Ilythra stood under the beams and looked up. The view reminded her of the first morning at Maelys’s when she woke under an upside-down garden. Jars and pouches filled a shelf over the bed.
The woman was at the back wall near a stove, holding a steaming pot with both hands. A look of disgust on her face, she opened a back door to dump the contents then brought the pan back to the stove, wiped her hands on her apron, faced them and smiled. “I’m sorry for the greeting. It’s nice to see you again, Mohan.” Her gaze barely skimmed the Benai. She focused on Ilythra. “I’m Liera. How can I help you?”
“Hello, Liera.” Ilythra glanced around. “I’m Ilythra and I think, maybe, we can help each other.”
Liera’s blue eyes grew large. “Ilythra?”
“Wait, you’re Liera?” Mohan held his hand out at waist height. “You’ve...you’ve grown.”
Liera blushed, dark lashes hiding her eyes. Her voice softened. “It’s been a long time since you were here.”
Ilythra hid a smile. Liera certainly had noticed Mohan’s absence and judging by the way the Benai was eyeing her, he’d noticed her presence.
“Where’s your grandmother?” Mohan asked.
Liera’s eyes clouded. “She died a moon ago.”
“I am sorry.” Mohan sounded genuinely stricken.
“If you are in need of something, I can...I mean, my grandmother trained me...” Liera faded off, her gaze resting on Ilythra. “You are the Ilythra? The one the traders speak of?”
“I don’t know of any other.” Ilythra shrugged off the question. “Were you trying to concentrate something?”
“I thought you’d be older.” Her hand went to her mouth, her cheeks coloring. “Oh, um, yes. No matter how low I stoke the fire, the liquid boils over. I’ve watched my grandmother do it a hundred times. She made it look so easy. But I...” Tears softened her blue eyes.
Ilythra set down her pack. “Let me show you a trick.” She moved to the kitchen. The stove was only a metal box to hold a fire, with small holes at the top and a smoking chimney of sorts leading to the ceiling. But it was the closest thing to a real stove she’d seen in years. “Do you have a bowl about this big?” Ilythra held her curved hands at a distance.
Liera retrieved a wooden bowl and handed it to Ilythra. Mohan leaned against the table to watch.
Ilythra reached for a large iron kettle, filled it with water and set it on the stove. “When this boils, put your medicine in the bowl and the bowl over the water.” She demonstrated how the bowl rested on the lip of the kettle, lifted it up and displayed the bottom of the bowl. “The bowl doesn’t touch the bottom of the pan, so there’s water between the medicine and the heat from the stove. Understand?”
Liera nodded. “I think so.”
“The boiling water will heat the contents of the bowl, but the mixture won’t boil over because it’s not in direct contact with the source of heat. It takes a little longer to make the concentration, but it’s better quality and you’ll suffer no mishaps.” Ilythra smiled. “Just don’t let the water in the pot dry out.” She moved to grab a towel and opened a trapdoor to the front of the stove. “You might want to let this burn down to embers as well. It is pretty hot.”
Liera blushed again. “Thank you. Grandmother seemed to know when to take the pot off the fire by the smell. She was a true healer. There were things I should have paid more attention to and didn’t. I always thought I had more time with her.”
Ilythra nodded. An image of her grandfather flashed through her mind and with it the ache of loss she’d accepted as part of who she was. “We always do. And in time, you will get a feeling for it too.” She shook off the memory.
A grateful look passed over Liera’s face. “She was always such a force, you know? Never sick, never tired. Well, up until those last few days.”
Mohan placed a hand on Liera’s shoulder. “The Benai will mourn her passing. She was well respected and loved by many.”
“Thank you.” Liera looked up in adoration at him. “Are you alone? I’ve heard no rumors of Benai traveling near here.”
“Just me for now. They will be here later.”
Liera looked from Mohan to Ilythra and back again. “I see.” She fiddled with her apron. “Oh my, you said needed my help too. Is someone sick or...” Liera’s cheeks reddened. “Not that you would need...”
Ilythra opened her mouth to set the young healer straight then stopped. It might not be fair to get Liera’s hopes up. Mohan wasn’t a one-girl kind of man. “I need to know if you have some herbs to sell,” Ilythra said instead.
“Yes. My grandmother always made plenty.” She spread her hands to include the cluttered table and kitchen. “I’m trying to process what we picked and dried before she became ill and not doing a very good job, so if you want, you can take any of that. Or I have tinctures, concentrations of oils and creams she made before she died. I’m...” She cleared her throat. “I’m not a true healer like she was.”
“I’m not a true healer either. I rely solely on herbs and what I was taught. Can you show me your herbs?” Ilythra asked. “Then, if you don’t mind, I’ll help you process the rest of these.”
“I’d be honored, I really would. And you’re welcome to stay here tonight. There is another bedroom through there.” She pointed to the door by the bed. “My grandmother’s. You could...” She looked from Ilythra to Mohan. “At least until your troupe gets here.”
Both women looked at Mohan.
The Benai shrugged. “A bed might be a nice change of pace.”
Liera stepped up on the neat bed to reach for the jars on the shelf. Mohan moved to help her, setting the jars on the table. He cleared his throat. “Well, if you girls are going to talk shop, I’ll check out one of the finer establishments in this town. Um...don’t wait supper for me.”
After he left, Liera muttered, “Finer establishments? Who’s he kidding? The tavern, or the whorehouse?”
* * *
“Your Majesty.” Bredych entered the elaborate room and then bowed lower than was necessary.
“Come in, come in.” King Farial waved his bejeweled hand toward a well-stuffed chair but didn’t move from behind the large desk. His dark eyes narrowed. “I was wondering when you’d return. Did you see enough of my kingdom to judge its worth?”
He wanted this man’s coin but wasn’t in the mood to exchange too many pleasantries. “It is prosperous and your subjects happy.” Bredych sat in the offered chair.
“While you were away, we’ve enjoyed the Poet’s words daily. I wasn’t aware of your family’s talent.”
“I’m afraid the poor boy is the only family I have.”
“I see, tragic.” Farial brushed his graying hair from his shoulder.
Leaving the Benai behind to perform for the assembled guests at dinner at been a calculated risk. It was always possible one of them had seen or heard the Poet before. Most nobles didn’t pay enough attention to the peasants to remember names or faces, but the Benai’s words had a singular effect that once heard, wouldn’t soon be forgotten. They reminded simultaneously of what could have been and was not and what still might be possible. But the benefits outweighed the risk. He was a careful man.
“Depends on the family.”
The king’s laugh was deep but short. It was well known that he had a shrew for a mother who had arranged a marriage to a woman of like character. There was much speculation if the reason his only offspring were from his menagerie of mistresses was due to his lack of desire or his wife’s inability to breed. Either way, none could ascend to the throne. Years before it was necessary, his nephews gathered like vultures around a dying animal, trying to secure both the king’s and the people’s favor. A difficult task.
“So, Bredych, you have ranged my kingdom and like what you see, and now you promised to tell me why you’ve
come to Jartas.”
Pleasantries over. Good, I won’t have to intervene. “Your Majesty, I respect your intelligence so I will not embellish my request with idle words. Since King Erhard inherited the throne from his father, he has been occupied repairing the damage a...shall we say, introverted king can cause his people.”
Farial nodded. “I’ve heard that King Urah had much love of pleasure and little head for business.”
Bredych glanced toward the carpet beneath his feet, as if the words had brought a sorrow too great to bear. Urah had loved his pleasure, all right, loved it to an early grave. The man had been useless: headstrong and blind, a peace-lover to the core. He believed that all men should live as equals. He’d inherited a thriving kingdom from his father, was sure he’d leave a thriving kingdom to his son with no idea what it took to maintain prosperity. However, he’d done one thing right. Urah had taken a half-Rugian lover to his bed and given Bredych a new position as ambassador to the Rugians, the people to the east of Anatar. Bredych’s mission, according to Urah, was to broker peace between the two peoples. He had, but in ways that would have horrified good King Urah. The Rugians were expensive.
Bredych brought his gaze up again to meet Farial’s, knowing they glistened as though with unshed tears. “Urah loved his people, perhaps too well.” He strengthened his voice. “But it is time to move on. Greton is a poor kingdom, but it was not always so. We have one product that is unequalled in any of the kingdoms and beyond—glass.”
Farial’s slow blink confirmed that he’d guessed what was coming. Bredych allowed his mouth to turn up in a half smile.
“Again, I will not insult your intelligence. We need your help.” And I’ll get it willingly or at the expense of your mind. Take your pick. No, he wouldn’t need power. He could outwit this commoner dressed in king’s garb.
Farial opened his mouth.
“Please, Your Majesty, let me finish. If in your wisdom you decide that this offer is not for you, I’ll leave.” Bredych shook his head. “The summer wears on, and I dare not return to my king without a deal. King Bashta is close. I can winter there and perhaps...”
Farial sat straighter. Bashta and Farial were old rivals. Long ago, Bashta married the woman Farial had chosen for himself, and it was because of this loss that Farial’s mother had gotten her way and chosen the king’s bride.
“Speak your offer.” Farial leaned across the desk and clasped his hands together.
“Greton has a large store of glass beads for sewing, windows to keep out the sun on hot summer days and the wind—”
“I know the benefits of glass and the many uses it has.” Farial interrupted. “Get to the deal.”
This time the smile was harder to suppress. “Of course, Your Majesty. Half the profits for the next five years.”
Farial’s mouth opened then closed. “In exchange for?”
“You provide the gold to the traders to make the initial purchase.”
“I’m to get half of the money that I provide?” The king’s face grew pink.
“Think long-term, Your Majesty. You give the traders the gold they need to buy the glass. You will get half that back, correct, but with the other half you’ve primed the pump. The traders will go and sell, barter, whatever, the glass. They will see how well it sells, how the nobles will begin to covet the pretty beads, goblets, vases and urns. Glass windows will become a status symbol. Next season, when the traders go back to Greton, they will buy more and this time, with their own earnings.” Bredych paused. “Again, half of that will be yours.” He spread out his arms, palms upright. “The traders will begin to trade among themselves, which is their way. There is an unlimited market for Greton’s glass.”
The king’s eyes had begun to gleam, and then he blinked. “None of this is any good. The traders won’t go to Greton.”
“Ah, the Rugians. Yes. It was a problem in the past. But we’ve had a treaty with Rugia for five years. In fact, they are frequent guests at court.”
Farial shuddered. The rumors about the people who inhabited the country east of Greton had grown with distance away from the land. The people of Jartas, if they believed the Rugians were real at all, thought of them as savages who lived to rape women and pillage. They weren’t far off in their assessment except in his experience, he’d found the Rugian armies preferred to rape men. They kept their women safe at home, breeding. They felt strongly about keeping their race pure. Facts Bredych kept to himself.
“I see. How are you going to convince the traders of that? They lost many good men in the last uprising.”
Uprising? Silly idiot, it was a raid. One could only have an uprising from a conquered race, and the Rugians were not conquered. “Yes. I know. Leave that to me. Hilith and his caravan left Jartas five moons ago. They are heading toward Shyr. I will ride out to him and make him my offer. I do not expect he will refuse. Traders know a good deal when they smell it.”
“What do you need?”
“One hundred gold pieces.”
“What? That’s outrageous!” The king slapped his hands down on the desk.
Bredych smiled. It was a large amount, but he knew the name Bashta still lingered in the king’s mind. “It is well known that you have handled your kingdom with wisdom. You can well afford such an amount.”
Farial snorted. “Fine, but one thing first.”
“If it is within my power, Your Majesty.”
“I want to be the first kingdom to receive the glass windows.”
Bredych rose and bowed. “As you wish, my king.”
Chapter Five
Ilythra opened the back door and stepped out into pale slivers of light creeping over the horizon to herald the dawning day. A faint mist eddied among the white trunks of the birch, muting the color of the ferns. She shuddered.
She’d dreamed of standing in a forest of immense trees. Red mist swirling around trunks so large it would take several men to span their width. The mist had been searching, looking for her. In its breath she’d heard her name. Not the name she went by now, but the one given to her by a mother she couldn’t remember. If she closed her eyes, she could still hear its voice, calling her. She’d wanted to go where the mists led. Her stomach soured. The red man, the man she’d come to know as a trader in the Zorcani mountains. The red mists were his.
In the cool morning air, she leaned against the door and closed her eyes to check her wall for the third time since waking. She imagined herself as she was now, leaning against the healer’s house.
It had taken her a long time to picture herself in detail, but like with most everything he said, Zeynel had been right. It had become second nature. She inspected her mental stone wall, which symbolized a protective shield, to protect her from other stone keepers. Not other stone keepers, just one. The keeper of Crioch.
When she’d first arrived on the mainland, shipwrecked, homeless and not knowing a soul, a kindly couple had taken her in. She had inadvertently used Ilydearta and he’d heard its rhythm, traced it and slaughtered the entire village. Pierric and Nolwen had paid too great a price for their generosity. She didn’t want to see it happen again.
Her wall had become one of her priorities. She was as diligent with it as she was her Shi’ia exercises. It was solid, no missing stones and higher than she could now reach. But had he found a way to bridge her shield? To Gindean’s Keep with it. I can’t fight a dream!
Breathing deeply, she raised both arms above her head to stretch the muscles of her back and glanced around the yard until she found the path Liera said would lead toward the outhouse. Dew sparkled on the leaves in the herb garden as though the plants made an offering to the newborn sun. She lingered for a moment, letting the peace of the morning soothe her mind.
Mohan had dragged himself into the small house just before dawn with a drunk’s failed attempts at silence. Sharing
a bed with him hadn’t been much different than sleeping next to him under the stars except somehow, in the confines of a room, his snoring seemed louder. But that wasn’t quite true. In the intimacy of the house, beneath the stale smell of alcohol, she’d smelled the distinct scent of a male and had lain there, profoundly aware that it had been a long time since anyone had touched her. It wasn’t Mohan who tempted her. Their banter, although stimulating, held little heat. In Mohan she’d found something more valuable than a lover. She’d found a friend.
But he had also reminded her that she was lonely. Long ago she’d given up the idea that it would betray what she and Tobar shared to be involved with another man. She stepped down the single stair toward a winding trail leading to the outhouse when a shift in the bouquet of morning caught her attention. On guard, she moved away from the house. In the night, the field had transformed. Wildflowers now competed with a score of colorful wagons arranged in a rough circle, a corral of tired-looking horses to one side. Several dogs raised their heads to look at her but didn’t move from their posts. Ilythra relaxed. Well-trained or staked. A colorfully dressed woman emerged from the back of a wagon and organized a large fire. The sound of a rooster crowing carried over the cool morning air. As though the sound had warned the woman of her presence, she turned toward the house. Ilythra waved as more women emerged, their brightly colored garments muted by dawn’s soft light. One by one, they followed the gaze of the first woman and stood motionless for a moment before resuming their chores. Their faces were indistinct but from their garments and from what Mohan had said, this was definitely his troupe.
The smell of frying potatoes greeted her as she returned to the house. “I believe Mohan’s troupe has arrived.”
“What?” Mohan emerged from the bedroom, buttoning up his shirt. His hair stuck up in a dozen directions.
“They’ve arrived, your family.” Ilythra grinned. “Rough night?” She faced Liera without expecting a reply from the Benai. “Do you have something to wash in? Water?”
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