She whispered back. “Oh yes, I do.”
“Can’t. If Mami and I get arrested, you have to raise Rishi.”
“Nihil’s earlobes! Then I don’t want to know.”
“Thought so.” She was Babba’s daughter to the core. She’d blow all bad news out to sea, if she could.
Babba returned, but I couldn’t tell his mood from his stern face. We stood respectfully and curtsy-bowed when he got to us. “A nice display of manners, girls, thank you. My colleagues shouldn’t think I’m raising swamp rats.”
Amaniel and I exchanged glances, unsure if he was joking. Babba talked to the man at the next desk, giving him instructions about two new ships in the harbor and their tariffs. He’d be back tomorrow, he promised, after sun-up.
Then he walked us toward the back staircase, giving his excuses to the other men as we left. They stared at us—at me, especially—but not in the appreciative way they had on that day when the Azwans first came. This felt sullen, angry even. They nodded toward Rimonil out of respect. None smiled. They were normally a cheery lot, full of jokes and quips, but not today. I don’t suppose having a trading floor full of delirious soldiers struck anyone as funny. Yet I was the girl who’d gone to the swamp.
I had the nagging feeling the brunt of their unease was aimed at me.
Be wary of those who heal by Nature. Would you drink some potion made from the soil, from insects, from dead things plucked by dirty hands? I do not bless such low and common things, and without my blessing, what may ease an ache may scar your soul.
—from Oblations 13, The Book of Unease
“Will they make you Portreeve?” Mami asked. It was after first moonrise, and we were outdoors. My hands flew over trays of flower petals, placing them side-by-side, none touching, while my parents talked. Babba sat across from Mami and me, the glow of the dying hearth casting his face in sharp relief. He’d propped his lanky legs on the hearth’s tiled edge, but his tone of voice was curt and tight.
“The merchants haven’t talked of it yet,” he said. “I’d discourage it in any case.”
“Because of me?” Mami asked.
He shrugged. “We can’t joke it’s the worst-kept secret any longer. You defy the Temple, the Temple asks another favor. No one knows what to make of it.”
“You’re a born statesmen, love. Make the most of it.”
Babba humphed. “You’d be Lady Lia, the city’s official hostess. You’d have to set an example. No more crazy herbs or medicines.”
“Just delicious teas.”
“You’ve promised such things before.”
Mami sighed. I had a newfound appreciation for what Babba was asking of her. She’d have to give up generations of herb-lore to stand by her lordly husband’s side if the Merchants Guild picked him. I had no idea what she’d choose. Lady Lia! The Lia whose hearth was always packed with neighbors and friends and friends’ neighbors would love that role. Imagine the parties and celebrations and Solstice feasts! I wasn’t sure even moonblooms were worth defending in that case.
I hoped she wouldn’t make any such promise tonight, though. Too much depended on us doing what we did best: break taboos and save lives. Just a few more lives—one in particular—and Mami could surrender her sunhat and work gloves for a spider silk wrap and silver rings for good. That meant I’d have to join her as the Portreeve’s eldest daughter. I suppose that meant more eligible men for me.
Men! Who had time for such distractions? And just thinking the word to myself—men—brought up a singular image, one that brought back the flush to my neck. Memories of skin, of muscle and sinew, of his fevered face, burned bright in my imagination, blinding me to the delicate, frail flowers. My mind raced, my fingers flew. I pinned my attention onto the petals and their aroma, pushing memories of Valeo down, but they floated just beneath the surface, glinting with the hard promise of heat and sunlight, when what I needed was the moons’ soft radiance for the task at hand.
We were nearly finished laying out the moonbloom petals and stamens on metal trays. I’d somehow managed not to burn or lose any of them. Even so, it was too dangerous, for so many reasons, to keep letting my mind bask in thoughts of Valeo.
Mami hadn’t hesitated when I’d told her my plan and had brought out the trays. First dehydrate, then decoct, she’d said. Or let the sick ward make the decoction as they see fit. She said we wouldn’t have the time to boil anything down to a syrup. Whatever we did have time to do would have to suffice.
It was a bright night, at least, with Lunyo still full and Qamra waxing gibbous and bathing the city in a silvery sheen. The potion would be stronger because of it, the petals plucked and prepared beneath broad moonbeams. It was a beautiful night to be by a hearth. Every breath filled my lungs with aromas of citrine and spice flowers heavy on the breeze and the fresh slap of air after a summer shower. Hearth fires dotted the canal banks on either side of our peninsula. People wandered on a night like this, and the boardwalks groaned with comings and goings as distant chatter drifted toward us. It belied the terror that lay around a few bends and beyond the Ward’s gates and gave no hint of the febrile men in the sick ward.
Amaniel had finally agreed to Mami’s strict orders to stay indoors with Rishiel while we worked, but not without a last backward frown in my direction. I’d ignored her, but it stung anyway. I’m sorry she’s the good girl, and I’m not. I can only do what the priests seem to want, and she ought to be happy she’s headed for a less eventful life, anyway.
For her part, Rishi hadn’t wanted to leave the Gek girl alone, until I pointed out the creature was sound asleep. She’d curled up in a corner of the patio, where she snored softly through her slits of nostrils. She had refused a blanket and ate only fish she plucked from the canal or insects. She’d also refused to wander more than a few body lengths from the hearth, always scampering back at the first noise or movement. Rishi had to be coaxed out of the idea she could poke and prod the creature into friendship.
As Mami and I finished our work, we placed a mesh cover over the trays so the drying pieces wouldn’t blow away in any sea breezes. We set everything atop the iron grate over the hearth with its dying embers. Our goal wasn’t to roast the petals but to gently dehydrate them and concentrate their strength. That would take time and patience, both things I lacked. But for all my fretting, the moments went by only just so fast and no faster.
All the while, Leba Mara’s words echoed in my head. No one died on her watch if she could help it. Those words filled me with purpose. I hadn’t forgotten my ransacked home or the brute force with which those guards had taken over our city. But they weren’t going to die if I could help it.
If there was any chance of seeing Valeo on his feet again, I would take it. Leba Mara hadn’t needed to threaten my life. I knew it was at stake, even if Babba thought there was room to negotiate. Mami and I had run out of options, no matter which way we turned. There was no escaping who we were, and it had led us here, to this clutch of flower petals and the people who both needed them and hated us for it.
I rattled a few pans to re-scatter the petals and checked everything again, just to be sure, and to keep from fidgeting.
I also couldn’t wrap my mind around why, after all we’d gone through, the vast, many-limbed creature that was the Temple of Doubt, with its hundreds of Wards and thousands of priests, would care about two women at a lone hearth on a tiny island at the center of the world. We’d escaped their notice for so long, hadn’t we? And we were always there when they needed us, for whatever they wanted from us. It had felt perfectly right to be in the makeshift sick ward, busy and distracted and blending in with everyone else, helping out as another set of hands among many.
Besides, drying herbs seemed so minor, so everyday. If they were for cooking, no one would notice or care. I couldn’t fathom that the Temple would ask this favor of us, only to turn on us. I assumed they would thank us in some quiet, discreet way, and then vanish once their demon was found and their men cured.
<
br /> I was, of course, wrong.
I was even the first to spot the danger as a gray form approaching from the mainland took shape as a cloaked figure. He could be another neighbor out for a stroll before moonset, wandering along the boardwalk past our avenue. It was when he paused and leaned against a railing shortly before the intersection, where our wooden street met the mainland, that I decided something was vaguely off about the man.
He had a perfect view of our hearth, and he bided his time watching us: Babba with his feet up, Mami chatting about the Portreeve’s job, us sifting the trays of petals and fanning the embers. We could be making one of the more common teas, for all anyone knew, just an innocuous, flower-scented brew for breakfast tomorrow, that’s it. The man didn’t move for a long time.
“There’s someone watching,” I said. “A man, I think.”
Babba rose and walked toward him, offering a respectful nod. “Our hearth is yours, friend.”
The gray man stepped out of the shadows but didn’t reply. A hood hid his features except for a patch of cropped white beard. Few people cloak themselves here; he was no doubt a traveler from a colder clime. He was older but vigorous, his shoulders somewhat stooped but his stride confident. He closed the distance between Babba and himself with ease and grasped the hand extended to him. Two other cloaked forms, much larger, glided in behind him. Feroxi. Babba drew back. “Is there something the matter, sir?”
“That all depends,” said the man. His voice was raspy and thin, but it carried across the quiet street. “On what you’re serving.”
“Your voice sounds familiar,” Babba said. “Whatever we have, good traveler, is yours for the sharing.”
“I find I’m in the mood for an infusion of moonbloom.”
I gasped. My aunties always warned me that Port Sapphire was small, as cities go, but it had just gotten much smaller. Someone had turned us in. We weren’t making an infusion, but that was beside the point. He knew about our moonblooms.
Babba’s voice was measured. “I’m not sure I heard you, friend.”
“I think you heard me just fine.” The man turned to the two giants. “Moonbloom tisane? This is the only place in the world for it.”
One of the giants grumbled from within his cloak. “I’d not swallow it for gold, Great Azwan.”
I already knew. The Azwan of Ambiguity. Reyhim. I’d heard his voice before, and so had Mami, but we’d both corrected our expressions to be unreadable and calm. Even so, my heart raced, and my stomach churned. I reached for the trays to dump them into the ashes. I acted on instinct. That instinct said to burn. Burn it all. Mami held my wrist and murmured. “Let it play out.”
Babba bowed to the man and cupped his palms beneath his chin. We did the same as Reyhim approached us. He seated himself by our hearth on one of the many stools. The two guards stayed further back and cast suspicious glances at our drying racks. Reyhim drew back his cloak to reveal a lined and thoughtful face and eyes that missed nothing as he took in his surroundings and assessed his hosts. With a forward flick of his fingers, he motioned for us to sit around him. He leaned over the trays and inhaled with gusto. But his tone was wry.
“There is nothing, and I mean nothing, that matches the aroma of this flower harvested when the moons are just right. It invites, it teases, its perfume pulls you into a flirtatious dance under the stars. It wafts under the nose and then darts away laughing. It is said to cure what Nihil cannot, a thing therefore of great danger, and greater beauty.”
We said nothing. No priest I knew ever spoke this way. No sermon had ever sounded so poetic—or threatening.
Reyhim glanced up at Mami. “A strong batch, from the smell of it, but a pity Qamra wasn’t full as well. Petals picked under a double full moon are immeasurably stronger, as I recall. It’s Lia, isn’t it?”
Mami nodded, her face drawn and pained. “I’m flattered you remember, Worthiness.”
“You were a child. Nine or so.”
“A long time ago, Azwan.”
“We have some catching up to do.” Reyhim motioned to the trays. “These don’t look nearly done. Surely you have some in reserve.”
I didn’t trust the way he eyed us. He was laying a hunter’s trap for us, a device of hidden coils and nasty spikes, one that our own words would spring. S’ami had laid a word-trap the day he announced our mission to the swamp, and my teacher had done it to me for years. Anger twisted in my gut, and my familiar nausea returned.
“Your soldiers were thorough in their inspections, Azwan,” said Mami. “We’ve been purged of our waywardness except what you see here.”
The Azwan’s tone grew cold. “Not terribly repentant, were you.”
It was Babba’s turn. You didn’t insult Mami around him, not even if you were Azwan. “Surely you bless us with the uncertainty of your intent,” Babba said. “If this is a lesson, you’ll find us good students. Yet my wife does as the Temple itself has asked.”
Babba pulled a short scroll from a pouch at his waist and handed it to the Azwan, who tore its string and read it. It was the note Leba Mara had written after promising me some small measure of protection for making contraband items. I had to hope it would be enough.
Reyhim waved something gold over it, and it burst into flames and fell into the hearth. From somewhere in the corner, the Gek croaked. She must’ve felt his spell. Reyhim didn’t seem to hear her and addressed Babba. “The word of the healers of Ward Sapphire carries no weight with me. And I should still like some tea.”
Mami turned to me, out of breath. “Did you bring anything back from Dina’s?”
“No, I’m sorry. There’s some callousvine leaf in the cupboard, I think.”
Reyhim interrupted. “Moonbloom is, I believe, what I requested. Is it now the custom here to refuse a traveler what you have already promised?” He turned to Babba. “Well?”
“If it’s moonbloom you prefer, my wife and daughter are pleased to prepare it for you.” Babba sounded more accommodating than I felt. I didn’t blame Mami for not wanting to know if he was her father. It chilled me to think his blood might be running through my veins. We—Mami and I—were nothing like him. We’d serve him tea, though, even if he weren’t Azwan.
Our kettle is always full, even this late, but to make the coals hot enough to heat the water would in turn burn the trays of petals. I didn’t know what to do. I began fumbling to remove them and make way for the kettle, but Mami again stopped me.
“We’ll have to simmer the petals with a tight lid on the pot,” she said.
“Whatever for?” said Reyhim. “You mean to say you don’t have any reserves?”
Mami shook her head.
“Then I do apologize. I’d assumed much contraband had escaped the guards. The Sapphirans are a wily people.”
“But not dishonest, Worthiness.” Babba said, his voice carrying an edge of caution. “We’ve never hidden who we are or what we have.”
“A brave man, to speak that way to me.” Reyhim returned Babba’s stare. “But I’ve made a mistake. Your household’s out of this medicine, and there are men in need of it.”
My jaw dropped. That was the first glimmer of compassion I’d seen from either Azwan. Maybe there was a chance the Customs House wouldn’t become a boneyard tonight.
“But Azwan,” I said, before I could stop myself. “Would they even drink it?”
Babba spoke sharply to me. “Hadara, inside please.”
“Hadara? Is it so?” Reyhim looked at me with renewed interest. “I knew someone named Hadara once.”
“I’m named for my grandmother.” The trap was being set, I could sense it, and there was nothing I could do. I lacked my parents’ wisdom for knowing where not to step.
“Of course, you are,” Reyhim said. “You’re every bit as impertinent, too. But I’ll answer your question. No servant of Nihil’s would take a curative that lacked supernatural properties. Satisfied?”
I paused. Make this good, Hadara, as if your life depends on it. B
ecause it does. “And isn’t it a sin to administer a natural medicine without their knowing?”
Babba’s tone darkened. “Hadara, this is an Azwan you address.”
“He can help,” I said. “He can solve this.”
“Is this some riddle, then?” Reyhim leaned toward me. “I’ve no patience for it.”
“Azwan, please. Isn’t there some way you could dry these herbs? Then they’ll be done quicker, and they’ll have Nihil’s theurgy upon them besides. The healers wouldn’t need to coerce or trick anyone to take it.”
No one spoke for what seemed a long time. We all waited on Reyhim, whose eyes narrowed as he considered what I’d said. “Clever. Just a short, tender kiss of Nihil’s. A tidy way to get your family out of trouble, too.”
“Were we in trouble?”
He rose and stretched. “My plan was to drink some so none would declare it profane. After all, an Azwan had some, it must be alright. But your solution is better.”
The relief that spread across Mami and Babba’s faces must’ve been mirrored in my own, because in a moment we were all smiling, even Reyhim. He wasn’t my family in any true sense of the word, but I could suddenly feel grandfatherly affection radiating from him. His grin, his relaxed air, it was as if he wanted us to like him. I wondered if my grandmother had found much to love in him when he was like this, with his silk-spun words and quiet dignity.
We lifted the mesh screens on the trays, and he fished his totem from a pouch. It was in the shape of a crescent moon of solid gold. Its face was frowning.
“Which moon?” I asked.
Reyhim glanced up at his guards standing off at a distance. He winked at me and whispered, “I tell the guards it’s Lunyo.”
I laughed, but he gently shushed me and raised his hands over the trays. A moment later, the petals and stamens shrivelled, without any sign of browning. He was merely dehydrating them. Mami beamed at me, and I returned her smile. The victory felt sweet.
A loud squawk, a flash of green eyes, and the Gek pounced on the trays, shouting and croaking. The spell must have startled her. She flung trays this way and that, sending delicate tendrils of dried herbs in every direction. Breezes picked up the rest and soon we were in a swirl of feathery light petals, Mami and I frantic to collect what we could, Reyhim and Babba shouting and struggling with the creature. The guards leapt forward, swords drawn from beneath their cloaks, and the real bedlam began.
The Temple of Doubt Page 17