by Jenna Rhodes
“It seems the wiser, though disagreeable, course. You are admitting nothing by paying, but you are saving your business. The former managers ran it into the ground, but it has potential yet.” The visitor looked about him. “Which, I have noted, you’ve put a great deal of industry into already. This is the summer season. You should be getting contracts for supplying, and making some funds. My colleagues and I are prepared to send a little business your way, to help.” He leaned forward, breathing a little heavier because of the press against his girth. “I asked to bring this to you, myself, because I am Dweller also, and I know the hard work and honor that runs in our veins. Robin—Mistress Greathouse—spoke of the difficulties you’d already overcome. She untangled much of this mess before appointing me as a factor to work with you. She has paid my fees and will stand you a loan, if necessary.”
Keldan, standing quietly by Tolby’s shoulder, shifted weight then as if in slight disagreement, but Tolby did not look at him. Garner sat quietly, listening, taking notes as either Tolby or Lily had no doubt instructed him. He looked slim as a reed compared to the other sturdy Dwellers filling the room, and his hands moved swiftly, surely, as he scribed. Lily cleared her throat yet still sounded a little hoarse as she offered, “My business can help as well, Tolby.”
“Aye, I know that. It just crams my craw to pay a bad debt with good coin. I ran the fellow off, it should have gone no farther. Curse me for a half-witted goat, I know more of city scoundrels than that! And I’ve no wish t’ borrow money. We paid for this, to have it clear and not beholdin’.”
Lily tapped a packet on her lap. “Mistress Greathouse says that Simon carries good advice.”
The trader shifted his weight, and the chair under his bulk creaked with him. “It seemed best to consult with her first. I hope you do not hold that against me. Once aware of your situation, she urged me to help you with all haste.”
“Best not to make an enemy of Greathouse,” Hosmer muttered under his breath, and only the three of them heard him.
Tolby scratched his chin. “Don’t be misunderstandin’ me, Trader Simon, but I cannot for the life of me wonder if this proposal of yours is gift—or graft. Once burned, twice shy.”
The trader chuckled. “I would think considerably less of you if you didn’t.” He boosted himself to his feet. “Give it a day or two of consideration, Master Farbranch, then send a messenger to me. We haven’t much longer than that, I fear, before my colleague holding the paper will start proceedings to collect, but I think a man ought to be given time to think out his course of action.”
Tolby stood also and took Trader Simon’s hand. “Only fair. I’ll be in touch with you.”
Simon bowed to Lily and made his way to the door, with Keldan leading the way. Lily rubbed a hand over her eyes before frowning in Nutmeg’s direction. “You seem a trifle messier than I remember leaving you.”
“A bit of street revelry,” Hosmer said smoothly. “It swept us up for a little. Simon is right in that, Da,” and he swung about to his father. “This is a good time to be selling brew and cider. We ought to be able to pay a few debts and still rake in enough to tide ourselves through till thaw next year.”
“If we had enough to fulfill a decent-sized contract, which we haven’t.”
“Then,” Garner said, shuffling papers on his lap and looking up, “we offer better than that. Not quantity but quality. Private stock, for only the most discerning drinker.”
Tolby stared at Garner a long moment. Then he responded slowly, “My drink is good enough for that.”
“It’s the best, Da,” offered Nutmeg. “You know that.”
“This is no time to be humble.” Garner stretched his legs out, meeting his father’s long look.
“And, my dear, my shop is making money. I can help.” Lily refolded the reference packet from Mistress Greathouse, slipping it into her apron.
“I still can’t abide paying a debt that this land doesn’t owe!”
“It’s Greathouse who should be paying us.” Keldan’s surly words dropped like stones in a deep, quiet well, and the ripples spread out among them. “Well, it’s true. She sold us a bundle of trouble, and how is it she didn’t be knowing that?”
Tolby tugged on his vest a moment. Then he said grudgingly, “It’s my fault. She told me this was a business she’d neglected, that’s why th’ price was within my reach. She doesna know if these loan papers are genuine or forgeries, if we borrowed or not. It’s to her credit she sent Simon for aid. It’s my fault for forgettin’ the crooks who lie a-waitin’ in cities, schemers and such. I should have gotten our papers together earlier, and found a clerk t’ certify everything. I was too busy with my hands ta use my mind.”
“There’s no help for that, now. Pay now and sue. It should all work out in the end. Trader Simon offered us a fair chance. They could have served and taken our stock.” Garner put away his ink and pen as he spoke, then got up and put his hand on his father’s shoulder.
“And I,” Hosmer told him, “may get placed in the Town Guard. Surely there’s a coin or two in that.”
He drew sharp looks from everyone in the room, and his chin went up in answer as Lily inhaled steeply.
“Not only a coin but a story I think you have yet to tell us.” Garner traded looks with Hosmer over their father’s head.
“There is not enough money,” Tolby said mildly to Hosmer, “to be worth losing your place here. Still that leaves me with four strong children. It could be worse.”
Keldan coughed. “Could we talk over dinner? I swear my stomach thinks my throat has been cut.” He nudged Hosmer and Nutmeg toward the kitchen with its great plank table, and the aroma that had filled the room suddenly smelled savory again.
“Now that is an idea.” Tolby stuffed his cold pipe into his pocket and led the way.
Garner and Hosmer both jostled Keldan as they seated themselves, with Hosmer saying, “I’ve seen a cut throat or two. Trust me, your stomach shouldn’t worry.”
Rivergrace felt a chill run through her at his words, which carried an edge despite his teasing grin.
Lily pinched Hosmer’s ear, saying, “Stop that. I’ve good food on the table, if it is a bit colder than I intended, and this is no time for your militia stories.”
She had them all quiet and tucking into their dinner in good order, and Nutmeg leaned over to Grace to whisper, “The Town Guard could use her, too,” even as she picked up a fork and smiled innocently. Over her first bite, she said to Keldan, “Curly throws a mean punch. And Vevner is no slouch either.”
“Aye? How so?”
They spent the rest of the evening swapping news and opinions.
Her mind filled with worry, Lily shook out the clothes to leave them for laundry as the house settled down to sleep, Tolby calling out sleepily for her. Rivergrace’s and Nutmeg’s garments told more of a tale than Hosmer had, but she decided not to ask questions. They were safe, and she could think of far greater troubles than a scuffle with those who had been drinking overmuch.
A slip of paper fell to the floor. She scooped it up without thinking, and replaced it in the packet of news from Robin Greathouse, to be read more carefully at the shop in the morning. She would have to hire two more seamstresses, but Adeena offered two cousins with good stitching who wanted work and that seemed the best possibility. She had clients and fabric beyond her wildest dreams, but it seemed that those with money parted with it slowly. Perhaps she could speak with Trader Simon about getting her clients to pay on delivery or at least promptly. The little shop was indeed making a profit although she turned that back into fabric purchases almost sooner than she pocketed it. She would not place that weight on Tolby’s shoulders, though. She would deal with it, and help him besides.
With a sigh, she let down her hair, brushing it out gently and trying not to notice the new graying strands before going to join her husband in bed.
He woke on fire, lying atop his bed, sheet twisted under him. His thighs, loins, and the flat of
his belly ached even without a touch upon him, but he had been dreaming of eyes the color of many seas, and that alone soothed him enough to get any sleep at all. Sevryn rose and bathed quickly, standing at the bowl of water, watching the gray light slant through the window shutters. The only welt that did not burn was where she had accidentally touched him when they fell together, as though her hand had drawn out the poison. He looked down at his flank, at the scarring. He did not imagine it. Instead of the fiery red mark, part of the scar lay flat and white, healed cleanly. Who was she and what had she done to him?
Yet the need to be with her far exceeded his need for answers. He wanted simply to stand with her.
The obligations he must fulfill, however, to Lariel and her blood outweighed his own. He had seen her and her brother put aside their personal lives time and again in just that manner. As had he. Trouble was, he’d never regretted it before.
Perhaps sometime during the next few days, Lariel might need an escort to a fitting.
Perhaps.
The first shards of daylight struck Sevryn as he made his way across town toward the guild quarter, where the small bistro Azel mentioned reigned. Clouds parted momentarily, even as they built upon one another in great towers, edged in obsidian. The rich scent of defer, shaved from its blocks, and then boiled in frothing milk and spices rode on the heavily clouded day. He found a table with seats to the wall, angled oddly yet near a door, and sat after satisfying himself that Azel had not already arrived. A serving girl flitted near and off again as he shook his head. He sat and listened to faraway rumbling, his ears feeling more than hearing thunder from the distance as the storm moved in.
Azel entered after a few moments, his bulk moving with that eerie Vaelinarran grace, searched the room, and then spied Sevryn in the corner. It was like watching a bear lumber through a forest without cracking a twig or bending a branch. He crooked a finger at the girl before seating himself. “The defer here is one of the few good reasons to visit Calcort.”
“And others?”
Azel paused a very long time until the corner of his mouth twitched. “I’m thinking!”
Sevryn laughed with him.
The girl must have brought Azel other breakfasts before, because she brought not only two steaming mugs of defer but also a platter of breads and cheeses, and two hearty bowls of oat stew, a concoction of cooked oats, dried fruits, honey, and nuts. A small pitcher of butter-dotted cream came along with two spoons for the breakfast stew.
They ate in silence for moments, enjoying the fare, and avoiding the unpleasantness of the meeting Azel had called. He had nearly finished when Azel wiped his mouth and sat back in his chair, eyeing Sevryn. “I’m glad you came.”
“So far, I’m glad as well.” Sevryn drew his mug of defer close to his chest, dropping one hand below the tabletop, where he could draw his knives more easily as he listened. He watched the room and saw only a crowd of diners, scattered at the small tables throughout the room and spilling onto the street lane.
Azel cocked his head. “I’m sure Lariel will have your ears if I do not tell you why I’m here, so I’ll save them for you.” He tapped his heavy hand on the tabletop. “I’m going to propose three more libraries, at points throughout these provinces and the warlands to the east. It will take funding and sponsorship, and training of new copyists and scribes. While you may not see the political ramifications immediately, she will.” He gazed out over the room a moment, at the citizens breakfasting quietly, and going back and forth. “I intend to make them open to all.”
“Open?”
“Open,” repeated Azel firmly. “Anyone who can read may come in and read our copies.”
“Even the Vaelinar histories?”
“Especially the Vaelinar histories. It is time we leave behind ourselves as the Suldarran, the Lost, and move to join Kerith. It’s our home. We have to accept that.”
“Half your power is in the unknown, the mythology of being not of Kerith.”
“Yes.” Something glittered deep in Azel’s eyes. “A false influence, don’t you think? Knowledge is the truest power. And, there are other reasons which I will tell Lariel if she’ll grant me an audience, alone. Important reasons.”
“I’ll tell her.”
He nodded. “You drew me out, as well. I came to listen to folk stories and children’s rhymes, and I heard something disturbing on the streets.” He leaned forward, dropping into a melodious bass and sang quietly, “Four forges dire . . .”
Sevryn slapped his hand over Azel’s, shutting the man off. Azel continued smiling mildly at him despite that. “How did you know?”
A silvery flash illuminated the interior of the room for a moment as weather broke overhead, the long awaited storm.
“I didn’t. I came and listened, and that struck a chord in me. I don’t know why or who sent you to ferret that out, but I heard what you may not, could not. You were not raised Vaelinar, that much is obvious in every movement you make, nothing faulting you, but it blinds you to nuances that we can see.”
Thunder rumbled heavily. Chairs and tables pushed across the floor as occupants decided to leave, hurrying back to their proper places before rain pelted down and flooded the streets. The area grew crowded, even the corner, as diners milled about.
“It’s vital you understand,” Azel told him in a low voice. “The Elven Ways we’ve made lead to life, but—” Azel jerked as he stopped abruptly.
Sevryn was watching. He swore he was watching and yet he never saw the strike. Azel sucked his breath in sharply, with a guttural sound of pain, people moving about their table, bumping, even as lightning overhead struck and thunder crackled immediately upon its heels, shaking the whole building. The historian keeled over facefirst.
Sevryn leaped to his feet. He shoved away those closest just to get across the table, rolling Azel over. A dagger impaled his side, and Sevryn pulled it loose, the handle branded with an elaborate K. He pocketed it as he yelled for a healer and the guards. Azel breathed, heavily, painfully. His life bubbled on his lips as he tried to say something more to Sevryn, but he couldn’t catch it. He held the man in his arms.
“Keep breathing,” he told d’Stanthe. “Just keep breathing. It’ll get better. I promise,” with no way of knowing if he could keep that promise.
Chapter Forty-Six
HE FELL INTO AN icy void of absolute darkness. The first assault he had not even felt, the second thrust he did, as the steel buried itself deeply into him. Surprised, he sucked in a breath, knowing it would be one of his last. He had more to say! More he had to say . . .
Azel felt himself losing all that he had known. The sensation of having hands, feet, a body, passed beyond him. Strong arms picked him up, warm arms against the sudden chill. A voice pierced his plummeting fall. Blood roared through his ears in a deafening flood as it carried death through him in an inexorable tide, but he heard the Voice.
It commanded him. It refused to let him let go.
He struggled against the compulsion and could not resist it. Weakening second by second, he answered it. He breathed.
He found a silvery strand trailing after him and clung to it, all that kept him from the final fall, obeying the order given him. As he pulled it into himself, it looped before him, toward a future he thought his life had abandoned. It might have been a rope, but Azel thought of it as luminous ink, written against the dark of nothingness. It was a sentence, a record, that he had yet to finish, its strand of thought and soul leaping out just ahead of him. Keep breathing. Live. Somehow.
Chapter Forty-Seven
RAIN POURED DOWN amid the grumbling of thunder, washing away the grit of summer, but not cooling, each drop as hot as the season that bore it. Roofs shed the water in cascades. Lily hurried under the onslaught, her oil-slicked, wide-brimmed hat protecting her from most of it, but her shoes quickly becoming damp in spite of trying to jump and hop puddles. Having worked the orchard for most of her adult years, her good shoes were in an inside pocket of her cape,
and these old shoes had seen many a splash and far worse. Everyone still on foot bustled by in a hurry, skirting eaves and gutters and puddling holes as well as they could. A carriage sat on the side street nearby, its driver and horses wet as if standing for a while. She unlocked her shop quickly. Adeena materialized almost on her heels with a smile as she shook out her wet kerchief and placed it on a hook to dry.
“My cousins will be here soon, Mistress Farbranch. They’re bringing samplers with them.”
“Good, good, but I’ve your word on them already. I’m sure they’ll work out.” Lily kicked her shoes off and toed them under a table, dropping her good, dry ones on the floor. She’d barely stepped into them when the two veiled ones stepped through the door, sprinkling rain off them like a fine mist, looking as if the downpour had merely kissed them with wetness. Or, perhaps they’d been sitting in the parked carriage, out of the weather. The taller one, in a rustle of fine silks, put her veil back. “I was in the quarter breakfasting and decided to stop by and see if you’ve received my yard goods yet.”
“Oh, yes! Late yesterday. We were going to send a messenger lad out this morn.” Lily pointed the way to the back storeroom. “My daughters remembered that you wished to inspect it first.”
Galraya smiled wryly. “Not often, but occasionally, I am shorted on my orders. It is thought that I have coin the way the sky has rain, and can afford to pay for goods not delivered.” She glanced upward to the sound on the roof. “Would that it were so.” She glided soundlessly after Lily, her companion staying in the outer room, browsing and murmuring to Adeena.
One shoe on, the other half on and stubbornly folding under her foot, Lily manufactured a coolness she did not feel, as she found the latest stock. She stepped back as Lady Galraya identified the bale as hers, and gave her a questioning look as if she wished to be left alone.
Adeena questioned her from the other room, saving Lily the quandary of asking if that was her wish. She dropped a half curtsy. “If you don’t mind, I’ll go see what’s needed?”