing would be gained by challenging the woman openly.
“Thank you my lady,” she said, and turned to leave.
“Daughter,” the woman said, stopping Mirielle in her tracks. “I have no interest in the rainbow stones. Pretty pebbles hold no allure for me. Loic will help you find them and then you and your Holy Mother will owe me a favor.” She smiled at the thought while Mirielle shuddered inwardly. She did not like the idea of owing anything to the Queen of Thieves.
The Lady leaned closer and lowered her voice. “But if you should ever hear the song of the Black Tears, be sure to come and tell me and that will pay your debt.” There was an intensity to her voice that told Mirielle she was issuing a command.
“The Black Tears do not exist,” Mirielle said, “except in legend.”
“You are wrong,” the Lady said flatly, “I have heard them sing.” She looked at the young man. “It will be dark soon,” she said, dismissing both Mirielle and her son. “And that leaves you only six days to find your baubles.”
“Come on,” Loic said, “I need to gather some things.”
She followed him to a small room that was surprisingly tidy. As Loic packed a small satchel with a variety of weapons and tools, Mirielle drifted toward a shelf of books near the room’s only window.
“You have an impressive library,” she said, when Loic joined her. His white teeth flashed in a grin. “You’re surprised I can read,” he said.
“Yes,” she admitted.
“Snob,” he commented, but left it at that. “Come,” he said, and led her out a door that opened onto the Market Square.
He began walking toward a broad street that led down to the docks and Mirielle lengthened her stride to match his. As they passed a fruit stand he casually lifted an apple from a pyramid of polished fruit. He offered it to her and when she declined, he bit into it himself.
He seemed not to have a care in the world as he strolled seaward.
“Where are we going?” Mirielle finally asked.
“We need to buy an eel from a fishmonger,” he replied, using an old Zoorish expression that had nothing to do with the buying of eels.
He saw her frustration and relented. “Right now we’re not really going anywhere. We just want people to see us out walking together.”
She blew out a breath and he seemed to really look at her for the first time.
“What is it?” she asked, self-conscious under his critical gaze.
“We need to find you some other clothes,” he said. “You’re too conspicuous dressed like a little country girl. Everyone will know you don’t belong with me.”
“I’m not with you,” Mirielle said.
He looked at her and cocked an eyebrow, an expression somehow familiar to her. She realized that she’d seen the same expression on Florin’s face. He must have learned it from the thief.
“I am here and you are also here,” he pointed out reasonably. “So therefore you are with me.”
Mirielle blushed, realizing she had mistaken his meaning. “Oh.”
“At least you’re not dressed like an airi,” he said, which was a common gibe directed at the Daughters because their blue robes and white veils reminded people of the huge blue and white birds that were too heavy to fly and instead waddled awkwardly.
“Come on,” he said, “taking her hand and pulling her toward a merchant’s wagon.
His hand was smoother t
han she would have guessed, smooth and strong and warm. In fact, Mirielle felt almost scorched by Loic’s touch and turned away so that he would not see the blush burning up her skin and mock her.
But he seemed preoccupied.
“When did you first realize the Tears were gone?” he asked.
“When I looked into the tabernacle and saw the Cup had been desecrated.”
“But you can hear the Tears?” he probed. “So if they were gone, wouldn’t you have noticed that you couldn’t hear them?”
“I hear them all the time,” she said, “so I don’t really notice their son anymore.”
“That could be aggravating,” he said, “like a ringing in the ears that never ends.”
“It’s familiar,” she said. “I can’t remember a time when I didn’t hear them.”
“And you can hear them now?”
“Yes.”
He looked thoughtful. “Do all Daughters have that power?”
“No,” Mirielle said, hoping she didn’t sound boastful. “The Holy Mother claims to be able to hear the song of the Tears and she often describes it during devotions.”
Loic gave her a shrewd glance. “But she’s not hearing what you hear?”
“No.”
“Intriguing,” he said but they were coming to a street of shops where there were too many people to continue their clandestine conversation.
Loic dropped her hand as they approached the wagon of a garment-seller from Kresh. “Stay here,” he ordered and ducked into the covered wagon to dicker with the proprietor.
Mirielle stayed outside and petted the merchant’s horse, a broken-down pony that nudged her almost like a dog looking for a treat.
“Try this,” Loic said, “throwing a bundle of fabric toward her. Mirielle caught the dress, a gown of dark brown wool trimmed with velvet as soft as a kitten’s fur.
The Daughters’ robes were not comfortable. The gowns they wore in summer were a coarse weave more appropriate to sacking than to clothing and their winter robes were heavy without being warm and itchy besides.
Loic swung down from the wagon with another dress in his hands. “This one’s better, I think,” Loic said, and thrust the dark blue silk into her arms, nearly causing her to drop the brown dress in the dust. At first it looked plain next to the other gown but when she looked closer, she could see that small beads were worked into the fabric to make designs. The merchant saw her admiring the beadwork.
“That’s traditional Zoorish shell work,” he said. “using star winkles from the islands.”
Loic snorted.
“If those are star winkles I’ll eat the dress,” he said.
The merchant lost his smile.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Mirielle. “It’s beautiful.” She found herself stroking the material. She’d never worn anything so beautiful.”
“Come on,” Loic said, taking her hand again and leading her into an alley that only opened on one side.
“Put the dress on.”
“Right here?” she asked.
“I’ll keep watch,” he said, turning around to give her some privacy.
It was dirty in the alley and it was awkward trying to keep herself covered up while holding on to the new dress. Finally, she simply dropped her old frock on onto the cobblestones and kicked it out of the way. But then she discovered that she could not close the fastenings in the back.
“What’s taking so long?” Loic finally asked.
“I need your help,” she admitted meekly. He turned around with a bit of a smirk on his face.
“Turn around,” he said.”
His fingers were brisk and impersonal but every time they touched her skin, Mirielle felt as if his fingertips were burning her.
When he finished, he turned her around. “The color suits you,” he said, and reached up to pull the pins confining her hair.
He watched with satisfaction as it tumbled to her shoulders.
“A shame,” he murmured, “to cover up such beautiful hair.”
Mirielle could feel herself blush. Vanity was considered a sin among the Daughters. There were no mirrors inside the temple, save for the pools of healing waters that reflected images from their placid depths, and she’d trained herself not to glance in the shop windows when she passed lest she see and admire her image.
“You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?” he asked.
“I am not a silly girl to fish for compliments” she said stiffly.
“I don’t think you’re a silly girl,” he said, bending to pick up the dress she’d discarded.
“Leave it,” she said. “Whoever finds it might be able to make use of it.”
Loic nodded, but did not make a comment.
As they came out of the alley they nearly ran into a ragged boy with a bit of charcoal in his hand, drawing the upside down black rainbow symbol that was the sign of those who wanted to abolish secular rule and make Idrissa a purely theocratic state. The boy bolted like a startled rabbit, leaving behind the charcoal and the drawing half-finished.
Loic picked up the burnt twig and snapped it in half.
“This movement is getting strong,” he said. “And your Holy Mother is making things worse.”
“Why do you say that?” she asked. “She has publicly condemned the Black Rainbow for spreading hate and intolerance.”
Loic just shook his head, which annoyed Mirielle.
“No, you can’t say something like that and then not explain yourself,” Mirielle said.
“Where do you think the Black Rainbow was born?” he asked. “In the very same place as your Holy Mother. And what do they want? A purity of faith that will mean anyone who does not agree with them will be apostate. It’s well known that Chalice of Idrissa has ambitions that go far beyond the temple of the goddess. Look me in the eye and tell me you think the Holy Mother has never lied. Tell me you think she’s a good woman.”
Mirielle wanted to contradict him but she knew very well that the Holy Mother lied when it suited her. She’d heard her lie to the Daughters in chapel and she’d heard her lie to the Governor-General. And she was fairly certain she was not, in her heart, a good woman.
“No one wants a war with Daire,” he added. “they are starving there after the failed Budding Season and they’re desperate. They don’t want war but mark my words, war is coming. The Holy Mother cloaks her hatred in piety and sanctity and talk of unbelievers but really it’s just her prejudice. She has hated them for years and now she finds listeners thirsty to drink her poison.”
“How do you know?” Mirielle challenged him.
“I have listened to the conversations she’s had with my mother.”
Mirielle looked at him wide-eyed.
“She never—” Mirielle began, but even as she denied it, she knew it made a certain amount of sense. He saw the understanding dawn in her eyes.
“If you were going to start a war,” he said, “you would begin with whispers. A trusted advisor here, a worthy citizen there, and you’d whisper in their ears until they believed what you were saying. Because who would suspect a Daughter of the Rainbow would lie?”
“You think the Holy Mother took the Tears herself? And plans to blame it on …the refugees?”
“Such things are not unheard of,” he said. “It’s called ‘following a false flag.’”
Mirielle turned the idea over in her head. ““If you’re so sure that’s what’s happening, why are we looking for the Tears?”
“Because I could be wrong,” he said. “And it’s not as if you can simply ask her to give the Tears back.”
“If her plan is to use a refugee as a scapegoat, she’ll have to enlist someone’s aid,” Mirielle said. “Even if she can slip out of the temple, she doesn’t speak Dairish. She wouldn’t be able to get into a refugee camp like a thief in the—”
Mirielle broke off as she realized what she was saying.
“Your mother?” she asked. “What could she possibly gain from a war?”<
br />
“You have lived in the temple too long if you don’t know the answer to that,” he said.
“Do you enjoy being a know-it-all?” she asked.
Loic looked surprised, but then he laughed. “Yes,” he said. “I do. I know it’s annoying.” He seemed almost cheerful as he continued. “My mother is no friend to the Holy Mother, but she hates the Governor-General and his laws and regulations. The Governor-General and the Holy Mother have different answers to the refugee question. He sees it as a temporary crisis that, if managed correctly, will ultimately strengthen the alliance between our countries.”
“Improve the trade,” Mirielle said.
“Exactly. But the Holy Mother wants to use the refugees as a focal point to whip up support for her to overthrow the Governor-General and establish a theocracy. What do you think the members of the Black Rainbow would do if they found out a refugee had stolen the country’s most sacred artifact?”
“Tear them to pieces,” Mirielle said soberly.
“I could be wrong,” Loic said. “It could just be a bold thief who took them. But I know someone who might know something. We’ll see what he has to say.”
Chapter Six
The Daughters of the Rainbow take seven vows when they join the order, each vow represented by a rainbow strand of silk woven into the a belt they wear as part of their religious attire. The Daughters promise purity of body and mind; humility without display; curiosity without expectation; piety without pretense; charity without condemnation; forgiveness without judgment; and a seventh vow they make to the goddess alone, a vow that will guide them through the rest of their lives.
—translated from The Book of Idrissa (author unknown).
“He deals in sparks and shines,” Loic said as they came to an unimpressive shop set back from the marketplace.
“I’m sorry,” she said haughtily, still stinging from her earlier remark about her naivete, “I do not speak thieves’ argot.”
‘Aren’t you the one for airs and graces,” he said. “It means he deals with gems and metalwork. And he pays good prices for the merchandise he handles.”
“Does he know it’s stolen?”