by Robin Hobb
Her father had become more and more outraged as he spoke. As he did when agitated, he had taken so many puffs on his pipe that Thymara felt she sat in a cloud of sweet tobacco smoke. When he fell silent at last, she turned her head to glance back at him. His eyes were faintly luminescent in the darkness. Her own, she knew, glowed a strong blue, yet another mark of her deformity. She held his gaze as she said quietly, “I think I’d like to go, Father.”
“Don’t be silly, child! I doubt that any such place still exists. As for making a perilous trip upriver past any charts we have, in the company of hungry dragons and hired hunters and treasure seekers, well, there can be no good end to such an errand. Why would you want to go? Because of things your mother has said? Because no matter what she says about you or to you, I will always—”
“I know, Father.” She cut through his rising storm of words. As she spoke, she turned her head to look through the network of foliage at the lights of Trehaug. It was the only home, the only world, she had ever known. “I know that I am always welcome in your home. I know that you love me. You must. You must have always loved me, to salvage my life when I was only a few hours old. I know that. But I think my mother is also right in another way. Perhaps it is time for me to go out and find a life of my own. I am not foolish, Father. I know this can end badly. But I also know I am a survivor. If it looks like the expedition is doomed, I’ll come back to you and live out my life here as I always have. But I will have made at least an attempt at one adventure in my life.” She cleared her throat and tried to speak lightly as she added, “And if the expedition to move the dragons is successful, if at the least we find a place for them, or if we are wildly successful and actually rediscover this fabled city, think what it could mean for us. For all the Rain Wilders.”
Her father finally spoke. “You don’t have to prove yourself, Thymara. I know your value. I’ve never doubted it. You don’t have to prove yourself to me, or your mother, or anyone else.”
She smiled and again looked over her shoulder at him. “Perhaps not to anyone except myself, Father.” She took a deep breath and spoke decisively. “I’m traveling down trunk tomorrow, to the Council Hall. I’m going to accept their offer.”
It seemed to take her father a long time to reply. When he spoke, his voice was deeper than usual and his smile seemed almost sickly. “Then I’ll go with you. To see you off, my dear.”
Day the 20th of the Hope Moon
Year the 6th of the Independent Alliance of Traders
From Detozi, Keeper of the Birds, Trehaug
To Erek, Keeper of the Birds, Bingtown
In the sealed scroll case, a message from Trader Mojoin to Trader Pelz. Confidential. Deliver with all seals intact.
Erek,
I note with gratitude that the two cages of Jamaillian king pigeons you shipped to us on the Goldendown have arrived safely and settled well into their new coop. The size of the adult birds is impressive and I can only hope that their carrying capacity and endurance will match their size. Thank you for sharing this new influx of breeding stock. I hope that Reyall continues to live up to your expectations for him and to make his family proud. His father will be calling upon him soon to meet the family of his Three Ships intended and see if the match is suitable. Please do not advise him of this. His father wishes to see him about his work when he is unaware of a family visit. Again, my thanks for the kings.
Detozi
Chapter Seven
Promises and Threats
Because I want to go.” She spoke each word crisply and precisely. “Because, five years ago, you promised me I could. The promise was given, in fact, on the same day that you gave me this scroll.” Alise leaned across her oversize desk to tap the glass-topped rosewood box lined with silk in which the scroll was displayed and protected. She refrained from handling it as much as possible. Even the necessary work of transcribing it had taken a toll. When she needed to, she consulted the careful copy she had made of the precious work.
“I’ve scarcely returned home from my travel, my dear. Cannot I have a few days to think on this? Quite honestly, I will admit that I had forgotten I’d promised you such a trip. The Rain Wilds!” He sounded amazed.
Hest’s words were not precisely accurate. He had returned from his latest trading expedition to Chalced yesterday afternoon. But Alise had learned, over the years of their marriage, that Hest’s return to Bingtown on any given day did not necessarily match his return to the home they shared. As he had so often told her, there were many matters to settle at the tariff docks, merchants to contact immediately to inform them of goods he had secured on his latest venture, and often the sales of those goods took place within hours of their touching the docks. Such transactions necessitated the wine and fine dinner and late-night conversation that smoothed the way for commerce in Bingtown. Yesterday, she had become aware that he had arrived back in town when his traveling trunks were brought up to the house, but when both luncheon and dinner had passed with no sign of him, she had not bothered to wait up. Yesterday had been the fifth anniversary of their wedding. She wondered if he remembered it with the same degree of regret that she did, and then had laughed aloud at the idea that Hest might remember their anniversary at all. That night, she had sought her own bed at her usual late hour, and as they did not share a chamber except on the occasions when he chose to visit hers, she had been unaware of his return home. At breakfast, the only evidence that the master of the house had returned was the presence of his favorite garlic sausages on the sideboard, and the large pot of tea that had joined her favored coffee on the heavy silver ser vice tray. Of Hest himself, there had been no sign.
At midmorning, his secretary Sedric had visited her study, to ask if any vital invitations were still pending, and to inquire if any other important missives had arrived during the master’s absence. Sedric had spoken formally, but smiled as he did so, and after a moment his good nature and charm had forced her to return that courtesy. As annoyed as she was with Hest, she would not take it out on his secretary. Sedric had that effect on most people. Although he was only a couple of years younger than Hest and older than Alise, she could not help thinking of him as a boy. It wasn’t only that she’d known him since childhood when she and his sister Sophie had been close friends. Even though he was older than both of them, they had still treated him as if he were younger, for so he had always seemed to Alise. There was a gentleness to him that she’d never seen in other men. He’d always been willing to pause in his day and listen to their girlish concerns. Such attention from an older boy had been flattering.
He was, she reflected, still a favorite with her. His attentiveness and interest in her conversation at meals often eased the sting of Hest’s near contempt for her thoughts. Not only Sedric’s manner but his appearance was always charming. His head of gleaming brown curls was perpetually tousled in an artlessly perfect way. His eyes were always bright, never showing the effects of a late night spent accompanying his master to whatever gambling parlor or theater Hest’s latest merchant partner favored. No matter how short the notice, Sedric was always able to rise to the occasion, appearing impeccably clad and groomed and yet still retaining an easy manner that suggested it was effortless for him.
Alise had long since ceased to wonder why Hest made Sedric his constant companion. In any social situation, the man was an asset. Born of Trader stock himself, he moved easily in Bingtown society and with acumen when Hest was dealing with his trading partners. There had been a flurry of gossip when Hest had offered Sedric a position as his secretary; it was obviously beneath his perceived social position, no matter how poor his family had become. Alise had been a bit startled when Sedric accepted it. But in the years since then all had come to see that he was far more than a humble servant. He had proven himself as an excellent secretary to Hest and certainly as an affable and entertaining comrade on the long sea trips that Hest had to undertake yearly. He advised and assisted Hest in matters of dress and grooming. When Hest’s somet
imes abrupt manner gave offense or cooled a budding business relationship, Sedric artfully employed his tact and charm to set things to rights.
And when Hest was home, Sedric’s affable presence at her table was something that Alise greatly enjoyed. He excelled at all social occasions from dinners to cards to long afternoon teas. As she was prone to be a listener rather than a talker, Sedric enlivened their meals with his jests, wry observations of their latest travel disasters, and gentle harrying of Hest. Sometimes it seemed to her that it was only due to Sedric that she knew her husband at all.
Did she know him at all? She watched Hest now as he smiled distantly at her, so certain that he could postpone this discussion with her. Well they both knew that if he could procrastinate long enough, he’d be off on one of his trading trips again and she’d once more be left behind at home. She firmed her courage and replied to him, “Perhaps you have forgotten that you promised me that one day I should visit the Rain Wilds and see dragons for myself. But I have not forgotten your promise.”
“Nor outgrown your desire for it?” he asked her gently.
She flinched at the barb, wondering, as she frequently did, if he was aware of how often his words stung her. “Outgrown?” she asked him quietly, her voice going wooden.
He came back into the room. He had not entered it in search of her. Rather, he had come in quietly, selected a book from the shelves, and attempted to leave just as covertly. He could walk so softly. If she had not chanced to lift her head, she would never have known he’d been there. Her words had detained him just as he’d stepped outside the door. Now he closed it firmly behind him. The book he’d chosen was still in his hands. It was an expensive one, she noted, bound in the new way. He turned it gently as he mused over her question.
“Well, my dear, you know that times have changed. Dragons were quite fashionable the year we were wed, but that was five years ago. Tintaglia had only recently appeared, and Bingtown was just emerging from the ashes, so to speak. Talk of dragons and Elderlings and new treasure cities as well as our independence from Jamaillia—well, it was a heady mix, was it not? All the ladies in their Elderling cosmetics and every fabric patterned to look like scales! It was no wonder dragons fired your imagination. You’d come of age in a harsh time in Bingtown. You needed to escape reality, and what could be a better fantasy than tales of Elderlings and dragons? Trade was in a shambles with the New Traders and their slave labor undercutting all our established ways. Your family fortunes were suffering. And then we had a war. If Tintaglia hadn’t appeared and come to our aid, well, I think we’d all be speaking Chalcedean now. And then she locked us into that bargain that we’d help her serpents get up the river and tend the new dragons when they hatched. Well, we certainly discovered that the reality of a dragon was far different from any fantasy you might have imagined.”
He gave a small snort of disdain. Tucking his book under his arm, he wandered across the room to the windows and looked out over the gardens below. “We were fools,” he said quietly. “Thinking we could negotiate with a dragon! Well, she got the best of us, didn’t she? We’re as close to being at true peace with Chalced now as we’ve ever been, trade is rebuilding, Bingtown rejuvenating, and Tintaglia has found a mate for herself and hardly ever comes to call. It should be a better life and time for everyone! But the Rain Wilders are still dealing with her errant offspring and the expenses they create. They eat constantly, trample the earth to muck, foul everywhere, and hamper efforts to explore the underground ruins. They are pathetic cripples, unable to hunt or care for themselves. All the Traders must contribute to pay for hunters to keep them fed. With no return for us! No one thought to write an end clause for that agreement. And from what I hear, it will never change. Those sorry creatures will never be able to take care of themselves, and who knows how long they will live? We’ve waited five years for them to grow up and become independent. They haven’t. It would be a mercy to put them down.”
“And profitable, too,” Alise said coldly. She felt silence growing in her. Sometimes it reminded her of a fast-growing ivy; silence covered her and cloaked her, and she suspected that one day she would smother in the silences Hest could create. It was an effort to break through that strangling quiet, but she did it. “All have heard how much the Duke of Chalced would pay for even one scale of a real dragon. Think how much he’d give for a whole carcass.” When she thrust a cutting remark into one of Hest’s pauses, it was like trying to stab a knife into hardwood. It never seemed to stick and left scarcely a mark.
Now he turned toward her as if startled. “Did I hurt your feelings, my dear? I didn’t mean to. I forgot how sentimental you are about those creatures.” He smiled at her disarmingly. “Perhaps I’m too much the Trader this day. You should expect it of me when I’ve just returned from a trip. It’s all I talked about with anyone for the last two months. Profitability and tightly written contracts and well-negotiated bargains. I’m afraid that’s what fills my mind.”
“Of course,” she said, looking down at her desk. And, Of course, she said to herself as her anger slipped away from her. It wasn’t gone, only sunken in the bog of uncertainty that engulfed her life. How could she hold on to her anger when, in an instant, he could sidestep it in a way that made her feel it was unjustified? He had been preoccupied, that was all. He was a busy man, immersed in trade negotiations and contracts and social details. He undertook those things for both of them, so that she could live in the quiet social backwater that she seemed to prefer. She could not expect him to be perfectly tuned to her life. More than once, he had gently pointed out to her that she always seemed to put the worst possible interpretation on his words whenever they had even the mildest disagreement. More than once, he had expressed bewilderment that she sometimes resented how he sheltered her.
A tiny childish part of her stamped and gritted her teeth. And he has sidestepped your question as well. Demand an answer. No. Just tell him you are going. You have the right. Just tell him that.
Hest was already drifting toward the door. He stopped by a tobacco humidor, opened it, and scowled. Evidently the servants had not replenished it since his return.
“I’ve planned my journey to the Rain Wilds. I’ll be departing at the end of this month.” The words leaped out of her mouth. Lies, every one of them. She’d made no specific plans, only dreamed.
He turned to look at her, his brows arched in surprise. “Indeed.”
“Yes,” she asserted. “It’s a good time to travel to the Rain Wilds, or so I’m told.”
“Alone?” he asked, sounding scandalized. And a moment later, annoyed as he said, “I’ve made commitments of my own, my dear. It would be impossible for me to break them. I can’t go with you at the end of the month.”
“I hadn’t given that part much thought,” she admitted. Any thought at all. “I’m sure I can find an appropriate companion for the journey.” She wasn’t sure of that at all. It had never occurred to her that she might require such a person. She had thought, somehow, that marriage had put her beyond the need for chaperonage. “I cannot imagine that you could doubt my fidelity to you,” she observed. “I am not chaperoned in the months when you are away on your trading journeys. Why should I be chaperoned when I travel?”
“Perhaps we should avoid the topic of ‘doubting’ anyone’s ‘fidelity,’ ” he observed cuttingly. “Or perhaps we should discuss it in terms of presenting a proper appearance. After all, it takes very little for someone to assemble tiny bits of ‘evidence’ and then see wrongdoing where none exists.”
She looked away from him. He seldom missed a chance to remind her of her ill-founded allegations against him. She pushed the stinging memory of that humiliating day away and struggled to think of a sufficiently respectable matron to accompany her as chaperone. “I suppose I could ask Sedric’s sister Sophie. But I have heard she is with child and in delicate health, not disposed to visit, let alone travel.”
“Ah. Her husband, I see, is far more fortunate than I am i
n that regard. And your health, Alise?”
“My health is excellent,” she replied pointedly.
Hest shook his head in disappointment. He cleared his throat and then asked wryly, “I am to assume, then, that our latest efforts have come to naught?”
“I’m not pregnant,” she said bluntly. “I assure you if I were it would be the first piece of news I would give you.” She stopped short of asking him how he could possibly imagine she would be pregnant. He’d been away three months, and in the two months he had been home prior to that, he’d visited her bedchamber exactly twice. The infrequency and brevity of his performances were more relief than disappointment now. He visited her, she thought, with the regularity of a man performing a scheduled task, and with all the enthusiasm. Sometimes she wondered if he kept a ledger of his efforts. She imagined him ticking an item on his social calendar. Attempted impregnation. Results still in doubt. It humiliated her now to recall her brief and girlish infatuation with him before their wedding.
In the months and then years that had passed since she had realized that neither love nor lust would have a place in her marriage, she had never denied herself anything in her quest for knowledge. To balance that, she had never denied Hest on the occasions when he came to her chambers to assert his marital rights. She had never wept over his lack of romantic interest in her, nor tried to charm him into changing his mind. She had made only two failed and shameful attempts to pique his sexual interest in her. She did not allow herself to dwell on those humiliating memories. They had prompted him to a mocking cruelty that had branded those two nights forever in her memory. No. Better to submit, almost ignore his efforts, for then his ser vices to her remained brief and perfunctory.