Chapter Eight Part One
For the rest of the day, Kylara was torn between anger and bewilderment. How could he have done it? More importantly, why had he done it? Damn it, that stupid amulet was just a hunk of metal and gems, rather plain and definitely old. It was of no importance to her, except for the money it would bring.
Why was it so important to him?
And to make things worse, he had retreated into his aloof, impenetrable shell again. When she spoke to him, he only answered, “Yes, mistress,” or “No, mistress,” or simply didn’t say anything at all.
It was so frustrating!
She could order him to tell her why, of course.
Kylara let out a snort that startled the customer just exiting. If she gave him a direct order to tell her why . . . she shook her head, imagining the resultant conversation.
Durnan, I order you to tell me why you took the amulet.
He would just look at her, with those unblinking, blank-doll eyes. Mistress? And she wouldn’t get another word out of him without a crowbar.
Gods, he made her so crazy!
By the time noon inched its way around, Kylara was ready to throw things. Her mood wasn’t helped when Master Bladen said as left for lunch, “Your slave is good and docile today. Did you finally give him a good whipping?”
Her mouth fell open. “Whipping?” and if it hadn’t been her boss, she would have added, What the hell for?
“It keeps ‘em in line, a good whipping every now and then. It always works on mine.”
Kylara felt sick.
She felt worse when she got to the Dragon’s Blood. For some reason, nobody would meet her gaze. Even Yassit, who usually met her gaze more then was strictly called for, couldn’t look her in the eye, but only put her ale in front of her and scurried away.
Sitting at the bar with the seats on either side of her echoingly empty, Kylara felt conspicuous and very, very alone.
She made her shoulders keep straight, even as they were begging to hunch, and her head stay high, even as it was threatening to lower. Dammit, whatever was going on, she was not going to betray how much it was dismaying her
It was the longest lunch of her life.
On the way back, she was alone, too--or as alone as she could be with Durnan following like a second shadow.
Considering the events of the day so far, that meant she was even more alone.
"Shit," she said aloud, and lengthened her stride to catch up with the main group of scribes, who had all left her behind. Sheste was lagging at the back of it, not joining in with the conversations.
"Sheste," she said loudly.
At the sound of her voice, several sentences broke off and they all looked at her. Then they started walking faster.
Kylara reached out and grabbed Sheste's sleeve. "Dammit, Sheste, what is going on?"
He stopped in the middle of the street. The sound of the other scribes' voices slowly faded.
"Well?" Kylara said, putting her hands on her hips. "What's going on, Sheste? Why is everyone avoiding me?"
"You mean you don't know?"
Kylara threw her hands up in the air. "Know what?"
"Yesterday, Kylara."
"A lot of things happened yesterday. You're going to have to narrow it down some."
"At lunch. That argument with your cousin? And what you said?"
Kylara was utterly lost, until Sheste gave Durnan, standing a few feet behind them, a significant glance. "You mean--Gods, Sheste, I am not--" She fumbled, unwilling somehow to say it, especially with Durnan standing right there. "I mean, I just said that to get under Mesius's skin, that's all. He deserved it," she couldn't resist adding.
"Whether it's true or not, you should have known better." Sheste started walking again.
"What are you talking about?"
He stopped again. "Listen, Ky. You're not a noble lady, who's rich enough to sleep with every one of her slaves at once if she wants. Likewise, you're not some dockyard slattern, who can sleep with anyone or anything because nobody cares. You're a decent woman from a good family, and you have a reputation to preserve."
"You sound like my aunt."
"You're not making it any better by dressing and acting the way you do."
"And how's that?"
"Like a man."
She shook her head. "So?"
"You're a woman."
"Not by my own choice, believe me."
"Choice or not, there are rules."
"Show me where they're written down."
"They don't need to be. Everyone tolerates it because they knew your father and they like you, but you've been pushing the limits ever since you got Bladen to give you that job."
"This is so stupid!"
"This is the world you have to live in, Kylara, and the sooner you realize it the better off you'll be. Your father was a good man, and a good friend. He raised you right. But one thing he never did manage to teach was how to think before you open your mouth and say whatever's on your mind!"
Chapter Eight Part Two
Kylara stood in her doorway, watching as Durnan held open the door for her last customer. She didn’t understand him, she thought resentfully.
People were generally pretty easy to read, her father had always said. Just figure out what was in it for them, and you’d be able to predict what they’d do and why.
What’s in it for you, Durnan? Why the hell did you take it? What are you going to do with it?
Was he going to sell it and buy his sister?
Kylara rejected that outright. A slave could own nothing, not even the clothes on his back. He certainly couldn’t own another slave. Besides, she’d already promised to buy his sister for him.
She frowned. And how she was going to do that--
Well, never mind.
What if he hadn’t taken it to sell? His words came back to her: In a safe place.
She frowned again, this time over the wording. Safe? Safe from what? What could there be to protect it from?
From me? You didn’t want me to sell it, Durnan. Why?
What kind of hold does that amulet have over you?
She turned back to her desk, and her eyes landed on her cloak, hanging over the back of her chair, and the book in its pocket. She’d brought Yanesh Kasole’s book today, by some chance.
Her brows furrowed.
No way.
The Guardians? The Protector? The Seeker?
“They’re gone,” she said aloud. “They’re the remnants of a dead empire.” But her own voice sounded doubtful to her ears.
“Mistress?”
She whirled, her cheeks hot at being caught talking to herself.
Durnan stood in the doorway, his gaze fixed on the floor. “Did you need me?”
“No.” Then, as he started to turn away, “Yes! Yes.”
He paused. “Mistress?”
“Do you really believe in all that? About the Seeker, and the Guardians?”
Unexpectedly, his gaze lifted. “Yes, mistress. I do.”
“Why?”
“Three hundred years ago, the last Seer predicted the things that would happen when a new Seeker emerged. Two of those have happened before my eyes. How could I not believe?”
Her eyes narrowed. “What--exactly--did the last Seer say? And how do you know about it?”
“Do you know the story of how the Guardians died?”
“Yeah.” It had been in The Ways of the Guardians, in the very first chapter. “The Seer was the first to die, of some mysterious illness. They think it was poison. The Healer couldn’t do anything for it. Then the Seeker went to find a new Seer, and he was killed . . . and the Protector . . .” Kylara’s eyes shadowed. “It was like they just fell apart.”
“The Seer was my ancestor, Junet Mindac. Before he died, he said--” Durnan closed his eyes, as if calling something up from the depths of his memory. “He said, The Seeker will find two of my blood to begin again, but the Amulet must be protected from the unknowing. Watch carefully, children of my loins, for the gods do not work as men think they ought.” His eyes flashed open again, burning into hers, and Kylara stepped back. “Ever since then, my family has watched for the Seeker. From the moment I was formed in my mother’s womb, I have been waiting--for you. And now the wait is over.”
“Are you sure?” she managed. “Maybe you just want to believe all of this.”
“You found me, mistress. You chose me. I saw.”
“I picked you at random.”
“You knew.”
Kylara rubbed her temples. “And the Amulet? Was that what you were doing? Protecting it?”
“That is my job.”
Something struck her. “Wait a minute. Two . . . of my blood? His blood? Durnan, are you thinking your sister is a Guardian?”
“Of course she is.”
“Which--oh. That’s obvious, isn’t it? You think she’s the Healer.”
“Why do you not accept your fate?” he said very, very gently.
“Durnan, everyone has been trying to push me into some mold lately. My aunt, my cousin, Sheste . . . do you blame me for not wanting this mold of yours?”
“There’s a difference,” he said. “You aren’t the perfect woman they want you to be. You are the Seeker. All you need to do is admit it.”
Ok, everybody, this part is a little--ummmmm--explicit. If you're offended by descriptions of the female body . . . don't read this. I don't like flames unless I can toast marshmallows on 'em. I can send an edited version to anyone who wants it.
Chapter Eight Part Three
Some evil fate ensured that the book Kylara picked up at random that night was Yanesh Kasole’s book.
It starts with the Seeker, Maylyn Nikatasic, who discovered his fate on his twenty-first birthday through a series of signs from the gods. They were as follows: dreams which told of things yet to come, a sporadic restlessness, and the greatest of all, the appearence of the Amulet.
By all these things, Mayli knew he was the Seeker, whose destined task was to find the Guardians and discover the Heir, who would unite their country into one and defend them against the great evil.
How could she have forgotten what this damn book was talking about the last time she set it down?
Seekers and Heirs and Guardians--
I am the Protector. And you’re the Seeker.
Dreams . . . which told of things yet to come . . .
From the moment I was formed in my mother’s womb, I have been waiting for you.
You are the Seeker. All you need to do is admit it.
“Stop it!”
Durnan looked up from his book, and his eyes were much too knowing.
She pointed at him. “Shut up.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“But you were going to.”
He smiled at her, and she shrieked aloud and stomped into her room.
She stood in the shadows. With every swift, shallow breath, she could feel the diaphanous silk veils shift and slide against her skin. Her mouth twisted as she surveyed the drunken, rowdy fools she would perform for. The nobility, she thought sarcastically.
Men. Peasant or lord, they were all alike.
Her signal was given, and she stepped into the light. So smoothly did she move that the chains of tiny bells around her wrists and ankles never made a sound. The veils draped around her body stirred and floated along after her, like so many multicolored clouds. In her wake, she left stunned, libidinous silence.
She knew what she looked like in the costume of veils. They draped and flowed, thin and delicate as whispers. But the various layers piled, one on top of the other, until no hint of her flesh could be discerned. Even her face and hair were covered. The only thing left bare was her hands, her feet, and her eyes.
That would soon change.
She held her position in the center of the room for a single moment, until the silence was total. A deep-voiced drum set the beat as one arm lifted to arch gracefully over her head. The veil that had covered it slid down to reveal the ivory-white flesh.
With deceptive slowness, she brought her arm down. On the way, nimble fingers swept the veil away and pulled the confining net off her hair. It spilled out and down to the soft jingle of her wrist bells, a cloud of silk that caressed her body nearly to the knees, and a hiss of appreciation went through the crowd.
On the next beat, she twirled in place, and then both arms were bare, their concealing veils floating to the ground. The murmur that greeted this was a bit louder.
With one light leap, she was airborne and another veil was drifting away. Some moron cheered.
Spin--dip--twist--all on the beat, every movement producing music from her wrists and ankles. By this time, she was halfway through the layers, and flashes of skin were beginning to be revealed with every motion--the sleekness of a thigh, the flatness of her pale belly, the graceful curve of her back--only to be covered up as veils shifted around her moving body. The glimpses became more frequent as more veils slid to the floor.
The first time she had performed this dance, she had slipped on one, falling, and had been beaten so badly by the brothel keeper that she hadn’t been able to work for a week.
Now she avoided them almost without conscious thought, as she kept the increasingly swift beat and cast bold-eyed looks at her audience, now shouting obscene invitations.
Fools, she thought, spinning lightly on one foot and casting away another veil. So easily lead around by their cocks.
Then her gaze met a cold, dark one, so unlike the hot looks from everyone else. A jolt went through her. Here was a rarity, one who would control his lusts, rather then the other way around.
She stepped a bit closer to him, directing the next veil she stripped away into his lap. A mighty shout went up as one full breast was revealed. The man smiled, slowly, and tipped his goblet to her.
Oh, yes. Here was power.
She knew well how to tempt. A swift, hot look--a lithe, sensuous motion--no more, really, then what she had been doing, but aimed in a specific direction now.
By the time she had stripped off all but two veils, the shouting had grown to a steady roar, nearly drowning out the throbbing beat of the drum. It didn’t matter. She could do this in her sleep--the accelerating drumbeat was only there for the erotic effect.
Her hair swirled around her as if trying and failing to keep up with the increasingly frenzied motions of her body. One overly bold watcher put out a hand as if to catch hold of it, but the tips flicked through his fingers with a quick movement of her head.
With a single thunderous final beat, the drum ceased, and she stopped dead in the center of the room, her arms lifted and crossed at the wrists, her head thrown back, and her back arched. Her hair settled softly down her back, and two veils drifted from her hands to the floor.
There was a moment of dead silence, and then an explosion of cheers.
She opened her eyes and looked directly into the gaze of the man she had been tempting for the last half of the dance.
He waited until the cheers died away, and then held out a hand.
“No!”
Kylara sat straight up in bed, gasping desperately for breath. Her heart was beating in her throat, throbbing so hard she thought it would surely burst through the skin and land in her lap.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force away the grimy darkness that seemed to have settled in her mind from the dream.
Dreams of things yet to come . . .
“No,” she said aloud. Her voice wobbled, and she dropped her head into her hands.
She could deny it no longer. This dream, and all the ones before--the running boy, the two children--were not simply dreams. The details, as sharp and clear as if they had been etched in crystal, were proof enough of that. And the memories that came with them--the thoughts. It was as if, when dreaming these dreams, she was sharing a body, or a mind, with another person. She knew their thoughts and memories, yet the rest of her could sense things they couldn’t.
Like the evil that had surrounded the cold-eyed man . . .
Kylara shuddered, a movement that went all the way to her bones. How could the woman have danced for him without knowing? How could you not sense it? It had been so strong that Kylara had almost been able to see it, coiling out from him and wrapping the woman like another veil, this one dark as blackest midnight.
Her stomach was still churning.
Kylara didn’t like to admit to anyone, even herself, when she was scared. But she was forced to admit it now. Hell, scared didn’t even cover it.
After an eon, her breathing slowed and her heart finally resumed its normal spot in her chest. She lifted her head and pushed shaky fingers through her sweat-damp hair. Clambering out of bed, she tugged the blanket around her shoulders and went out into the outer room.
It was empty.
Kylara stood staring at the spot in the corner where Durnan normally slept. Now there was only a blanket, crumpled on the floor.
He’ll be back.
She didn’t know why she was so sure. This only proved what she’d half-thought all along--that he could have walked out of her life at any time. She had never chained him to a wall or locked the doors at night. The window was right there, and he was certainly resourceful enough to make his own way out of it and into freedom.
He had only stayed because he believed so fiercely in the Guardians, and what the Seer had said. Because he believed in her.
The Seeker.
She crossed the room and stepped up on the chair. From there, it was another step up to the table, and then a tiny one to the narrow windowsill.
She took the blanket from her shoulders and slung it up and around so that about half landed on the flat roof. Flipping the rest of it up, she grabbed the slightly raised edge of the roof and pulled herself up. An economical swing of her leg, and she was on the roof.
She couldn’t remember the first time her father had taken her up on a roof. Knowing him, it had probably been just after her mother had died, and Kylara had been strapped to his back and gumming on his hair. Her first memories of lying like this, staring up at the incredible expanse of the night sky with its millions and millions of glittering inhabitants, were laced with a feeling that this had always been.
He’d liked it, her father had told her, because it reminded him that he wasn’t the most important person in all the world. He wasn’t a sun or a moon--just a little no-account star off to one side. Let someone other then Grackin Marzen be mentioned in the history books. He was content to live his life as he liked, a minor star that wasn’t even part of a constellation.
And up until now, that had been Kylara’s life as well.
She grimaced up into the velvet black sky. “Well, Da,” she whispered to it, “guess I’ve lost that, haven’t I?” She thought for a moment. “Did I ever have it? Or was that old bitch Fate just waiting to drop this on me when I least expected it?” Her mouth twisted. “Probably the second.”
The night arched above her, soaring straight up beyond infinity. The night sounds of the city were muted and distant. Kylara felt as if she were all alone--just her and the incredible emptiness that surrounded her.
Slowly, slowly, her muscles relaxed as the tranquility drew the tension out and away. The roiling emotions that she had been living with these past days dissipated along with it, leaving her limp and peaceful.
She couldn’t say how much later it was that she heard the hesitant step on the other side of the roof. She opened her eyes once, then closed them again.
The steps continued, drawing closer. When they were only a few feet away, she spoke. “Where did you go?”
They stopped.
Durnan said, “I had to get something.”
She opened her eyes and sat up, drawing the blanket around her shoulders again. He stood before her, not nervous or shifting, but serene as the night that had so comforted her. From his hand dangled a glinting chain, and from the chain hung--
“You were awfully confident, weren’t you,” she said, looking at the Amulet.
He half shrugged.
She turned her head away and looked out over the rooftops. “You win. I’ll be your Seeker.”
“Not mine.” Durnan’s voice was gravelly. “Only mine as I am your Protector.”
She tilted her head back to stare him in the face. For once, his hair was out of his eyes, and his eyes were--oh damn--kind.
He knelt and slipped the chain over her head, letting go of the Amulet so it dropped down to thump against her breastbone, inside the blanket and against her shirt.
She retrieved and held it in her hand. It felt warm--probably from his body heat. She could see the stone at the very bottom change. The starlight leached everything of color, casting the world in shades of gray, but she was willing to bet that once she got some good light on it, the stone would be red instead of blue.
“I didn’t ask for this, you know,” she said, still looking at the Amulet. “None of it.”
Still kneeling, he lifted a gentle hand to her wild hair. “I know,” he said. The warmth of his hand was somehow as comforting as the night. “I’m sorry.”
She dropped the Amulet back into her shirt and straightened up. “The first thing we’re going to do,” she said, “is get your sister.”
Chapter Nine Part One
The coins clinked against each other as Pedlar counted them into a bag. “Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, and one, two, three, four, five.” He drew the strings tight, knotted them, and handed it to Kylara. “There it is.”
Kylara bounced her hand once or twice, feeling the unaccustomed heft of the bag. In the pouch at her waist was an amount that would double this, making it possible for them to finally buy Elayza. “Thank you for this, Pedlar,” she said gratefully. “You don’t know what this means.”
Pedlar glanced around the shop at the two other customers, then reached out and took her arm. Leaning on the counter, he beckoned her closer and dropped his voice. “That’s a lot of money, Kylara. Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“Trouble? No, I’m not in trouble.” I just have to find five Guardians and one Heir and then somehow dethrone the Regent . . . oh, no trouble at all.
“Are you sure?” her friend persisted. “Did you--buy something . . . or borrow money . . . and you don’t have enough . . .”
Kylara blinked when she realized that the strange note in his voice was deep concern. She tried to give him a reassuring smile. “No, it’s nothing like that.”
His round, wrinkled face was frustrated. “But what would you need so much money for, girl?”
“It’s a long story, believe me. I’ll tell you some other time.” She cast a glance at the clock tower, which she could see outside Pedlar’s window. She had ten minutes of her lunch break left. Even if they ran, they might be late getting back to Bladen’s.
She tried to step back, but Pedlar’s grip on her arm detained her. “If there is something wrong,” he said, “anything--you know you’re not alone, don’t you?”
“Of course I know that.” She cast another glance at the clock. “Pedlar, I’ve really got to go.”
He let go of her reluctantly, and she paused long enough to give him one last bit of reassurance. “Honestly, Pedlar, everything’s perfectly fine. I don’t need the money because I’m in trouble, I promise.”
Durnan said from the top of the stairs, “Mistress, the time--”
She cast him a quick glance. “I know, I know. Bye, Pedlar!” she called over her shoulder, scrambling down the stairs.
On the street, she broke into a full-out run, dodging other pedestrians, leaping over obstructions, and leaving a trail of exclamations and curses behind her. She was halfway back before she suddenly skidded to a stop.
Now why did I--she started to ask herself, then forgot it.
Durnan was no longer at her side.
“Oh, shit,” she said out loud, and pivoted. She didn’t realize until later that she’d known exactly where to look. Down the street, nearly at the corner, she could see a little clump of green-clad Regent’s Guards, and then a flash of dull brown in their midst. “Oh shit.”
She sprang into a full run from a standing start, shouting, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Durnan was backed up against the wall, hands held protectively in front of his face. The guards, all of whom outweighed him by fifty to a hundred pounds, formed a harsh, shouting semicircle around him. Kylara dove at the nearest guard.
“What are you doing, dammit? What the hell are you doing?” Fight back, would you, Durnan? Fight back, for the love of the gods!
I can’t. Do you know what they’d do to me if I did? What they’d do to us? I can’t!
The guard swung on her. On his shoulder, the dull brass acorn of a sergeant glinted. “Don’t interfere, boy--we’re doing the Regent’s work.”
“Is it the regent’s work to beat up an innocent man?” she shouted furiously.
“He was running away from us!”
“He was running to keep up with me!”
“Are you his master?”
“His mistress, yes. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. Let him go.”
“Hold, lads,” the guard sergeant said idly. “And what were you in such a hurry about?”
“I’m late for work,” she snarled. “Later, now thanks to you.”
“Where would the likes of you work?”
“Bladen’s, over on the next street.” Over their head, the clock tower began to bong out the fifteen-minute mark in a deep voice. Kylara put her hands on her hips. “And now we really are late, thanks to you.”
“I think we’d better make sure you’re telling the truth,” the guard sergeant said.
“What?” She couldn’t believe it. “Why would I lie?”
“A woman would lie about anything--it’s a well-known fact. Come on now.” He caught her arm and started to walk down the street, dragging her along.
“Wait--wait!” she cried out, digging in her heels. “I haven’t done anything! Durnan hasn’t done anything!”
“We don’t know that, now do we?”
Kylara twisted around to see Durnan being dragged along in the same manner. “Gods, we can walk by ourselves, you know.”
The sergeant’s bruising grip didn’t let up even when he was banging at the door of Bladen’s Scribing. “Open up, by order of the Regent’s Guards!”
It was Master Bladen himself who opened the door, and the pinched look on his face got even more pinched when he saw his scribe and his doorkeeper surrounded by six burly Regent’s Guards. “What is the meaning of this?”
The sergeant thrust Kylara forward, and she nearly stumbled. “Does this girl work here?”
His hard eyes narrowed. “Yes. What has she done?”
“Nothing--” Kylara started furiously.
“Her slave was running away from us.”
“Durnan was running to keep up with me,” Kylara repeated loudly. “Master Bladen, we were trying not to be late,” she appealed to her boss. “That was all it was.”
“She does work here?”
“Yes.”
“See?” Kylara yanked her arm out of the sergeant’s grip. She was going to have bruises, dammit. “We didn’t do anything.”
Master Bladen didn’t look at her. “I’ll take care of it, officers. You can let the slave go as well.”
The door closed behind the guardsmen, and Kylara started to say, “Thank you for--”
“Into my office,” her boss said sharply.
Her smile wobbled and dimmed. There was a note in his voice she didn’t like. Around them, the customers and a few of the scribes were watching with dismayed, furtive, or just plain avid eyes.
Durnan started to follow them, and Master Bladen said, “Stay here, slave. You need to answer the door.”
Kylara paused. “Are you all right?” she asked in an undertone. “Did they hit you?”
“I am well, mistress,” he said formally, looking at the floor.
From his office, Master Bladen shouted, “Marzen!”
Durnan’s eyes flicked up, urgency in them. “Go,” he mouthed.
She went.
Chapter Nine Part Two
No sooner had the door clicked closed behind Kylara then her boss swung on her. “In the name of the gods, Marzen, the Regent’s Guards!”
“I didn’t do anything--”
“I’ve worked hard to build up the reputation of my company,” Master Bladen was ranting, “and thanks to you--”
“But I didn’t--”
“I took a risk hiring you in the first place. I should have known better. I want you out of here, Marzen. Today.”
Kylara couldn’t quite believe her ears. “Are you--firing me?”
“Did you honestly think I’d keep you on after this?”
“I’ve told you and told you--I didn’t do anything. They latched onto Durnan because he was running to keep up with me, and then they--”
“It doesn’t matter. What must the customers think?”
Kylara was gaping. “I’ve worked here for five years! I have the neatest hand in the building! Dammit, I--I have regular customers!”
“You’re consistently late--”
“Twice! Twice I was late in the past year!”
“I’ve been getting complaints--”
“Once--”
“And that slave!”
“What about him?”
“Your behavior with him is utterly outrageous!”
“I have done nothing with Durnan. And even if I had, how is it your business?”
“It’s my business because you’re my employee. And you want to remain so, you’ll sell that slave right now. If you do so, I might consider letting you stay.”
Disbelief kick started fury. “I’m not selling him. We’re a package deal, Bladen. Take him or leave me.”
“If that’s the way you want it--you’re fired.”
She tossed the words in his face. “And how the hell can you condemn me for just being single and owning a male slave, when everyone knows you visit the brothels every week?”
For a moment she thought he was going to hit her. “Dammit, I told you to leave!”
“You owe me my pay!”
“What pay?”
“For a week and a half, and I’m not leaving until I get it.”
Snarling, her former boss ripped a key from his pocket and shoved it into the lock on the top drawer of his desk. Slapping every coin down on the surface with a hard click, he counted out a week and a half’s pay. He slammed the drawer and shoved it toward her. “There.”
Kylara didn’t lift her hand to take it. “Where’s the rest?”
“That’s all you’ll get from me, Marzen!”
Her voice was like steel, hard and cold and sharp. “We agreed on two and one extra an hour in exchange for Durnan minding the door.”
He’d forgotten that--she could see it on his face. His teeth came together with a snap. “He’s just a slave, Marzen.”
“He did good work--better than Rubus--and I expect payment.”
With a short, explosive curse, he counted out the rest of the money. “Take it and go.”
“Gladly. I wouldn’t step back into this pack of hypocrites for a million noskits.”
From the tightness of her lips as she strode from Master Bladen’s office, Durnan fully expected some kind of explosion, customers or no customers. But she stalked into her own tiny space without a word, not even slamming the door behind her.
Durnan followed her.
She was gathering her meager personal possessions. There wasn’t much--most of it belonged to Bladen’s. Only her pen case, the pens in it, her cloak, and her book were hers.
“Kylara?”
Her head came up, and the look in her eyes would have made a lesser man step back. But he held his ground.
“We’re fired, Durnan. Bladen wants us out of here three minutes ago.”
He kept silent. It wasn’t as if it came as a shock.
She laughed bitterly. “As least I got our pay out of the old skinflint.” She slapped a hand against the pouch at her side, hanging low with its weight. “Even yours.”
When they had made the journey through the gauntlet of eyes that was the waiting room and stepped out on the street, Durnan thought, Now she’ll go off.
But she only said, “Which way to Lady Mendet’s, Durnan?”
“Nob’s Hill,” he said. “The west end.”
She set off, her strides long and sure. The corners of her mouth were white.
Not good, he thought, catching up to walk at her side and unobtrusively guide her. He didn’t like this at all. This was not like Kylara.
He grew more concerned when they got deeper into Nob’s Hill. At one point, a nobleman’s entourage shoved them aside, sending her stumbling nearly into the street, and she only waited until they’d gone past to step back on the sidewalk and continue on her way. Neither insult nor curse escaped her tight mouth. Never in his life would Durnan have been more grateful to hear even a muttered dammit.
He stopped worrying about Kylara for a moment when the door opened and Praxit stared frostily down at them. Durnan knew the other slave of old--a pompous, stiff-necked, snobbish creature who was not above a bit of careless brutality to other slaves, just because he could. He and Durnan had co-existed in a state of uneasy mutual hatred ever since he’d knocked Elayza down and Durnan had broken his nose for it. Their relationship had been a dance of tension ever since then, Praxit’s position as the highest slave in the house hierarchy versus Durnan’s position in the bed of their mistress. Durnan was almost positive that it had been Praxit who had allowed their master to discover them.
Praxit would not be any help to them.
If he recognized Durnan, he didn’t show any sign of it. “The tradesmen’s’ entrance is around the side,” he snapped, and tried to shut the door.
Kylara stuck her foot in the opening. “I’m here to see Lady Mendet on a matter of business.”
Apparently, the glint in her eye, like sunlight off a knife’s edge, got through to him. He hesitated for just a moment before he inquired with a sneer, “What is the nature of this business?”
“I wish to buy her slave, Elayza.”
Praxit’s eyes darted like a minnow to Durnan before they narrowed. “Elayza’s not for sale anymore.”
Kylara held up the pouch. “I can offer forty noskits for her.”
“She’s not for sale.”
“I can offer fifty!”
Praxit smiled coldly, and Durnan’s stomach twisted. It was the smile of a man about to kill a butterfly he already had trapped. “Bledsmith,” he said, “paid a hundred.”
The door slammed in their faces.
Kylara said sharply, “You’ve gone white. Who’s Bledsmith, Durnan?”
He was staring into space. “He keeps the most aristocratic brothel in the city. He’s been after Elayza for years.”
She caught his hand. “We’re not going to let him have her. You hear me? He’s not going to have her.”
“He already does.”
“Not for long. Do you trust me, Durnan?”
“With my life.”
At that, she smiled, a tight little humorless smile. “With more then your life. With your sister.”
Chapter Nine Part Three
Kylara had never seen the Whore Pits before. Her father had never taken her--there wasn’t much to steal--and the rest of her family had certainly never thought of it. It wasn’t much, she thought, glancing around. It looked like just another rather sleepy ghetto.
Bledsmith’s House of Joys was at the edge of it, closest to Nob Hill. It was three stories and sprawled out over half a block. If Kylara hadn’t known better, she would almost have said it was one of the nob houses; it was that fancy.
“Are you sure this is it?” she asked Durnan, staring up at it.
“Yes,” he said.
She drew in a deep breath. “All right.” A hundred noskits, she fretted. Great gods. A hundred. She had that much--just--but it would mean that rent and food would have be paid for some other way. Books were totally out of the picture.
She shot a quick glance at Durnan. His face was white, his jaw set. She could almost feel the tumult that must be inside him right now. Fear . . . hope . . . uncertainty.
But he trusted her. She could feel that too. He trusted her and believed in her with all his heart. She was the Seeker.
For a moment, doubts invaded her own body. Could she really pull this off? Not just retrieving Elayza . . . but all of it. Being the Seeker. Finding and bringing together a group of people who would then turn the entire order of her world upside-down. And then . . . putting together a kingdom again.
To cover her own uncertainty, she knocked so hard her knuckles stung.
The great oak door swung open, and the biggest creature she’d ever seen looked her up and down. “No,” he said, and shut the door.
Kylara’s brow furrowed. “No what?” She knocked again.
It swung open again. “I told you--no.”
She almost yelped when the door tried to close, because her foot was in the way. “No what?” she demanded.
“No openings.” With piggy little eyes and fleshy lips, he sneered openly at her ragged hair, her man’s clothes, and her angular body. “At least not for you.”
Kylara’s mouth fell open as she realized what he meant. “I’m not looking for a job.”
“Oh.” Gears churned sluggishly in the muscle-crowded brain. “None of the girls are available.”
“I’m not looking for a whore, either--at least, not to hire one. Are you Bledsmith?”
The creature blinked at her. “No.”
“I need to see Bledsmith.”
His beady eyes narrowed suspiciously. “About what?”
“About--” Inspiration struck. “Tell him Lady Mendet sent us about the slave he just bought from her.”
He looked from Kylara to Durnan and back again. “Lady Mendet?”
Kylara practically rolled her eyes. If Bledsmith was anything like his employee, she had the clear mental advantage. “Yes--Lady Mendet. Tell him now.”
The creature hesitated, obviously unsure of how to proceed. “Wait here,” he said, and lumbered away, leaving the door wide open in his wake.
After a moment, Kylara stepped inside. “Don’t worry,” she said over her shoulder. Durnan came in after her and closed the door.
They stood in what was obviously a lobby area. An acre of tiled floor, elaborately and richly patterned, spread from wall to gilt-trimmed wall. Those walls were painted with elaborate frescoes featuring . . .
Kylara looked away very quickly. To her consternation, she could feel heat crawling up over her face. She concentrated on the wide marble staircase that dominated the other end of the lobby. It led up to a second floor and then wrapped around and split into two as it went to the third floor, high above their heads. The effect was that most of the second floor was landing, and those damn frescoes were all over the walls up there too.
What did she expect? It was a whorehouse, gilt or no gilt.
Under her shirt, where it had been hanging quietly all day, the amulet suddenly throbbed hot against her skin. Startled, she yelped softly.
“What’s wrong?” Durnan’s voice said in her ear.
She flattened her hand just under her breasts, over the amulet. “I don’t know,” she said, frowning. “It got hot all of a sudden--” At a slight sound, she lifted her head to stare at the second-floor landing.
Far to the right side, nearly in the shadows, stood the cat-eyed girl.
Under her fingers, the amulet flared with heat. No pain accompanied it, strangely enough, although it surely should have burned her skin.
“Durnan,” Kylara breathed, catching at his fingers with her free hand.
He lifted his head, too, and drew in his breath sharply.
Even from here, she could see Elayza’s mouth shape her brother’s name. For a wild moment, Kylara wondered if they might just be able to run up the stairs, grab her, and hotfoot it out of the building. But then the sound of a door opening drew her attention away.
A hole had appeared in one of those frescoes, and Kylara realized that they were painted over doors as well as walls. Well, that cleared that little mystery up. Coming through it was a slim, small man, dressed in a long velvet coat over a dazzling white linen shirt. His face was small and sly, the eyes perpetually half-lidded and the thin mouth set in a knowing smile.
Kylara gave Durnan’s hand a quick, warning tug and stepped forward. “Bledsmith?” she inquired.
“I am,” he said in a voice like warmed oil, stopping several feet away and looking them over with a slight curl of his lip.
Kylara drew herself up, making the most of her definite height advantage. Some instinct told her that she needed all the leverage she could get. “Lady Mendet sent us. About E--the slave she sold you?”
“Yes?”
“She changed her mind. She wants her back.” Kylara held up her money pouch. “You’ll be repaid in full, of course.”
“Really. I had the impression she was quite satisfied with the transaction.”
“She changed her mind,” Kylara repeated. She could feel sweat spring up on the skin between her shoulder blades and trickle down her spine. If this didn’t work . . .
“Well, I find I’m not willing to give her up.” Bledsmith smiled thinly. “The girl is both skilled and quite beautiful--a valuable asset to a businessman such as myself. You understand.”
Unfortunately, she did. What better asset for a whorehouse then one of the whores who knew how to perform abortions and other medical operations? No need to call a healer; just have Elayza do it. Gods dammit. “Lady Mendet won’t be happy about this, you know,” Kylara said desperately.
“Well, I’m sorry, but I’m afraid this sale is final.”
Oh hell. Kylara went for broke--literally. “She’s added an extra ten noskits for your trouble, did I mention that?”
For the first time, Bledsmith became less than polite. “Even if you had more than double the price I paid in that bag, I wouldn’t sell her back.” The creature appeared behind him. “Now if you can’t find your own way out, Boxtas is quite willing to assist.”
“No, that’s all right.” Kylara stepped back. “You’ll hear about this from my lady,” she added, because she felt it was expected.
“Will I, indeed.”
There was no replying to that, and Kylara didn’t even try.
Just before she pivoted to walk out the door, she stole a quick look up to the second floor. Just as she’d expected, Elayza was gone.
Chapter Ten Part One
“Well that was pleasant,” Kylara muttered, kicking at a loose pavement stone.
Durnan looked up at the house that held his sister prisoner, and didn’t say anything.
“Well, if we can’t buy her . . .” Kylara lifted her head to stare at the wall of the House of Joys along with Durnan. She ran her hand over the smooth, almost glossy front and wrinkled her nose. “Doesn’t look good.” She strolled around the side, studying the alley between it and the house next door. “Definitely not good.” She ticked off the bad points on her fingers. “No handholds. No ledges in the design. No balconies.”
“Three stories,” Durnan murmured.
“Not good.”
“The house next door is only two stories, mistress.”
“I saw.” Kylara tilted her head and squinted up at it. “Possible,” she conceded. “If I stood on your shoulders. Or if I had a good grappling hook.”
“Now?”
They looked around. The neighborhood, as sleepy as it was at this time of day, still had open windows and sidewalk occupants. Kylara wrinkled her nose. “I like a busy street. And dark.”
“Besides,” she added as an afterthought. “We don’t know where her room is.” She tilted her head to one side, studying the building once again. “Hm,” she murmured. “Maybe.”
Durnan’s eyes went to her. “Maybe what?”
“I’ve got an actor friend who could help out.”
Durnan’s right brow lifted. Long walk to the theater district.
“Not so bad,” she said.
Durnan blinked. “Mistress?”
“The walk.” Kylara was already striding down the street.
Durnan’s eyes narrowed, and he thought very deliberately at her back, Mistress.
“Yeah?” she said over her shoulder. “Come on, we haven’t got all day.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Don’t be crazy, of course you did.”
“Not out loud.”
“Durnan--!” she said impatiently.
Do you often read minds, Kylara?
She spun, mouth open, and saw his face. Her shoulders sagged. “Son of a bitch,” she said mournfully. She slapped her hands on her hips. “And just when were you going to tell me about this little--” she struggled for a word “--side effect?”
He came towards her. Honestly, Kylara, I didn’t know about it. I don’t know if all the Guardians could do this or it’s just us.
She shuddered. “Talk out loud, would you? That’s creeping me out.” She spun on her heel and started walking towards the theater district.
“You didn’t seem to mind earlier,” he observed, catching up easily.
“Earlier?”
“When the guards got me.”
“That was--?”
“When you told me to fight? I never answered out loud.” He’d just realized it himself--evidence of how it could fool her, less introspective as she was.
She scowled. “I couldn’t tell the difference earlier.”
He paused before saying quietly, “And now that you can, it’s a problem?”
Her mouth went tight. “Do you blame me if I don’t like the idea of somebody getting in my head? Even you.”
He noted the Even you. “I don’t know that it’s so much my getting into your head as my hearing the thoughts you aim at me,” he said mildly. Can you hear this?
“Would you stop it!”
How about this? This time he allowed the thought to simply sit in the deeper portions of his mind, not pushing it out towards her.
No reaction.
He breathed a sigh of relief. The thought of Kylara being able to read his mind was at least as unsettling as thought of reading hers. Such a bond would be as intimate as sex.
His smile faded at that--why had his mind put it that way?--and he gave her a quick look to see if he’d perhaps been wrong. No--no reaction. She still looked disgruntled, but not shocked. “I don’t think you can read all my thoughts, mistress,” he said. “And I can’t read all yours.”
She shot him a sidelong glance. “Are you sure about that?”
“No,” he admitted. “Do you want me to read your mind?”
“No!” she exclaimed loudly. “I don’t want you in my head. I don’t want anyone in my head."
They trudged through the Whore Pits in silence for several minutes before Durnan added thoughtfully, You have to admit it gives us an advantage.
“Would you stop that!”
We might as well practice. Never know when you’ll need it.
I still don’t like it, she thought grumpily at him.
She had at least stopped muttering to herself by the time they reached the outer fringes of the theater district. Durnan was glad of that. She might have been speaking sotto voce, but he’d had an absolutely clear hearing of every word.
This was definitely going to take some getting used to.
He spent some idle time, after she’d fallen silent, in wondering if there was some way to put a block up, so he wouldn’t “hear” her when she was in a mood like this. It would be to her benefit to learn a technique for that, too. He spent some more time in working out whether or not Elayza and Kylara would be able to “hear” each other.
This little side effect, as Kylara had put it, had only emerged after she’d accepted her fate and put on the Amulet. Was it because she was wearing it? Would she be able to hear Elayza now? It seemed to fit, and yet--
“Mistress?”
“Yeah?”
“Could you hear Elayza’s thoughts? Back there?”
Her face lost its mulish cast and went thoughtful. “No. But--” She looked the little distance up at him. “I knew she was there.”
“You did?”
“I just looked up and she was standing there. I wasn’t even surprised. Remember? I had to get your attention.”
“I thought the amulet--”
“The amulet didn’t tell me where to look.” She frowned suddenly. “Does this mean I’ll be the only one to hear your thoughts?”
“How do you mean?”
“If you weren’t aware of her--”
He was silent.
“And you’re her brother. This is weird.” She glanced around and, seeing nobody, reached under her shirt. “Here,” she said, thrusting the amulet into his hands.
Durnan’s hands closed around it automatically, even as he said, “Kylara--what--”
“Think at me.”
When he just looked at her blankly, she made a high-pitched noise. “I want to know if it’s the amulet doing this, or if it came out of nowhere.”
“If it’s the amulet that’s doing this,” he pointed out, “my holding it will probably have the same effect as you wearing it.”
Her face fell. “Oh,” she said in an abashed voice.
But--I’m not the Seeker. This is the Seeker’s amulet, after all.
Her head came up in a flurry of blond. “I heard that!” she exclaimed. She was torn between excitement and disgruntlement.
“Hmm.” Durnan handed the amulet back to her, and she slung it back around her neck, tucking the amulet back under her shirt. “All that proved, mistress,” he said, “was that you can hear me whether or not you’re wearing it. The amulet still might have something to do with it.”
“I don’t like not knowing things,” she grumbled. “You do that all the time.”
He blinked at the apparent non sequiter. “Do what? Not know things?”
“No!” She imitated his voice. “Yes, mistress; no, mistress; and oh by the way mistress, you just did exactly what I wanted you to do.”
He felt his face heat. “I--don’t do it on purpose, mistress.”
She snorted. “Bullshit.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Jeez, don’t apologize. Most of the time, it’s what’s best for me anyway.” She scowled at him. “Why do you think I get so annoyed?”
He couldn’t find an answer to this. Ingrained habit towards his owners was warring with the reality of Kylara. She had never been close to a normal owner, and with being Protector to her Seeker, it turned all the rules of his existence upside-down. He would have to find some way of resolving all those things, or he would get dizzy being constantly turned in circles.
The clock tower in the middle of the city began to bong out the hour. Kylara looked up. “Crud--come on.”
“What is it, mistress?”
“One o’clock,” she said over her shoulder. “He’ll be getting ready for his matinee before long. Come on!”
Chapter Ten Part Two
Kylara gave the door a quick, perfunctory knock. “Calutte? It’s me.”
They stood in a narrow, dingy hallway. The walls, perhaps once white, were now a mottled shade of brownish-grey. No light seeped in through the grimy window at one end, and an acrid, pervasive smell made Durnan sneeze.
There was a thud behind the door, and an imperious voice rang out. “Go away! I have no need of you!”
Durnan shot Kylara a glance of patent disbelief. This is your friend? She just shook her head.
“Who are you, Lord Dameo?” she shouted through the door.
A long pause. This time, the voice was markedly different. “Yeah.”
“Nice, but kinda bombastic. C’mon, let us in!”
The door creaked open, and a thin, angular face appeared in the crack. “Bombastic? Really?”
She nodded.
“Damn. I was going for imperious.” The man shrugged and turned away from the still-open door, a tacit invitation to come in.
Kylara accepted it, strolling in with no evidence of discomfort. It was only one room, Durnan noted, closing the door and taking up a position beside it, with one small window, and populated by only a table with a mottled mirror and a low, unmade bed.
“Nice to see you, too, Calutte,” she commented, flopping down on the end of the bed and stretching her legs.
He had gone back to the table. “You got a slave,” he said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder.
“Aunt Aba,” Kylara said, as if that said it all. Maybe it did. “Calutte, meet Durnan.”
Durnan gave him a nod. He was reserving judgment.
It looked as if Calutte was, too, but for what reason, Durnan couldn’t guess. Perhaps it was because he was an actor, but Durnan couldn’t read him at all.
Are you sure about this? he thought at Kylara.
She made a face at him. It’s fine; don’t worry.
“I haven’t seen you since I was arrested,” Calutte said. “Are you still at Bladen’s?”
Kylara shrugged. “Ah, not anymore.”
“You finally quit?”
“No--he fired me.” Kylara gave a wobbly laugh. “Today, in fact.”
Calutte’s head came up, the mirror reflecting his concern. “Do you need money? I have some to spare.” Durnan’s judgment edged slightly towards the positive.
Kylara waved the offer aside. “Don’t worry about it--so do I.”
“Well, we always need more stage hands at the theatre.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. How’s the straight life treating you?”
Calutte shrugged. “Well, you know--it’s probably good for me--I’m getting more rest--”
“You’re bored stupid,” Kylara guessed.
The other man’s mouth twisted a little. “Perceptive as always. I’ve told you how annoying that is.”
“Mmm. Wanna have some fun?”
Calutte’s eyes slid around to study her in the mirror. “Depends. What’s the job?”
“Rescue the damsel from the dragon.”
“Who’s the damsel, and who’s the dragon?”
“The damsel is Durnan’s sister Elayza. The dragon? Bledsmith.”
This time, Calutte turned right around in his chair. “You want me to break out a whore?”
A whore? Durnan’s eyes narrowed.
Kylara said mildly, “She’s not a whore yet, and we’re going to keep it that way.”
Calutte studied Durnan. “Your sister.”
“Yes.”
“She a slave too?”
Durnan’s mouth tightened. “Yes.”
Robbery was less serious than kidnapping, although neither was a crime that the Regent’s Guards would overlook.
“Hmm.” Calutte glanced at Kylara. “I can’t get arrested again. They’ll do more than break my legs this time.”
“I know,” Kylara said. “I’ve worked it all out. No danger.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
“Not from me,” Kylara grinned. “You might even get some money out of it.”
Calutte’s long, thin fingers tapped on the table in a soft tattoo. “When?”
“As soon as possible.”
“Why should I?”
“Why not?” Kylara got to her feet. “Does the Troll’s Head still have their cook?”
“Yeah.”
She stretched. “I missed lunch. Stew sounds good. See you, Calutte.” Hands in her pockets, she strolled out the door.
“Will he do it, mistress?” Durnan asked her as they sat in the Troll’s Head, eating their stew. The theatre district was as sleepy as the Whore Pits this time of day, and they were the only people in the restaurant, besides the bartender, who wiped glasses behind the bar with the air of someone occupying themselves rather than finishing a job that needed to be done.
Kylara neatly plucked a miniscule chunk of beef from the stew and popped it in her mouth. “Probably.”
“But you just walked out.”
“Calutte’s the best man for the job. He can break people or things in or out of anywhere, any time, any way. But he won’t do the job unless he thinks it was his idea.”
In the depths of his mind, Durnan thought, Now that’s familiar.
Kylara gave him a suspicious look, and he blinked. Whatever she opened her mouth to say was destined to ignominy, however, because a shadow fell over their table, and she looked up.
“I’m in,” Calutte said.
Kylara’s face remained bland. “Tomorrow night?”
“That works.”
“I’ll come see you after the show.”
“Tell them you know me. They’ll let you in the show for free.”
“Thanks, but we’ve got other things to do. Break a leg.”
Calutte nodded and walked out of the restaurant.
“See?” Kylara grinned madly. “Completely his own idea.”
Durnan just shook his head. And she says I’m manipulative.
Hey, I heard that!
Chapter Ten Part Three
Kylara straightened up from her leaning position on the corner of a house. Durnan was coming towards her. “What did you find out?”
He had gone to talk to the servants at Bledsmith’s, pretending he was the slave of a nobleman who was interested in the rumors of a new whore at the House of Joys. Kylara would have gone herself, but she’d been afraid the creature might be around, and nobody noticed slaves around freemen.
Durnan told her, “It’ll be an auction tomorrow night--probably about ten or eleven o’clock.”
Kylara narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. “Auction--we can do auction. Did they say how much she might be going for?”
“Perhaps fifty--perhaps sixty.”
“That little?” Kylara asked half-idly. “With her looks, I would have thought--”
“She’s not a virgin, so the demand won’t be as great.”
Kylara’s mouth fell open. “Wait--back up--she’s not a virgin?” With a brother like Durnan . . .
Durnan’s face was hard and set. “There are some things I couldn’t protect her from, mistress.”
She shut her mouth. O-kay, touchy subject. Yeah--I’ll just not mention it. “Anything else?” she said instead.
He cleared his throat. “The auction is for her--her services for an hour only. There’ll be more throughout the night.”
So if he doesn’t win the first one--
Logically, Kylara knew this was a good thing for them. It gave them more chances. Durnan knew it too. But emotionally--
If someone managed to get to Elayza before Calutte, it would mean he’d failed. He just hates to admit that he can’t protect her from everything, Kylara thought. He really hates it that he can’t.
“It’s my duty,” Durnan said tautly, and she realized she’d forgotten to think deep in her head, and he’d heard. “It’s what I’m supposed to do.”
What could she say to that?
Kylara shoved her hands in her pockets and wrinkled her nose at the sky. “I think it’s going to rain soon,” she said inanely. “That’ll be nice to get some water around here.”
I hope not tomorrow night, his mind said.
She gave him a look out of the corner of her eye. This whole mind-reading thing, she thought, carefully deep. This was going to be strange. How could you get used to a thing like that?
Her own sparse skill at controlling her wayward mouth had been hard-won; how much harder would it be to control a wayward mind? Your thoughts were supposed to be totally your own, where you could be as vicious or as snotty or as crude or as silly as you wanted to be. Everyone had thoughts they didn’t want anyone else knowing about.
She sure as hell didn’t want Durnan knowing all her thoughts, especially those weird ones that came out of nowhere. How much she liked his hands, with their long narrow square-tipped fingers. How she liked his rare, involuntary, and rather surprised smiles, more with his dark eyes than with his mouth. How, even as it drove her crazy, she liked his bone-deep calm, the mere presence of it steadying her pendulum moods, and how much she got angry when something managed to disturb it, like this whole Bledsmith thing. How she liked how much Mistress Thulla’s cooking was filling him out, putting bulk to the previously ropy muscles of his shoulders and arms, and probably his chest too--
Kylara caught herself, and blushed. Then she scowled. She really hated blushing.
She glanced over to see Durnan studying her. Oh, gods, had he heard?
“Is something the matter, mistress?”
“No,” she said abruptly, shoving her hands deeper in her pockets. “Everything’s fine.”
He nodded a little and looked away. “Yes, mistress.”
Chapter Eleven Part One
The rain came that night, so by the next evening, the sky was clear and beautiful, and the temperature balmy. It was, Kylara decided, the perfect evening for larceny.
Dusk was just starting to fall as they left Mistress Thulla’s. The clock tower stood at a few minutes to nine-thirty, but Kylara wanted to get to the House of Joys with time to spare. Strolling down the street, she felt like dancing. There was something about starting out a job that set her blood to humming.
Durnan’s thoughts were darker than hers, more tense. He said nothing, as usual, but she could hear all the apprehensions and what-ifs circling his brain.
“Would you relax?” she told him as they crossed into the half-deserted market square. “It’ll be fine. Calutte’s the best. I know you’re still unhappy about that whore crack, but I’d trust him with my life.”
But we’re not trusting him with your life, we’re trusting him with my sister.
“I heard that, you know. Gods, Durnan, it’ll be fine. You have to learn to--”
Fear.
It hit her in a blind rush, stealing her breath. She stumbled and nearly fell, but Durnan was there to catch her. “Kylara? Kylara!”
“I--I--” Still supported by him, she looked up, heart in her throat. Distantly, as if through a long tunnel, there came the cries of a group of children.
“Mad boy, mad boy!”
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Run away, mad boy!”
Her breath was coming faster, sawing in and out of her lungs, as if she were running for her life.
“Throw another one!”
When the lone, fleeing figure sprawled full-length on the ground, Kylara tore away from Durnan and began to run, half-stumbling, towards the group of children. “Stop!” she called out in a raw voice. “Stop!”
"We don’t need you, mad boy! Why don’t you just leave?”
She mouthed the words she knew the boy was thinking. I would if I could. If there was somewhere that I wouldn’t be mad. “Protector!” she cried out as pain exploded in her head. “Stop them!”
Durnan caught up with her and was past her, shouting at the tormentors, “What are you doing? Stop it! Stop it now!” He flung the children aside to get to the huddled body on the ground.
They scattered with the instinct of bullies who know they’re outclassed. Kylara had to dodge some of them as she stumbled to Durnan’s side.
She fell to her knees beside the small figure, who had blood seeping through the mat of his dark hair. The voice in her head had fallen silent, and she said, “Durnan, is he--?”
Durnan brushed aside the hair at the boy’s neck--how could she be sure it was a boy? but she was--and tested the pulse. “I think he’s just out cold,” Durnan reported. “But that head wound--”
Her fear transformed itself swiftly into rage. “They were throwing rocks,” she spat. “The little brats were throwing rocks.”
“I know.” Durnan lifted his head. “But you knew first.”
She pulled out the amulet and looked at it. “I thought so,” she murmured, touching one of the stones, which was roiling red and blue and pouring out heat like a furnace. “I heard him. Durnan, he’s one of us.”
Durnan nodded, as if he’d been expecting that, and gathered up the angular little body. The boy was almost frighteningly fragile-looking, as if a wayward breath might break him into pieces. It seemed like a contradiction that anything that frail could have survived. “We should take him to Mistress Thulla. She can patch up his head and look after him until we come back tonight. Do you know his name?”
“No. He didn’t exactly mention it while he was running for his life. You mean you didn’t hear anything?”
He shook his head and stood with the new Guardian held high against his chest. The boy’s thin legs dangled, the bones at ankle and knee standing out in hunger-carved relief. “I only heard a little from you. Fear, mostly. I think this answers our question about the mind-reading.”
“Great,” she grumbled, standing. “Yet another perk of being the Seeker.” But she brushed a gentle hand over the tangled hair. They stood close together, heads bent to study the child between them.
“How old do you think he is?” Kylara asked. There was none of the soft baby roundness she would have expected from the boy’s size--instead, the bones of his face were sharp and prominent. But his brows and mouth were still delicate, and his nose was still short and slightly snub. “He looks about seven or eight to me.”
Durnan hefted him, and his eyes darkened. “He weighs less then a six-year-old.”
“We’ll have to fatten him up.”
They started walking. “What about his parents? What do we tell them?”
“When a kid looks like that, it’s a pretty sure thing that he doesn’t have any parents around that care enough to make a fuss.”
When Mistress Thulla saw them return, and then their burden, she exclaimed aloud. “Oh, dear gods, what happened?”
Kylara explained while Durnan carefully laid him on the pallet Mistress Thulla had prepared for Elayza. “If I ever see those little twerps again,” she gritted out at the end of it, clenching her fists, “I’m gonna--”
“He’s safe now,” Mistress Thulla soothed, touching the gash in the boy’s temple. “Can you go draw some water? And Durnan, before you change your shirt, could you get my scissors? I’m going to need to cut away some of this hair.”
Kylara went out back to the well and was soon back, lugging a full bucket. “He’ll be okay, right?” she asked, trying to pour the water into a shallow bowl without slopping too much. “I mean, that rock must have hit him pretty hard.”
“I think he’ll be fine. Head wounds usually look worse then they really are.” The healer carefully thumbed up the boy’s eyelids. “His pupils look all right. I’ll be right here in case anything goes wrong. You two should get going.”
Durnan had come back in another shirt, holding the bloodied one in his hand. “Mistress Thulla, do you--”
“I know some tricks for getting all that blood out. Don’t worry.” Mistress Thulla lifted her head at the sound of the clock tower, bonging out the time. “It’s quarter-to.”
“Gods, you’re right.” Kylara paused and touched the boy’s thin shoulder. “Sit tight, kid,” she whispered to their newest Guardian, “we’ll be back.”
Chapter Eleven Part Two
“What do you think? Curls?”
“Oh, in the name of the gods, put some color on her cheeks. She looks like a corpse.”
“I don’t know about that green--”
The newest Joy Girl sat silent in the midst of the hubbub, her eyes downcast as she was painted and primped for that night’s auction and the beginning of a life she would have never chosen. There was a mirror before her, but Elayza didn’t look up. She didn’t want to see what she’d become.
Her mind kept returning to yesterday, when she’d seen Durnan in the foyer. You tried, she told him silently. I don’t know why your new mistress was helping, but you tried.
Bledsmith had asked her about the two last night. He had seen her watching.
“I don’t know who the woman was, master,” she’d said, head bowed. That much, at least, was true. “The man was just another slave.” I’m sorry, Durnan. But there must have been some reason you didn’t mention it yourself.
“Why would your old mistress want you back?”
“Lady Mendet was a--whimsical mistress. She would do strange things.” Elayza didn’t think Lady Mendet had sent them at all. She’d been sold because the woman hated having her around since Durnan was gone. Elayza accepted that she had been worth nothing to Lady Mendet once her usefulness as a lever against her brother was gone.
But why did Durnan’s new mistress want her?
That question kept preying on her mind. Had Durnan perhaps recommended her? But if all she wanted was another slave, this was surely far too much trouble. No, it seemed as if the woman specifically wanted her, Elayza. It was so strange.
“Look up, girl,” one of the women working on her said, and when she did, the woman grabbed her chin in a painful grip and started painting her lips.
“D’you think Bledsmith will make her learn the dance?” one of the other women wanted to know. They were all talking as if she weren’t there. Elayza didn’t really care.
“What, Naia’s dance? Alyna can do it--not as well, but with practice--”
“Lucky Naia,” someone else said. “Not only a mistress, but whose mistress!”
“Well, she always did have her eye on the main chance,” said the woman painting Elayza’s face. “There now. Don’t touch it, you’ll smudge.”
“I’m glad she’s gone,” said one of the women who was curling Elayza’s hair. “Stuck-up tart.”
“I don’t blame her for grabbing the gold ring,” said the painting woman matter-of-factly, picking up a pot of kohl and telling Elayza, “Close your eyes.” When she obeyed, the other woman continued, “She told me once she’d been in the game since she was eleven.”
“Don’t put too much on, Suya,” another woman warned.
“We want to bring out these incredible eyes,” Suya said, drawing a careful line of kohl just above Elayza’s eyelashes. “Trust me--I know what I’m doing! As for Naia--well, looks don’t last forever, you know, not even hers, and gold does.”
“Until you spend it!”
“Naia’s cannier then that. You just watch, she’ll land on her pretty feet in clover every time. Caddisha, are you done with her hair?”
“One moment,” Caddisha said abstractedly. “It doesn’t like curls. She’ll have a job maintaining them all night. There.”
“Stand up,” and Elayza was yanked to her feet. She stood still while they unfastened the plain white sheet that had covered her during the makeup session. When it crumpled to the floor, leaving her nude and exposed, a long length of silky, diaphanous material was carefully wrapped around her body. It was folded and draped in such a way that revealed the lines of her body without letting anything actually show through, and fastened at her shoulder with two gold brooches set with emeralds.
“There,” Caddisha said in satisfaction. “All he has to do is unpin those and it’ll fall off.”
Elayza stared into space. She didn’t want to think about that.
Suya patted her shoulder. “You’ll get used to it. Some of the men are nice.” She tapped Elayza’s new gold collar with one long, painted fingernail. “If you get lucky, you’ll get someone who’ll want to buy you.”
“We all can’t be as lucky as Naia,” the absent woman’s detractor said cattily.
“Shut up, Bressis. This one needs to be ready in ten minutes and we haven’t even done her jewelry.”
Finally, bracelets clanking at her wrists and ankles and earrings clipped painfully to her lobes, Elayza was led from the room. Bledsmith was standing at the top of the stairs, and he turned. “Ready?” He surveyed Elayza narrowly, and she bowed her head. She didn’t want to look at him. She was afraid she would try to run if she did, and that would be suicide. Where could she go?
“She’ll do.” There was a little exhalation of relief from the women around her. “All you women can keep one extra noskit from tonight. Now go get dressed and mingle downstairs. There’s gold to be had in that crowd, and I want it all.” They scattered.
“Follow me,” he told her, and started down the stairs to the second floor.
Elayza followed numbly. She wanted her brother so badly she thought she was going to cry.
There was an enormous crowd filling the foyer of the House of Joys, teeming like a net full of fish. Shouts and laughter bounced off the high ceiling, and Elayza saw many of the other Joy Girls mingling in the crowd, giggling and smiling as if it were a holiday rather than a work night.
Which of these men, Elayza thought, standing displayed at the top of the stairs and looking out over the crowd, will be the first? She shook herself. Did it really matter?
She looked anyway, at blond heads and dark ones, plump bodies and lean ones, kind faces and cruel ones. Any one of them could--
Durnan?
She almost gasped the name aloud. Was it an illusion brought on by her own wretched mind, trying to deny reality?
But--no--there he was, tilting his dark head to listen to the blond woman by his side. His new mistress, she recognized after a moment. What on earth--? Were they going to bid for her? An escape attempt?
Her brother looked up then, directly at her, and gave her the tiniest of smiles. To anyone else, it would have been a mere softening of the harsh planes of his face. But Elayza knew better.
Her spirits rose, and she slanted a sideways look at Bledsmith, who was calling for silence. Don’t let him see. She bowed her head again.
His hand settled on the small of her back. To the crowd, it must have looked like a gallant gesture, but they didn’t see the hard pinch he gave her. “Lift your head and smile,” he murmured under his breath, smiling brightly. “Now.”
She obeyed, her eyes seeking out Durnan a second time. He didn’t notice at first, his face tense and his eyes narrowed considerably. He did have a plan!
Bledsmith raised a hand. “Gentlemen, I present to you--the newest Joy Girl, Elayza!”
Oh, no, I’m not. Elayza felt like laughing.
Her jubilation withered when the bidding started. Bids were shouted from all over the foyer, from every mouth except that of the dark-haired slave or his tall blond mistress. But--but--
Elayza stared at him as the bidding mounted, willing him to make some sign. What was going on?
Bidders began dropping out, thinning the herd, and still neither of them spoke. Were they perhaps saving it until the very last?
It was down to two now, a lean, dark-haired, plushy dressed nobleman and a plump, excitable blond aristocrat.
“Fifty-one!”
“Fifty-two.”
“Fifty-two and six!”
“Fifty-four.”
“Fifty-five!”
“Fifty-seven!”
“Sixty.”
There was a long pause, and Bledsmith said, “Sixty--going once--”
“Seventy!” the blond aristocrat fairly shrieked.
Bledsmith let the silence hang again, searching the room for another bid. Elayza stared at Durnan, whose face was unreadable.
“Seventy--going once--”
The lean, dark nobleman shrugged slightly and turned his attentions to the Joy Girl cuddling his arm.
“Seventy--going twice--”
Durnan turned his head to look at his mistress. Elayza’s eyes flicked to her as well. She was standing with her arms crossed over her chest. Her clear, clever eyes met Elayza’s directly.
“Seventy--sold!”
And against all reason, the tall blond woman winked.
Chapter Eleven Part Three
Below them, the party was still going on as Bledsmith led Elayza and her first customer to the finest room in the building. “There you are, sir,” he oiled, cuddling the seventy noskits that the plump young man had handed him. “Enjoy.”
The plump man gave a laugh, his bright, open face blank of anything beyond lust. “Oh, I will!” he said, giving her a lascivious look.
The door closed behind them, leaving them alone.
Elayza was still in a state of shock. What had happened? Why hadn’t Durnan done anything? It was almost worse that she had seen him in the crowd and had the hope, for just a moment--
She suddenly realized that her first customer was acting very strange.
The room was spaciously appointed, with a plush bed in the center, thick rugs on the floor, and a table spread with food and drink. He had picked up a wine jug and was studying it. “This will do,” he said, and set it down again.
Turning to Elayza, he started undoing the velvet sash around his waist. That, at least, was not unexpected. “Get out of that dress,” he said briskly. Elayza swallowed.
Then he pulled a boy’s tunic and a pair of pants from the depths of his jacket and tossed them to her. “And put those on.”
She almost dropped them in her amazement. “Wha--” Then she remembered that there were some men who preferred boys over women. He must have picked her for her slim build and short hair.
Her first customer, and he had to be a pervert.
“What are you waiting for?” he asked, taking a packet of something out of his tunic and dropping it on the table by the wine. A drug? Oh no.
She said in a shaky voice, “What are you going to do?”
He turned to look at her. Abruptly, she realized that the man before her was completely different then the man who’d bid for her. He was thinner, for one thing. The clothes had acted as padding, and now the silk tunic hung off his shoulders. But it was more then that. He stood differently, he spoke differently, and all traces of vacuity were gone from his eyes.
“My name is Calutte,” he said. “I’m an actor. Kylara and your brother sent me to break you out.”
This time she did drop the clothes. “Durnan?” she cried. “Durnan sent you?”
“Is that his name? Yeah. Get in the clothes.”
Her hands went to the brooches at her shoulders and then hesitated.
He made a disgusted sound. “You haven’t got a thing I haven’t seen before, believe me.” But he turned around and started doing something with the packet.
Her fingers fumbling with her excitement, Elayza undid the brooches, kicked away the tangle of silk, and scrambled into the clothes he’d handed her. Her heart was singing. She should have trusted in her brother--he always came through, always.
“Shoes,” he said, and tossed a pair of sandals over his shoulder.
They were the cheap slave sandals she was used to, a little big but not terribly so. She kicked off the flimsy, silly, tight shoes she’d been given. One sailed across the room from the force of her kick.
Calutte picked it and its mate up and thrust them both into his tunic. “Good job,” he said when he saw her fully dressed. “Save the jewelry. Kylara will want to fence it.”
“Kylara,” Elayza said, stuffing the hated bracelets and earrings in her pockets. “Is that Durnan’s new mistress?”
“Yeah.” He picked up the length of green silk. Handing her the brooches, he began folding it into a new pad for his belly. “You should wash off your face.”
She found a fingerbowl among the food. Dipping a napkin into the lemon-scented water, she scrubbed it over her face, joyfully smearing kohl and rouge onto the white linen. A few more swipes, and the silvery bottom of the fingerbowl assured her she was back to normal.
Calutte said, “Give me that--if they see it, they’ll know you washed off. We want them still looking for a whore, not a scrub-faced boy. And do something about that hair. It’s a dead giveaway.” He stuffed the makeup-stained napkin into his tunic and adjusted the fit, studying himself in the mirror with a critical eye. “All right, that’ll do.” He picked up the wine jug and dumped the contents over his head and shoulders.
Elayza ducked the flying drops. “What on earth--?”
Dripping wine, he began applying to his temple the contents of the packet, which turned out to be a red powder.
It turned into a smeary red ooze when it mixed with the wine and looked quite realistically like blood. “Your hair?” he said.
Obediently, she shoved her fingers through it, disordering the carefully arranged style until her hair hung in jumbled half-curls around her face. “What now?” she asked.
“Now? Get under the bed. And whatever happens, whatever I say, whatever anyone else says--don’t come out. Kylara and your brother will be along shortly.”
She dropped to the floor and scuttled under the bed, squirming and wiggling until she was hidden in the darkest corner.
The actor’s voice came to her from outside of her dusty cocoon. “Ready?”
She took a deep breath and coughed from the dust.
“None of that, either.”
“Ready,” she said, trying not to breathe through her nose.
“Good.”
There was a crash of pottery that made her jolt, and then a howl of pain, and a screamed, “Bitch!” The door was flung open, and Calutte began shouting out into the hallway, his tones rounded and aristocratic once more. “What sort of place are you running here, Bledsmith?”
After a few more moments, she heard Bledsmith’s voice, a little out of breath. “What seems to be the trouble, my lord?”
“Your new whore! She smashed me over the head with a wine jug and went out the window! Dammit, I demand my money back! Just look at my clothes!”
Bledsmith said, “She will be taken care of, my lord. Where did she go?”
“I told you, fool! Out the window! She might still be on the roof!”
From under the bed, Elayza saw Bledsmith’s sandal-shod feet scurrying across the room to the open window. She had to bury her face in her hands to keep herself from laughing. It was so delicious to be on the handle end of the whip for once!
“I don’t see her--but we shall find her and punish her, my lord! I promise!” Bledsmith was back across the room and out into the hall, shouting for the bouncers.
“What about my clothes?” Calutte was demanding. “Look at this! Ruined! Just ruined! The finest velvet! Imported lace!”
Their voices receded, Calutte’s carping and imperious, Bledsmith’s conciliatory.
Kylara and your brother will be along shortly.
Elayza bit her lip, clenching her hands. What if something happened? What if--
Footsteps.
She looked up and saw two pairs of sandaled feet, one with an ankle strap and one the slave style. She let out a soft gasp.
A face appeared, upside-down--the blond woman who had winked at her at the conclusion of the auction. She grinned openly. “Hey.”
Another face appeared, this one the one she’d been longing to see.
“Durnan!” She scrambled out from under the bed and threw her arms around her brother.
Chapter Eleven Part Four
They held each other tightly for a long minute before a voice intruded. "Hate to break this up," her brother's new mistress said, "but we really should get going."
Durnan let her go, reluctantly. "'Layza," he said, turning her to face the blond woman, "this is Kylara. She's the Seeker."
The Seeker? "You're--"
Kylara smiled and shrugged. There was the faintest suggestion of a flush on her face, as if she were embarassed.
"You found us," Elayza breathed. It was one thing to be told something all of your life, but it was quite another to see it coming true.
"To be more accurate, your brother found me," Kylara said. She waved it away. "We can talk this out at home." She went to the window and leaned out. "Found her yet?" she bellowed.
"Nothing," came a voice from outside.
"Bledsmith says keep looking! She can't have gone far! He says concentrate on the roofs!"
"Got it!"
Kylara closed the window. "That should keep them busy for awhile."
Elayza could feel her mouth hanging open. What on earth--?
"We'll be fine," Kylara told her. "The only tricky bit is going to be getting out of here."
"But--you told the searchers--"
"You know, it's a funny thing--if you act like you know what you're talking about, people tend to think you do." Kylara grinned at her. "You didn't think we were going out by the roof, did you?"
Actually, she had.
"Pfft. We're taking the stairs." Kylara crossed the room, stuck her head out the door and looked around. "All clear," she said cheerily. "Let's go."
Elayza lifted her face to her brother. "Durnan . . ." It was half a question, half a plea.
Kylara glanced back. "We'll be fine. Just keep your head down. Your hair pretty well covers your collar, but tug up your shirt anyway. If anyone recognizes anything, it'll be your eyes."
Elayza gave her brother one last wide-eyed look. But he gave her a reassuring smile and took her hand. "It'll be all right, 'Layza," he told her in an undertone. "Trust her. I do."
With a sigh, she pulled her shirt up and bent her head.
Kylara said over her shoulder, "And stroll."
Stroll?
It took a small eternity for them to amble across the second floor to the head of the stairs. One of the doors opened and two people came out--a Joy Girl and one of her customers. Elayza's hand tightened on Durnan's, but they didn't even look at her.
They started down the stairs at a snail's pace, it seemed. Elayza had to bite back a gasp when she looked down. Bledsmith was at the bottom of the stairs.
He was talking to Calutte, who was gesticulating wildly at his ruined clothing, and his back was to them. But if he should happen to turn around . . .
Elayza saw Kylara make some sort of movement with her hand, and Calutte's voice rose in pitch and indignation. "I had heard of this as the finest house in Yulte, but what a lie that turned out to be! I shall be sure and tell my close friend, the Duke of--"
"My lord, my lord, I must assure you that--"
They were nearly to the bottom of the stairs now, and Elayza's hand was so tight around her brother's that the knuckles ached.
"--not normal, not normal at all--"
"It certainly seemed normal for that little bitch--"
Elayza's sandal touched the tile of the first floor, and she hardly dared breathe. Bledsmith's ingratiating voice was as loud as thunder in her ears.
"A new girl, my lord, and unfortunately not as docile as I had thought--"
"Well, you should do a better job of--"
The foyer seemed as wide as a field, the door miles and miles away.
"There are always a few--"
"Haven't you ever heard of whippings?"
Kylara's hand closed around the doorknob. Any moment, Elayza expected a furious, "There she is!" to ring in her ears.
But it never came. Instead, slow and casual, they went through the door and out onto the street. The door clicked behind them.
Elayza let out her breath in an explosive rush. She wanted to run, to flee away from this house--
"Just keep walking," Kylara said quietly, waving at the searchers, who waved back. "We're not out of the woods yet. Don't break into a run. That's the worst thing you could do right now."
It was several more minutes before the roofs they passed were free of searchers. Kylara turned a corner then stopped and punched her fist into the air. "Yes!"
She spun on her heel and grabbed Durnan and Elayza's free hands, hoisting them into the air like a victory salute. "We did it!"
Durnan turned to Elayza. "Didn't I tell you? Trust her."
Elayza slumped against the wall, one hand over her pounding heart, gasping for breath. "I don't understand! I thought we were going to be caught any minute!"
Kylara slumped next to her, grinning madly. "I'm sorry I couldn't explain better in there. We just didn't have the time. The thing is, they weren't looking for you."
Elayza gaped--something she'd been doing with depressing regularity lately. "Of course they were!"
"Nuh-uh," Kylara said. "They were looking for a prostitute in a green silk dress and lots of jewelry, heavily made up. You are a scrub-faced boy, completely unadorned, in scruffy tunic and pants." She looked her over. "Hmm, they're kind of big on you, too."
"And that was enough?"
Kylara nodded. "Remember how I said that if you act like you know what you're doing, people will accept it? It's the same idea. Nobody ever thought of questioning me, and nobody ever thought that you might be dressed differently." She tapped her temple. "Their brainlessness is our gain."
"But--Bledsmith?"
Kylara let out a breath. "Yeah. I didn't expect that. But by the time I saw him, it was too late to find an alternate route. It would have caught attention if we'd suddenly spun around and dashed back up the stairs. Lucky Calutte is a good improviser."
Elayza began to laugh. "Are you sure you're not the Wily One?"
Kylara shook her head, grinning. "The Seeker. But I'll tell you what--if you're the Healer, we've got a job waiting for you at home." She propelled herself off the wall. "A little kid with a head wound. Mistress Thulla's probably looking over him just fine, but you might be able to speed up the healing process."
"Who is Mistress Thulla?" Elayza asked. "And where is home? And what is a child doing with a head wound?"
The rest of the walk was occupied with explanations of the past weeks. Elayza was fascinated--by the story, by Kylara, and by the difference in her brother. He, who was always so careful around his masters and mistresses, was speaking more openly to this new one then he had, sometimes, to Elayza. There was even the suggestion of a smile in his eyes as he added details or corrected mistakes in her gesture-filled narrative.
They stopped before a squat, two-story house of brown stone. Kylara made a grand gesture. "Home sweet home!" and Elayza smiled involuntarily.
Kylara pushed open the door, calling out, "Mistress Thulla? We're back, and we brought Elayza."
The woman who rose from her spot before the fire looked as if she might be the comfortable, reassuring sort, if not for the worry in her eyes. "Welcome back. Kylara--"
Kylara was looking around, her brows furrowed. "Where's the kid?"
Mistress Thulla let out a breath. "Well, that's just the thing, Kylara. I don't know how to tell you this, but--he's gone."
Chapter Twelve Part One
It was as if someone had punched her, square in the chest. "He's--what? That's impossible! I--I would have--" felt it, shouldn't I have felt it? Felt something?
"No, no!" Mistress Thulla exclaimed, reaching out. "He's not dead, Kylara!"
Kylara sat down hard at the table, one hand on her heart. "Phoo! Gods, don't ever do that to me again! I nearly had a heart attack!"
"But what happened?" Durnan questioned, coming in behind Elayza and closing the door behind him.
Mistress Thulla gave a helpless shrug. "He woke up about a half hour after you left the second time. I told him he was safe and with friends. I told him my name and I asked him his. He didn't say anything, so I went to get him some food--poor little thing looked half-starved. When I turned back around, the door was standing open and he was gone. I hadn't even heard him get up." She shook her head, puzzlement obvious. "And he never once said a word. It was a little odd. I wonder if he can talk."
"Maybe he's deaf," Kylara said.
But Mistress Thulla shook her head. "He reacted to the sound of my voice. If he's mute, it's not because he can't hear."
"Then I don't understand. Why did he run?"
"Who can say?"
Kylara's mind was working. "We have to find him again. How are we gonna do that?" She leapt to her feet to pace. "Where would he live? How would he live? How can you find a street kid with no parents?"
Durnan stepped forward. "Mistress--leave it for now."
She swung on him. "Leave it? Leave it?" she shouted, making Elayza jolt. "He's a little boy, he's hurt, and he's out there all alone and--and--dammit, and he's ours!"
Durnan's voice was calm and even. "He's been taking care of himself for awhile, from the looks of it. He wasn't hurt that badly, and Mistress Thulla patched him up anyway. Tomorrow is soon enough."
Her eyes narrowed. "Dammit, Durnan--"
"It's late," he continued as if she hadn't spoken. "Near midnight, by the moon. We won't be able to find anything out about our little Guardian tonight, and it's been a long day for all of us. We should get everything else sorted out right now. Then we can give this some thought once we've calmed down and get to work on it in the morning."
She stared at him, then closed her eyes. "Dammit," she said again, but mournfully. "Do you have to be right all the time?"
Durnan didn't answer that, but said instead, "'Layza, are you hungry?"
"Y-yes--"
"How about a bath first," Mistress Thulla put in, "then food? You'll feel better after you've washed."
"All right."
Kylara opened her eyes. "We'll get out of here, give you some privacy."
Elayza hadn't been expecting this, that was obvious. But she dropped her head and said, "All right," again.
Kylara took a candle and preceded Durnan up the stairs. Her rooms were neat and clean--she was almost used to it, now.
Three weeks, she thought, running her fingers through her hair. Doesn't sound like much.
There was a book on her trunk--Durnan had been reading it before they left today. He usually put them away, but for some reason, he'd left this one out. He crossed the room in a few strides and scooped it up to slide it into its spot on the shelf.
He never sits on the chair, even when I'm not using it, she thought, lighting the lamp. Isn't that funny? It must be a hell of a pain to sit on that low trunk but he never uses the chair.
Her eyes followed him thoughtfully as he crouched by the fire, unfolding his blankets for that night. He still sleeps on the floor. He never goes into my room except to clean it. He never touches me. He calls me by my name so rarely that it still comes as a surprise.
How could she have missed this?
Their relationship had never been a typical master/slave one from the start. She just didn't know how to do it. And the events of the past weeks had dissolved what little masterly attitude she'd ever had towards him.
But he--he was always very aware that he was her property.
Why?
They were bound together by fate-forged chains, stronger than any of iron. They would spend the rest of their lives close to each other. His sixth sense told him when she was in danger. She could hear his thoughts, and he hers. Between them was a kind of intimacy that went beyond anything either of them had ever experienced.
And yet . . . he still called her "mistress".
Kylara's mouth firmed, and she knelt and opened the trunk. She pulled old clothes and winter blankets out and dropped them on the floor beside her. At the bottom, where the clothes had been, lay a small brown bag of cheap material. It was too small to hold much of anything, really.
Slowly, thoughtfully, she picked it up and shook the contents out. An iron key fell into her palm. It was plain and a little rusty. It didn't look too important. She studied it for a moment and then her hand closed around it tightly.
Durnan said from behind her, "Mistress?"
She closed the trunk and set the clothes and blankets on top. "Can you come here for a moment?"
Silent and obedient, he crossed the room to stand before her. "Yes, mistress?"
She reached up and touched the heavy bronze collar around his neck with her unoccupied hand. Running her fingers around the circumference, she found the small keyhole and rotated the collar so it was at the front.
From this small distance, she had to look up a little way to look into his eyes. They were dark and wondering. She had to look away before she slid the key into the hole.
The lock within the collar unlatched with a reluctant click, She reached around and took the two halves, pulling them apart and off Durnan's neck. It was surprisingly heavy in her hand, and she thought of what it must have been like to wear one like it for twelve years straight, a perpetual reminder that someone else controlled you. She looked down at it. "I should have done this a long time ago," she said softly, clicking the two halves together again. "I'm sorry." She dropped the collar like a piece of trash, and it thudded to the floor. They both followed it with their eyes as it rolled for several feet before rattling to a rest against the fireplace where Durnan had slept.
He spoke. "Mis--"
"Kylara," she said. "Just--Kylara. From now on."
"Kylara," he said softly, lifting a hand to touch just the ends of her hair. "Why?"
"I--it was time. Long past time."
"I didn't think of it."
She looked up at him, deep into his eyes as if they held all the secret hurts of this complicated, gentle, fierce man. "I know. You wouldn't."
His head dropped, and for just a moment, she wondered if he was going to kiss her. But he just rested his cheek against hers, a contact so tentative that she half-thought she was imagining it. His hand drifted, feather light, from her hair down her arm. "Thank you," he whispered into her ear.
They stood like that for several moments, their bodies just bare millimeters apart. Apart from their cheeks, the only contact between them was her hand, lying lightly fisted on his chest, and his hand, lightly cupping her elbow. Kylara could hear his breath, soft in her ear, and feel the beat of his heart under her hand. She felt a drop of something warm land on the curve where shoulder met neck and slide down into the hollow of her throat, and her own eyes grew damp.
"You're free."
Chapter Twelve Part Two
"I come bearing clothes," Kylara intoned, poking her head through the small crack in the door. "Catch!"
More by instinct then by design, Elayza caught the bundle the other woman tossed her. She unfolded them and found them to be more boy's clothing, but closer to her size and in better condition then the others she'd been wearing. She dropped the towels she was wrapped in and started putting on the pants.
"Is it safe to come in?" Kylara was smiling.
"Perfectly safe; come on in," said the older woman.
Elayza pulled her newly-washed hair out of the neckline, feeling it drip a little on her shoulders. It had taken some scrubbing to get out whatever it was that Caddisha had put in her hair to hold the curl, but her hair was finally clean again.
Durnan came in after Kylara. "You look better, 'Layza," he told her, sitting down at the table.
She felt better--cleaner. Obviously, because she'd had a bath. But cleaner inside too. She was really away from that place.
Elayza frowned at her brother. There was something different--something she couldn't quite-- "Durnan! Your collar!"
His fingers drifted up to brush the naked skin of his throat. "Yes," he told her, a brilliant light in his eyes. "It's gone."
Elayza's head swiveled towards Kylara, spraying water from the ends of her hair. "You--"
"Long overdue," Kylara said, flopping into a chair and bouncing something in her hand that jingled. "Long long overdue."
Mistress Thulla smiled at that, a warm, approving smile. "Yes, it was. Would you like something to eat, Kylara?"
"In a minute. First--we have to get that gold piece of junk off your neck, Elayza."
Elayza's hands went to the elaborately etched gold collar Bledsmith had put around her neck when he'd bought her.
"Yep--that."
"But--the key?" Had they somehow contrived to steal the key from Bledsmith? Elayza wouldn't have put it past her.
"That's what these are for." Kylara held up the things she was jingling. "I'm going to pick it." She pointed to the floor in front of her chair. "This is the best spot for you to sit, probably."
Feeling as if she were moving in a dream, Elayza settled herself on the floor. Mistress Thulla put a bowl of stew in front of her, with a spoon.
Kylara separated her hair and pushed it over her shoulders. After a few moments, she said, "Son of a bitch! It's a five-pin!" In spite of the curse, she sounded rather pleased. "This is going to take awhile."
Something bumped against the back of Elayza's head, and she said, "Ow!" in surprise.
"Oh--sorry. That's just the amulet." Then she paused. "Durnan? Take a look at that." There were some clinking noise, and when Elayza twisted around to see what was going on, she saw a heavy gold amulet with a twisted chain being passed across the table.
"What is that?"
"It's the Seeker's Amulet. It's part of how I find new Guardians."
"The real Seeker's Amulet?"
"Well, I'm the real Seeker."
Durnan had been studying the Amulet closely. "That's odd."
"What is, Durnan?" Elayza asked.
"There's seven stones in that Amulet that change color in the presence of Guardians," Kylara explained. "That's how it helps me out. Each one to a particular Guardian, is my guess. But at the moment, only two of the stones are red. The other five are still blue."
"One for you, one for my brother--" Why not one for me? What if--
"Not exactly," Durnan said, passing the amulet back. "One of them is--shifting. The colors are flickering back and forth. The same thing happened when I first touched it, before I realized what it was."
"Oh, gods, you're right. I thought it was just the light."
The two looked across the table at each other, almost as if some silent communication was going on.
"Perhaps--"
"Maybe--"
"But--"
"It's worth a try."
"Yes."
Kylara looked down at Elayza, staring at them wide-eyed. "I think we got it," she said. "Here. Hold it for a moment." She held the Amulet out so it dangled before Elayza's face.
Just as they'd said, of the stones lining the edge, two of them were red, four were blue, and one was--shifting. Swirls of red and blue fought for precedence, the effect utterly eerie.
Elayza reached up for it, and the moment her fingers closed around it, the red pushed the blue out to the edges and then away entirely. The stone settled into a deep, rich ruby hue and began to glow, very gently, lighting the edges of her fingers.
Elayza gasped aloud, and Kylara laughed delightedly.
Ah-ha. Got it.
She dropped the Amulet. It landed with a clatter on the wood floorboards, but the newly-red stone continued to glow.
"What was that?" Had the amulet actually spoken to her?
"Nope. Did you hear something in your head?"
"Y-yes--"
"That was me. And that's the other thing the Amulet does."
"It lets you read minds?" Elayza's head was spinning with all the new information.
"Only the Guardians'. Here, pass it back."
Elayza hesitated before picking it up, but the Amulet behaved itself. Even the glow had died a little. Kylara didn't show any reluctance to slip the chain back over her neck, slipping the Amulet under her shirt so it wouldn't hit the back of Elayza's head again. "Your stew's getting cold. Aren't you hungry?"
She was ravenous, Elayza realized all of a sudden. Her stew was gone in only a few minutes, as Kylara patiently worked at the five-pin lock, humming under her breath. There was a click. "Out of practice," Kylara murmured, and the detested collar dropped into Elayza's lap.
Her hand went to her throat, much as Durnan's hand had, and she felt only skin for the first time in twelve years. It felt so strange . . . so . . .
Free.
With fingers that trembled, she picked up the collar and watched the way the light played off it. Just a thing, after all. Just a piece of metal.
Kylara said, lightly, "We'll fence that tomorrow. Might as well get some good out of it."
Elayza nodded, and then one of the words Kylara had used sank in. "Oh! Mistress Thulla--the jewelry--" They'd taken it out of her pockets while she'd had her bath, and she'd meant to give it to Kylara when she'd come down again.
"Jewelry?" Kylara said with interest.
Mistress Thulla brought the bracelets and earrings over, and Elayza said, getting to her feet to set the stew on the table, "They put it on me tonight--Calutte made me keep it. He said you'd want to fence it."
Kylara's face lit as she bent over the baubles. "Bless his larcenous little heart, he knows what I like." She brandished one of the earrings at her landlady. "Look! Rent!"
Mistress Thulla laughed. "You know I wouldn't--"
"You know I wouldn't," Kylara countered. "Especially with three of us here. It would be really stinky of me to take advantage of your generosity."
"But your job--"
"Well, that's why these are such a windfall. We can afford to keep looking for that little boy for a longer time, since I won't have to find a new job so quickly." Her eyes darkened, her jubilant mood sucked away. "Where is he?"
Durnan reached across the table to touch the back of her hand. "Most of the temples of Gzigas," he said, "take in orphans. It's part of their code of sanctuary. We can check there."
"And the street kids," Kylara said, her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "We can ask them."
"It'll be hard without a name," Elayza said.
"I know. That's why we have to get started right away." She sighed and put her chin in her hand. "I just don't understand why he ran."
"Maybe he was scared."
"But Mistress Thulla told him--"
"It was a strange place," Durnan said. "Someone he didn't know. It's hard for some people to feel safe."
Kylara sighed again and turned her head to look out the window. Her other hand toyed with the Amulet. "I just wish I could tell him--that he's safe with us." Her eyes looked far away. "Come back to us," she whispered to the unknown boy. "You belong to us."
The demons were back.
The boy turned onto his side, drawing his thin knees into his chest and pushing his head down into the tiny space created. But no amount of curling up could drive the voices out of his inner ears or the pictures out of his inner eyes.
Come back to us!
He whimpered, shivering.
You belong to us!
His mouth shaped a single soundless word. No no no no no . . . He didn't want to belong to the demons. He didn't care if he never belonged to anyone so long as he didn't belong to the demons.
He shut his eyes. But pictures invaded his mind, pictures he didn't understand. There was flaring pain in his temple, worse then when he'd been hit with the rock, and he felt his own blood slide down the side of his face. His eyelids showed him how it dripped, glittering red as rubies, into a silvery bowl with writhing carvings on it--
His eyes shot open, and his breathing sounded loud in his ears. The temple was silent and still. When he cautiously touched the side of his face, it was dry and unbloodied. When he touched his temple, it was still covered by the bandage the healer woman had put on it while he was asleep. No gash. No new pain.
Slowly, carefully, he closed his eyes.
A girl smiled coldly at him, her eyes hard as diamonds. She held the silvery bowl in her hands, gently caressing the carvings with one slim, delicate hand. It swam with blood, the heavy, thick smell clogging his nostrils even from here. There were herbs floating on top, horrid, and awful, for all the world like a macabre bowl of punch. Shall I drink too?
He shot straight up, his eyes wide open. The temple was still silent.
He couldn't close his eyes--if he did, the demons would come back to the insides of his eyelids. Carefully, he lay back down, curling on his side again like a turtle without a shell. He kept his eyes wide open, concentrating on the flickering light of one of the temple lamps.
The demons gibbered in his ears. Listen, Armeth, listenlistenlistenlisten . . .
No, I don't want to--I don't WANT to--
There will be blood . . . he craves blood.
Go away!
He stuffed his fist into his mouth to still the soft cries the pictures forced from his lips. If the priests knew his demons were back, they wouldn't let him sleep here anymore.
Slowly, the voices faded, and his lids drooped. The demons were gone for tonight, but even in sleep he stayed curled up, protection from the horrible forces within himself.
Chapter Twelve Part Three
"No," Durnan said.
"But why?" Elayza exclaimed. "If he's hurt--"
"He was well enough to get up and run away last night. Elayza, it's too soon."
"You're going to Godstown!" she argued. "What's so dangerous about Godstown?"
Kylara, sitting backwards on a chair, put in, "There is a temple to Hagra there, you know." Hagra was the goddess of whores and pimps, and her temple did very brisk business. There was a real risk that Elayza would run into Bledsmith or one of the Joy Girls in Godstown. "Seriously, I'm with Durnan on this one. For now you should probably lay low."
"Thank you," Durnan said to her, and to his sister, "See?"
Elayza sighed. "All right. Can you at least tell Father Junek I say hello?"
"Of course we will."
"Who's Father Junek?" Kylara asked when they were halfway down the street.
"He's a priest of Gzigas," Durnan said briefly. "Our father used to know him."
"And that's why you know so much about the code of sanctuary?" Kylara guessed.
"Yes."
"What if we can't find him at this temple? Where else could we look?"
"Father Junek's temple is too small to take in orphans permanently," Durnan explained, "but he allows street kids to sleep there a night or two if they need it. He knows practically all the orphans in the city."
His amusement was a gentle glow in his thoughts. "You're not too familiar with Godstown, are you?"
"The gods and I," said Kylara, "have a deal. I won't bother them; they don't bother me. I go to the festivals, of course--everyone goes to the festivals--but other then that I don't mess around with sacrifices and prayers. I haven't been to Godstown since the festival of Ricate. You never answered my question."
"There's about three or four other temples to Gzigas who have more permanent orphanages. The temple of Usabata does too, but that's a small one. They're more concerned with sick children." Usabata was the god of the healing arts. Mistress Thulla carried an icon of him in her medicine bag.
"And of course," Durnan continued, "all the temples take in novitiates for the priesthood. But I think we can count those out."
The sting of incense in the air told Kylara that they had come to the edge of Godstown. "Oh--right. He had hair. Very long, tangled hair, too." Novitiates were shorn bald until they went through the final ceremonies.
Kylara glanced around, interested despite herself in the goings-on of the temples. This time of the morning, there were few ceremonies going on. but people were going in and out of the entrances, heads covered for prayer. In the courtyard of a temple to Ricate, a small group of bald novitiates in green robes were ringing bells and playing harps and lutes to please the goddess of music. Under other conditions, Kylara would have stopped to listen, but she merely tossed a coin in the direction of the bowl at the novitiates' feet. She couldn't carry a tune if two people held up the ends for her, but she did like to listen. One of the novitiates, a former neighbor of her aunt's, waved but quickly returned to his playing.
The temple to Gzigas was on their left, the front lined with priests welcoming supplicants. Kylara looked at it curiously. It didn't look too small to hold an orphanage.
She didn't realize for a moment that they were passing. "Hey--Durnan--" where are we going?
He kept moving, steady as a river. It's on the next street.
But why don't we stop there and "just ask, even?"
Durnan's lips tightened, and he shook his head.
There was nothing concrete in his thoughts to tell her why , but she got the distinct sense he'd rather not go in that temple unless he absolutely had to.
She narrowed her eyes at the side of his head. I'll get it out of you somehow.
Right. You're going to command me to tell.
She blinked, opened her mouth, and closed it again. He gave her a sly sideways look.
A joke. He'd made a joke.
She grinned. I have other ways.
He didn't answer that, but his mouth curved a little.
The temple they stopped in front of was small. And dingy. It looked as if it hadn't seen the business end of a mop for a good chunk of years. She could well believe that this place didn't have enough room for an orphanage. It barely looked like it had enough room for the temple.
"Father Junek is old, and the temple doesn't make much in donations."
Kylara said, "Oh," and felt vaguely ashamed. Durnan's voice had been mild and matter-of-fact, but she felt rebuked anyway.
Another first. To go along with the joke.
She saw a green-robed priest step carefully out of the temple. He didn't shuffle, as she would have expected him to do, but he moved with the care of someone trying not to break something. Himself, maybe.
His voice, when he spoke, was unexpectedly melodious. "Will you come in from the cold, my children?"
Cold?
Durnan folded his hands and bowed from the waist. "My thanks, father."
He nudged her, and she performed a clumsy imitation of his more graceful bow. "My thanks," she echoed. The words were obviously part of a ritual, and she felt awkward and out-of-place saying them.
She felt even more awkward kneeling before the great statue. Why are we doing this?
Shh.
He can't hear me.
I can, and I'm trying to pray.
She shut up. It shouldn't have been a surprise to learn that Durnan was devout along with everything else. And it wasn't, really. It was just--this goddess?
After a few moments of quiet prayer, as Kylara confined her impatience to the quietest mental rumble she could manage, the old father struggled to a standing position. Durnan rose more easily, and Kylara practically bounded to her feet. "What we need--"
We're still in the sanctuary, Kylara.
What?
Just wait a moment.
Biting her tongue, she followed him mutely down the tunnel to the side of the statue and to the shabby little room, where they sat cross-legged on the floor. Before she could say a word, though, Durnan said, "Father Junek, this is Kylara Marzen."
Father Junek's old eyes went wide. "Your mistress? The Seeker?"
"Former mistress," Kylara corrected, then the rest of his words filtered through. "Wait. He told you about--" She turned to Durnan. "You told him about me? When?"
Durnan looked away, and her mouth fell open at what she heard from his mind. "Oh. Wait. It was here, wasn't it? You took the Amulet and you brought it here that one night, didn't you?"
"It's a place of sanctuary," he said. His face was as bland as oatmeal.
She started to laugh, falling backwards on her back. "And here I thought you threw it down a well or something! Oh gods!" She gave his hip a punch from her position on the floor. "You came all the way out here? "
He looked down at her impassively. "It was the safest place I could think of."
"Don't give me that look," she told him, and sat up. "You're not my slave anymore; you don't have to hide yourself." She shoved a hand through her hair and looked at Father Junek. "Yes, I'm the Seeker. Crazy, isn't it? We're looking for someone."
Father Junek was still blinking at the rapid turnarounds in the conversation. "Wait--just a moment, my child. You freed Durnan?"
"Well--yeah."
"And Elayza? Have you bought her yet?"
"We got her last night," Durnan said.
"We stole her," Kylara said brightly. "Father, this person we're looking for--"
"Another Guardian?"
"Yeah. He's a kid--skinny, with dark hair."
Father Junek had started shaking his head before she finished speaking. "My child, there are so many orphans who fit that description."
"He's about seven or eight, Father," Durnan put in. "Very thin--frail, almost. His hair's rather long and tangled."
"That doesn't narrow it down very much. Do you know his name?"
"No," Kylara grumbled, "that's what's making this such a bitch. Sorry," she added, for the swearing.
"No offense taken." Father Junek returned to the subject. "There really are so many children, especially in the last months. Isn't there anything else you could tell me about him?"
"He's hurt, a little. Since last night, he would have had a bandage around his head."
"He's hurt? Did you check at the temple of Usabata?"
"We're going there next."
"What happened to him?"
Kylara's fists clenched on her knees. "These little punks--they were chasing him around, yelling 'mad boy' and throwing rocks. And if I ever see any one of them again, I'll--"
"Mad boy?" Father Junek echoed. "Are you sure that's what they were saying?"
"Yeah. Why?"
Durnan's eyes sharpened. "Do you remember something, Father?"
"I might," Father Junek said slowly. "It threw me off at first, because you said seven or eight, and Armeth is at least ten."
"What?" Kylara burst out. "But he was so little!" Armeth, her mind echoed. It felt right. Armeth.
"He is very small for his age, and very thin, too. Actually, I'm not sure how old he is--but he was two or three when he appeared at the larger temple and he's been around for about eight years."
"Why were they calling him mad?"
"Because he is.
Chapter Twelve Part Four
Father Junek sighed. "I can see I've startled you. Let me start at the beginning.
"Armeth came to the other temple one rainy night about eight years ago, as I said. His parents dedicated him as a novitiate. He was terribly young--most novitiates are at least five, if not seven or eight. But the temple took him, because the numbers had been down. From the very beginning, he was a little strange. He would tell stories--such fantastic stories, of gods and kings and things like that. They were so odd they must have been made up, or read them somewhere, but he always insisted he'd dreamed them. The other children, and the priests started avoiding him."
Something had just penetrated Kylara's understanding. "He's a novitiate?"
"Was. He left, three years ago."
Rage sparked again. Didn't this kid ever get a break? "They kicked him out?"
"No," the priest said patiently. "He left. On his own. Perhaps they would have thrown him out eventually, but he took matters into his own hands."
"How has he lived since then?" Durnan asked, his voice as calm as ever. It really got on her nerves when he did that. "Did he go to another temple?"
"No--he's been in the streets. I don't really know how he lives--I've seen him begging and picking through trash. He'll take shelter in a temple if it's a rainy night, but he's always gone in the morning."
"Why won't anyone help him?" Kylara burst out. "You! You're sworn to give sanctuary--well, give it!"
For the first time, Father Junek's voice had an edge of frustration. "You don't understand, my daughter. He won't let anyone help him. He comes here once in awhile, and I try to feed him, try to persuade him to stay. He just looks through me, and is gone in the morning. He's like a wounded animal that will tear someone to shreds if they get too near."
A wounded animal--yes, I can see that frail little creature as a wounded animal. The question is how to get close enough to patch him up.
"And that's why you say he's mad?" Durnan prodded.
"That's something entirely different. The dreams are worse. He doesn't say anything about them, of course, but when he comes here, he wakes up five, six times a night. And in the daytime--he reacts to things nobody else sees, he replies to voices nobody else hears. He must be mad. What other explanation could there be?"
Something clicked. "Visions," Kylara breathed.
"What?" Both men blinked at her.
"Don't you get it?" She bounced to her feet. "Visions."
"My daughter," Father Junek objected, "I'm afraid that's impossible. True visions come about through ritual, and prayer, and fasting, and then only to the servants of the Seeing God--"
Kylara's brain was churning, throwing out electric-blue ideas that sizzled across the forefront of her mind. "That's just how the priests of Sabadar do it. They're not Guardians. There's something different about the way our Seer would do it--otherwise we could just go to one of Sabadar's temples and pick the best priest out of the bunch, and not have to deal with this little kid who runs away from us and everybody. If Durnan didn't have that little tickle in his brain when one of us was in danger, I could just go get a big bruiser with fists like ham hocks, and I wouldn't have to mess with a perpetually calm iceman who manipulates me like an abacus."
"If the Amulet reacted to anyone," Durnan added, "I could just pick a man off the street and not have to deal with a short-fused woman with a head like a brick and a mouth like a sailor."
She blinked at the unexpected sally, then broke out in a grin. "That was almost an insult! I'm so proud of you!" She turned to Father Junek, who was looking both bemused and apprehensive, and bowed as they had before entering the temple. "Thank you for your help. If you see Armeth, anywhere, or if he comes here for the night, or if you hear of a place he's holed up for a little bit, can you send a message to Mistress Thulla's house, on Yardeck?"
"Naturally, my daughter," Father Junek murmured.
"Good. Let's go, Durnan." She was already headed for the door.
Durnan said calmly, "I'll join you in a minute, Kylara."
She turned around in the doorway, eying him warily. He'd never said anything of the sort to her before, and it was a shock. "Why?"
He met her gaze with a little smile. "No reason."
Her eyes narrowed. I'll pick it out of your head.
He quirked a brow at her. No, you wouldn't.
She muttered to herself and went out into the sanctuary, where she spent some time standing before the great mother-statue, studying the round, apple-cheeked face with her head tilted to one side. Durnan's choice of worshipee had been bothering her, in a subconscious way, ever since he'd snapped at her that he was praying and she realized it wasn't just a show to go along with a friend of his father's.
It wasn't that she objected to Durnan's devotion. Every man had a right to his gods, after all, even if she didn't choose any of them for her own. It was just such a strange choice for the Protector, that was all. It didn't seem to fit Durnan at all, this woman who looked as if she was more likely to smother a mugger with kindness then throw him against a wall.
Why not Argolit, the god of warriors and battle? A goddess of mothers and children seemed a strange choice for Durnan to worship.
Kylara's eye wandered down across the goddess's pillowy bosom, the soft rounded torso and upper arms, to the wide sash that wound around her pregnant midsection. There was a knife in the sash, she noted absently, and continued down--
A knife?
Kylara's eyes flashed back to it, staring. This was no petty little eating knife, or kitchen knife. This was a full-size fighting knife--she could tell by the hilt and the size and shape of the sheath.
She looked up at the statue again, studying it more closely, and her sharper eyes saw things she'd missed before--the hint of strength under the folds and ripples of the cloth at her shoulders and arms, the steely glint at the back of her gentle stone eye, the firm set of her wide stone mouth.
Her father's voice rose in her head like a ghost, or a prophecy. Don't ever get between a mother and her children, Ky. A mother's worse then a mercenary. The mercenary might slit your throat, true, but the mother will simply tear you to pieces on the way to her children.
Gzigas--the goddess of those same mothers and children. In a way, she was a more logical object for the Protector's homage then someone like Argolit. Perhaps she would throw a mugger against a wall, after all.
She jumped about a foot when Durnan said behind her, "Mi--Kylara?"
He was eying her with puzzlement. Father Junek was nowhere to be seen.
She shook her head. "I'm all right," she said, and stepped back to allow him to kneel before his goddess.
He did so, after one long look at her that tried to penetrate her skull. She looked back at him, as innocently as she knew how. Probably too innocently, if it came to that, but he didn't try to penetrate further.
She looked up at the goddess while he prayed, and allowed herself a little smile.