by Kat Parrish
“Here,” Loic said, handing her a sweet-smelling pastille. “This will help.” She put the small lozenge in her mouth and tasted pine needle and water mint. “Don’t chew it,” he said. She nodded and looked at herself in the mirror above the clothes chest.
Blue, I look like I’ve slept in my clothes for a week. Then she was struck by a completely different thought. Where did Loic sleep last night? She eyed the bed and saw the impression of his body lying next to the rumpled bedclothes that had covered her. Though she knew that sleeping next to her had only been practical—after all, she couldn’t expect him to sleep on the floor after he’d paid for the room—she couldn’t help but feel a small pang that she had not been awake enough to—To what? She scolded herself. To cover her confusion, Mirielle began searching for her shoes.
“They’re under the bed,” Loic said.
“Thank you,” she said stiffly as he regarded her with open amusement.
“You need to learn to hold your liquor if you’re going to travel with me,” he said.
“And you needed worry, your virtue is intact.”
Mirielle chose to ignore his last comment and answer the first.
“I won’t be traveling with you much longer,” she said.
“I’m inclined to agree,” he said affably.
That surprised her. “Really? Why?”
“We made a lot of noise with our questions yesterday,” he said. “Today I think we might get some answers.”
He smiled at her. “We’ll find the Tears and then you can be rid of me forever.”
An unbidden pang went through her. If she was honest with herself, Mirielle knew she didn’t want to be rid of Loic forever. He was a congenial companion and his teasing, though annoying, didn’t have a mean edge. Despite the gravity of their shared errand, he’d made her laugh more than once the day before.
He killed a man to protect you, she thought and pushed that thought away as she glanced at him. He was standing with his back against the door, looking at her as if he could see into her soul. The intensity of his gaze caused her breath to catch in her throat. Goddess, he is handsome, she thought, but all she said was, “I’m ready.”
Chapter Nine
There are seven districts in the capital city of Idrissa, laid out in circles that touch but do not intersect, leaving small diamond-shaped areas filled with shops and establishments catering to every possible human need. The unusual civic layout has led to the use of the phrase, “Going in circles in Idrissa” as a metaphor for being hopelessly lost.
—From: At the Foot of the Iron Mountains
A Chronicle of Discovery
When they got to the marketplace, the mood of the crowd was ugly. News of the fire at the Citadel had spread and the gossip was that the arson was the work of refugees. “We’ve made things worse,” Mirielle said to Loic, stricken by the thought. He looked grim, but he did not reply.
Mirielle spotted Arnaude in the doorway of her favorite wine seller and gave her a nod. She nodded back. Loic did not acknowledge her at all.
“Why did your mother want you to help me?” Mirielle asked.
“My mother has her reasons and she already gave you one of her better ones—to earn a favor.”
“Do you believe that?”
He shrugged. “Why not? I do her bidding when it suits me and shirk it when it does not. If I were a braver man I would have left Idrissa long ago to seek my own destiny outside her shadow.”
“Yu seem brave enough to me,” Mirielle said.
“You haven’t known me long,” he said, locking eyes with her.
It seems like I’ve known you forever, Mirielle thought, so fiercely that for a moment she was afraid she had said the words aloud.
“Something’s happening,” Loic said, breaking the intense connection between them.
“What?” Mirielle asked, but even as the question formed, she could see angry mobs of citizens advancing on a group of terrified refugees attempting to retreat across one of the many footbridges that arched across the roads.
She could see men and women in the Governor-General’s green and silver livery making their way toward the crowd of trouble-makers but before they could arrive, a trio of black-clad men with upside down rainbow badges on their tunics took hold of an elderly refugee and tossed him off the bridge as his companions wailed.
His bony body hit the cobblestones below with a crack and it was clear he’d died instantly.
And as if the whole crowd had been waiting for a signal to run riot, there was suddenly a surge of people from opposite ends of the crowd, pushing and shoving toward the center.
Loic handed Mirielle his weighted sap and drew his dagger. “Hit anyone who looks like they might hit someone else,” he instructed and started shoving his way out of the crush.
A woman screamed in panic as she fled before the mob, carrying a baby in her arms. She stumbled and would have fallen if Mirielle had not caught her and together with Loic, she dragged mother and child through the crowd to safety. When a couple of ruffians tried to follow, Loic showed them his dagger and they bagged off, looking for easier prey.
A sharp-eyed city guardian with two gold stars on her color caught up with them, though she had eyes only for Loic.
“You’re the Lady’s son, aren’t you?”
“Loic,” he said. “And while I am my mother’s son, I am also my own man.” She gazed into his eyes, then nodded. “Loic,” she said, “we are grateful for your help today.”
“My pleasure starion” he responded, addressing her by her rank.
“Laure,” she said. “My name is Laure.”
He bowed to her and turned back to Mirielle as the starion walked away.
“Laure,” she mimicked. “My name is Laure.”
“Jealous?” he asked with a sidelong glance.
She snorted. “Not likely.”
“Oh, I think you are,” he said. “Admit it.”
She stopped and looked at him seriously. “Helping that woman was very brave,” she said.
“I just did it for you,” he said, “so you’d sleep with me.”
“It wasn’t that brave,” she said, and he laughed. But his laughter died as he caught a glimpse of three bearded men ghosting through the crowd.
She glanced in that direction.
“We need to leave now,” he said.
“Who are they?” she asked.
Loic’s lip curled and he almost spit out the answer.
“No one you want to know.” He grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the center of the street and into a doorway. As the men approached he wrapped her in an embrace and kissed her roughly, as if she were a whore and he had paid for the pleasure, a ploy to hide his face from them.
The men passed by without a second glance. And as soon as they were out of sight, Loic stepped back from Mirielle.
“Are they so dangerous?” she asked him.
“To me they are,” he said grimly. “This is a fight for another day”
Mirielle was curious but she didn’t press him.
They passed by a ramshackle inn no more than a stone’s throw from the temple. An old man was sweeping up debris left in the wake of the riot.
“I know you don’t I?” the old man asked, squinting at Loic.
“No sir,” he replied, “I am a traveler and new to the city.”
Mirielle glanced at him in surprise but said nothing.
“Well, I see you wasted no time in purchasing a companion,” the old man said with a leer.
“The best Zoorish gold can buy,” Loic agreed amiably, “Although I prefer my women with a little more meat on their bones.”
The old man gave a dirty chuckle.
You dirty blue pervert, Mirielle thought. You wouldn’t know what to do with your penis if you found it in your hand.
Loic saw the emotions in her face or maybe he read her mind, and he laughed.
“She’s a fiery one isn’t she?” he said, inviting the old man to laugh with hi
m.
I hate you, Mirielle thought as they walked inside.
“No you don’t,” he said aloud, laughing at her surprise.
“I didn’t read your mind,” ‘he assured her, “ you were making the face every woman makes when she’s had enough of her man and wants to tell him she hates him.”
“You are not my man,” she said.
He laughed again. “So you say,” he said.
And Mirielle knew she should be outraged but somehow she couldn’t summon up the emotion. She knew Loic was playing at some subtle game she did not understand and that he would explain it to her sometime, along with the mystery of the men he’d been so anxious to avoid. In the meantime, she was enjoying the game as well.
Loic looked around at the now-quiet streets. “It will not be long now,” he said and Mirielle felt the finality as well. The Tears were singing to her, calling her home.
Mirielle and Loic retired to a room in the inn and she was surprised to find the accommodations much nicer than in the room they’d used the night before. Loic locked the door and then, to her surprise, he spoke a quick charm as he held the knob. “You can do ward magic?”
“I wouldn’t be much of a thief if I couldn’t,” he said, but it was with a touch of pride.
“What else can you do?”
He gave her a sly look. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he said, but then he sobered.
“Magic leaves traces,” he says, “and right now we do not want to leave any traces.”
Mirielle sat down on the bed, which was covered with a blanket woven of silk and wool.
“Where did the talent come from?”
“My father,” he said.
“Does your mother know?” she asked as Loic sat down on the bed beside her.
“You’ve met my mother. What do you think she’d do if she knew I could do true magic?”
“She’d have you use it to steal?”
“No,” he said grimly, “she’d have me killed.” His eyes darkened at a memory.
“That’s why she wanted to kill my father. He didn’t just have the Sight, he had the Skill. I remember seeing him do magic. Some were simple tricks like pulling fire out of air, but once I saw him bring a dead man back to life.”
“He was a necromancer?”
“Among other things,” he said. He saw the horror on her face.
“Necromancy is dark, dark magic,” she said. “In some realms, he’d have been killed for it.”
“I know. When I was older I made inquiries about him and learned he had offered his services to the Witch King in Lyraa, the one who exiled his own wife because her power outstripped his.”
“I have heard he was a monster.”
Loic shrugged. “All kings are monsters. You don’t gain power and hold it by being a saint.
“My father was not a good man, Mirielle, but he loved me.”
“And you loved him.” He sounded so desolate that Mirielle reached out and took his hand.
His fingers were warm as they twined around hers.
“I learned to hide my own gift. My mother suspects I can See but I have taken pains to hide the rest from her. And from Arnaude, who would have strangled me in my crib if she’d known.”
Truly?” Mirielle asked.
“True magic attracts attention, attracts light to dark corners. My mother is like a spider” he said, using the old word for the insect, araingnee. “She spins her webs in dark corners. She does not love the light.”
“So you grew up without either a father or a mother,” she said.
He shrugged. “The sky is blue,” he said. “It is what it is.”
Silence fell between them. To change the subject, Mirielle fingered the soft coverlet.
“I did not think to find such luxury in such a plain place,” Mirielle admitted.
“The best treasures are always hidden,” Loic said, “if you know where to look.”
“You’ve been here before,” she said. “The old man recognized you.”
“I’ve been here before,” he said. “The man’s a shameless whoremonger who pimps out his own daughters for the right customers. Otherwise he just rents rooms to travel-weary strangers.”
“Are his daughters pretty?” she asked.
“Very,” he said. “But I have never sampled their delights.”
“Why not?”
“I’d rather not pay for kisses when I can steal them.”
She realized she was gazing at his mouth as if she expected him to kiss her.
“What if the kisses freely given,” she said, her voice so soft it was almost a whisper.
“Even better,” he said and bent to cover her mouth with his.
“So soft,” he said. “Kissing you is like kissing a flower.”
Mirielle felt his kisses in the very core of her being. “Loic,” she said, and realized it was the first time she’d spoken his name aloud.
“Mirielle,” he answered and the sound of his name on his lips sent a thrill through her. She wanted him to say it again and again, but only if he could kiss her at the same time.
Their lips met again and she lost herself in the sweet sensation. When at last they stopped for breath, Loic surprised her by saying, “When this is over, neither of us will have a home.”
Mirielle drew back just enough to look Loic in his eyes. “I could be your family,” he said, tracing her jaw with a gentle finger as he added, “and you could be mine.”
The sincerity in his voice after two days of relentless teasing left her a bit shaken. And yet she knew she felt the same way. “A priestess and a thief,” she said, “we’d make a pair.”
“Yes,” he said, “we would. But then, are you still a priestess?” He searched her eyes for her answer and Mirielle knew if she said “yes” it would be a lie.
“I don’t know what I am,” she said, and that was not a lie.
He kissed her again and she felt a warmth in her loins, a warmth she had felt before, exploring her body with her fingers, teasing it with her touch at night when she should have been asleep or at prayer.
Loic pushed Mirielle gently back onto the bed cushions. She reached for him and drew him close, frustrated by the layers of cloth between them.
But then he was undoing the fasteners on her dress and she was pulling his shirt from his breeches and they were suddenly skin to skin.
Loic was groaning as he caressed her and the sound of his desire made Mirielle feel powerful.
She reached up with both her hands and tangled them in his hair, pulling his head back so that his lies looked straight into hers.
“This is my gift to you,” she said, “do you understand?”
He looked puzzled for a moment.
“No one else has ever been offered this gift,” she added.
Understanding dawned.
“Thank you,” he said, and trailed a row of kisses across her belly.
Her nether lips opened to receive his attentions as her mouth had parted earlier.
“I would drink from your cup,” he said and lapped with his tongue inside her until she curled her toes in delight.
She was not prepared for the shuddering quake that rocked her body and she cried out in surprise, clutching his sinewy shoulders and pulling him even closer.
He plunged into her then as sweet waves of pleasure rolled through her. There was a moment of sharp pain and then a sweet release that swept her away.
Afterwards he washed her and covered her with kisses and petted her fondly as if he could not bear to take his hands off her.
Wrapped in the soft coverlet, they sat on the bed and drowsily talked of this and that until
a sound roused them from their pleasant reverie.
“Quairi ships,” someone yelled. “Red sails on the bay.”
Loic went to the window and looked out. “I thought we had more time,” he said. “We have to find the Tears tonight.”
He turned to look at her soberly.
“Tomorrow will be too l
ate.”
Chapter Ten
Time pays all debts.
—A Dairish saying
Mirielle and Loic dressed quickly. Rumors were flying like little birds and knots of frightened people had gathered in the darkness, stoking each other’s panic and fear. As she and Loic made their way across the road toward the temple, a little girl darted across their path, causing Mirielle to stumble. To her surprise, Loic grabbed the child’s wrist and twisted it.
“Let me go,” she shouted, fighting him like a maddened yimur, but she could not break his grip.
“Be still,” he hissed, “or I’ll call the guard.”
Mirielle gave him a confused look but the child surrendered.
“Give the lady back her purse,” Loic ordered.
She held his eyes defiantly for a moment and then sullenly reached into her shirt and pulled out the silken pouch that contained Mirielle’s money.
Mirielle’s hand went reflexively to the pocket in her cloak. She hadn’t even felt the little hand dart in to lift it away.
Suddenly a boy, even younger than the girl, came darting out of the alley and threw himself on Loic. “Leave my sister alone,” he demanded, and pulled a blade that was short but looked wickedly sharp.
Loic sighed. He let go of the girl and Mirielle expected her to flee, but instead she hit Loic with her bony little fists as he relieved her brother of his knife.
“Give it back,” the girl said.
Loic sighed again.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a copper laith that had a square hole punched through it. He held it up to the girl whose eyes went wide.
“Do you know what this is?” he asked.
“The Lady’s favor,” she answered with something like awe.
“That’s right,” Loic said and pressed it into her hand. “Take it to the butcher shop in the harbor in the morning, the one that belongs to Madame Tirard. She keeps rabbits and chickens in the back. Give the coin to her and tell her to give you a hen and a rooster.”
“I like chicken stew,” the little boy said, no longer struggling in Loic’s grip.
His sister ignored him, her eyes fixed on Loic’s.
“And what would we do with chickens?”