Return to Alastair (5 page)

“I’m sorry,” Benn told her. “Please don’t worry so. You know better than I do the need he has for this.”

“I know. But he doesn’t even know what he’ll face. He may have a hundred enemies we aren’t even aware of.”

“Or a hundred friends.”

But she was not comforted. “Can you imagine anyone deliberately scalding a child? Father, why would they do such a thing? How could they?”

He shook his head. He had heard of such a practice years ago as a mob vengeance against violent criminals. But it would not help to tell her that. Tahn had been helpless in Alastair. A frightened little boy. He pulled her into his arms.

“Peace, daughter.”

Netta rested her head against her father’s shoulder. “Who would have thought the world could be so cruel? For all he’s lived through. And all we’ve lost.”

Benn nodded. “He has shared our grief,” he said quietly. “Our hearts are tied. Even if you refuse his hand, I would still give him the inheritance of a son, along with all the little ones. I know he would use it well.”

Netta stared at her father in surprise.

He smiled. “But you won’t refuse him, will you?”

Her eyes grew wide. “Has he talked to you?”

“No. Not yet.”

“Oh, Father.”

“Jarel is right about the obvious. And I thought you should know my heart. I don’t care so much anymore of the old ways. I don’t know a single son among the nobles I would want you with. They are all greedy men and wrapped up with themselves.”

Outside of Onath, Tahn and Lorne moved quickly. Smoke was pleased to be traveling again. The horse wanted to run, and Tahn let him have his head. Lorne on his red roan was behind, and after a while, Tahn thought it courtesy to slow down and let him catch up.

“Vari was right to say you’re well driven today,” Lorne said as soon as he was close enough to be heard.

Tahn reined Smoke to a stop. “I’ve never known such a quest before. How do you think I’ll manage it?”

“I couldn’t say, not knowing what we’ll find.”

“What was it like, when you went home again?”

The blond young man patted his horse’s neck. “My experience hardly parallels yours.”

“I know. I was there to see your face when you realized your father was selling you, even if it was to keep the rest of your family from starving. It must have been strange, going back, despite remembering them so well.”

“It
was
strange,” Lorne admitted with a sigh. “Frightening. I wasn’t sure they’d welcome me. Maybe they would think me a burden, or a shame to them. But you know how they honor me now.”

“You’ve been good to them.”

“You’ve been good to them too. And if we find your family, it will be the same.”

Tahn didn’t answer. He started Smoke at a walk again and looked deep into the trees ahead.

“Vari was disappointed not to be coming,” Lorne told him. “He’ll be worrying for you.”

“That’s just the trouble. He loves me too much to have the sense about him should we encounter any problems.”

Lorne frowned. “And you don’t think I love you?”

“You’ll keep your sense. That’s the important thing.” He glanced at his companion and then gave Smoke the liberty of some speed again.

There were many miles ahead of them. But Tahn would move through them quickly. He could push himself and his eager horse almost endlessly and was confident enough in Lorne to push him too.

He tossed the young man’s words about in his mind as they rode. If he found he had family, what would they think of him? Not that he was a burden. He’d never allow himself to be that. A shame? His heart pounded. That was much more likely. Even just, perhaps. Until he knew Jesus, there hadn’t been much about him that anyone could be comfortable with.

But you had your hand on me all along, didn’t you, Lord?
Tahn prayed.
Even when I was so lost, so angry, you put it in my heart to care about the little ones.

Tiarra stepped out into the street with a basket under her arm. The last of Martica’s painting things. The old woman had told her to go and sell them. She’d always held on to them before, thinking to work when she got well. But this morning she plainly said she’d never use them again.
She knows she’s dying. She knows it won’t be long.
The knowledge of it cast gloom over an already dreary world.

Tiarra walked rapidly but still hadn’t progressed past the third house before children began to make their way to her. Five of them, Tiarra noticed. Maybe even more soon.
Would God that they wouldn’t watch for me so!

“Miss Ti!” a little boy called. “Can you spare bread today?”

“Oh, Jori.” She shook her head. She rarely told them no, she so hated to see the despair in their little faces. But in truth, today she had no choice. “I’ve got nothing.”

She watched their faces register disappointment. Two of them began to turn away. “Wait a minute,” she told them. “Come here.”

They looked at her in question but quickly gathered themselves around her.

“I wish I could give you all a fine meal,” she told them. “I wish I had it for myself. But there’s not much left. I got Martica medicine just days past and thought to wait till I had pay tomorrow to buy the foodstuffs. But now I don’t know if I’ll ever see that pay or any other from Vale Sade. And I fear Martica worsens. She will die soon. So I’m about the same as you are now. Just a bit bigger is all.”

“Don’t be afraid, Miss Ti,” one of the children said. “We’ll help you.”

She smiled. “You would if you could, I know it. But don’t you worry. There’ll be something. I aim to speak to Mr. Sade. If I’ve lost my duties, there will be something else.”

“Not much work around here,” the biggest boy said. “I’ve tried. But girls can get on with Miss Mara, takin’ in men. They always get so bitter and mean, though, when they do that. I’d hate to see that happen to you.”

“So would I. And I’d never dare mention it near my mother’s grave.”

A girl named Jeramathe looked at her quizzically for a moment. “I heard tell a rumor of her once.”

Tiarra touched the little head. “Of my mother? Tell me.”

“I heard it that she was almost like a lady. With jewels and all. Is it really so?”

Tiarra sighed and looked at all their faces. They had no use for details. It was food they needed. And she would have to help them, whether it did her mother’s memory service or not. “Martica always spoke well of her. But I need to hurry on and sell these things so I can buy what Martica ordered me and go find Mr. Sade.” She squatted down to the eye level of the youngest. “I know the penalty for stealing. I know my mother never liked a thief. I’d much rather give to you. But we have no choice today. You’re far too thin as it is. Follow me to Market Street, and I’ll create a ruckus. Each of you grab no more than you can easily hide and be gone as quick as you can.”

None of the children said a word. They just looked at her with quiet respect. She’d spoken the truth. She really was one of them.

On her way home later that day, Tiarra’s mind was churning over her predicament. Vale Sade had sent her away, angry that she’d left her work unfinished. Martica would be displeased, to say the least. Tiarra had never really managed to suit the old woman. Martica had given up on teaching her to paint. One had to be born with the knack, she’d declared, which obviously wasn’t the case for Tiarra. But she didn’t seem to be blessed with her mother’s gentle finesse, either. All Martica had ever really acknowledged was that she had a temper and a good measure of foolishness to go with it. This would be just one more brick on that cart, and it wouldn’t set very well.

But at least she’d managed to sell Martica’s things and buy what she wanted without disobeying the command not to share it with the street children today.

Tiarra smiled at the thought of them all in the market, scurrying in different directions with their precious morsels of food. Every one of them had escaped with enough to take away the pains of hunger for a few more hours at least. And none of the vendors could be sure that the children even knew her. Maybe they figured the beggars had just taken advantage of an opportune moment.

She sighed, thinking about tomorrow for herself and for them. What would be next? It made such a tightness in her, as though her insides would burst for the pressure of it. It would have been a pleasure to scream at the world, would it have helped things at all.

She looked up at the spire of the nearby Cathedral of St. Thomas, and the anger rose in her fresh. Why should it be here, within sight of such despair? Why should it stand there so tall and stately as though God cared a mite for the world he’d created?

It was cloudy again and getting dark and cool earlier, now that autumn was upon them. God had made the seasons too, with the bitter punishing cold of winters that not everyone could survive. She shook her head and thought of Martica. Martica had always enjoyed the spring. But it seemed not likely that she would see another one.

Suddenly Tiarra sensed someone watching her. She looked up from her troubled thoughts and saw two young men standing beside the nearest building. They were not dressed well, but not in the rags of street children, either. As soon as they moved, with their eyes still on her, she knew they would approach her, and she knew their intention.

She wanted to fight them; she relished the idea of venting the fury inside her, but she started to run, knowing it was the wiser.

And they gave chase. She stayed easily ahead of them until a third man jumped into her path from a nearby building. She knew she couldn’t avoid them all now. She tried. She tried to turn and escape the new assailant’s grasping arms, but he caught her by the wrist. She could not pull away. So she twisted into him with all the force she could muster and knocked him off balance. Her bag fell to the dirt as both of them hit the ground. Tiarra used her temporary advantage to strike at him as hard as she could.

The first two men were almost upon them now. She might not be able to get away. They would likely overcome her. But she would make at least one of them suffer plenty for it. Cutthroats. Thieves. Men who would take what they could from a woman. This world was a sorry enough place already without the like of these. She was raging inside, wanting to hurt her attacker as badly as she could, knowing that they had done this before, would probably do it again, to people who could scarcely afford yet another something to endure.

The first two men grasped hold of her, trying to pull her off their friend, but it was no easy job. She fought like a thing possessed.

But one of them struck a blow to her head, and she faltered to one side. And the man who had been beneath her lunged forward and took her by the throat. “I’m gonna kill this one,” he sputtered. “The stinkin’—”

But one of the others shoved him. “Let’s get her out of the middle of the street first, fool, and lift her skirt.”

Tiarra screamed and struck at both of them, knocking one of them into the dirt again. But the third man was suddenly on top of her. She punched at him and screamed again, but he was a strong one and would not fall away easily.

She bit his arm as hard as she could and fought on. She could have bested one of them. Maybe even two. But the three of them were too much. Still, she wouldn’t give up, though she found herself with her back to the dirt, staring over at the tall spire of St. Thomas.