The Four Forges (53 page)

With a sigh, she let down her hair, brushing it out gently and trying not to notice the new graying strands before going to join her husband in bed.

 
 
He woke on fire, lying atop his bed, sheet twisted under him. His thighs, loins, and the flat of his belly ached even without a touch upon him, but he had been dreaming of eyes the color of many seas, and that alone soothed him enough to get any sleep at all. Sevryn rose and bathed quickly, standing at the bowl of water, watching the gray light slant through the window shutters. The only welt that did not burn was where she had accidentally touched him when they fell together, as though her hand had drawn out the poison. He looked down at his flank, at the scarring. He did not imagine it. Instead of the fiery red mark, part of the scar lay flat and white, healed cleanly. Who was she and what had she done to him?

Yet the need to be with her far exceeded his need for answers. He wanted simply to stand with her.

The obligations he must fulfill, however, to Lariel and her blood outweighed his own. He had seen her and her brother put aside their personal lives time and again in just that manner. As had he. Trouble was, he’d never regretted it before.

Perhaps sometime during the next few days, Lariel might need an escort to a fitting.

Perhaps.

The first shards of daylight struck Sevryn as he made his way across town toward the guild quarter, where the small bistro Azel mentioned reigned. Clouds parted momentarily, even as they built upon one another in great towers, edged in obsidian. The rich scent of defer, shaved from its blocks, and then boiled in frothing milk and spices rode on the heavily clouded day. He found a table with seats to the wall, angled oddly yet near a door, and sat after satisfying himself that Azel had not already arrived. A serving girl flitted near and off again as he shook his head. He sat and listened to faraway rumbling, his ears feeling more than hearing thunder from the distance as the storm moved in.

Azel entered after a few moments, his bulk moving with that eerie Vaelinarran grace, searched the room, and then spied Sevryn in the corner. It was like watching a bear lumber through a forest without cracking a twig or bending a branch. He crooked a finger at the girl before seating himself. “The defer here is one of the few good reasons to visit Calcort.”

“And others?”

Azel paused a very long time until the corner of his mouth twitched. “I’m thinking!”

Sevryn laughed with him.

The girl must have brought Azel other breakfasts before, because she brought not only two steaming mugs of defer but also a platter of breads and cheeses, and two hearty bowls of oat stew, a concoction of cooked oats, dried fruits, honey, and nuts. A small pitcher of butter-dotted cream came along with two spoons for the breakfast stew.

They ate in silence for moments, enjoying the fare, and avoiding the unpleasantness of the meeting Azel had called. He had nearly finished when Azel wiped his mouth and sat back in his chair, eyeing Sevryn. “I’m glad you came.”

“So far, I’m glad as well.” Sevryn drew his mug of defer close to his chest, dropping one hand below the tabletop, where he could draw his knives more easily as he listened. He watched the room and saw only a crowd of diners, scattered at the small tables throughout the room and spilling onto the street lane.

Azel cocked his head. “I’m sure Lariel will have your ears if I do not tell you why I’m here, so I’ll save them for you.” He tapped his heavy hand on the tabletop. “I’m going to propose three more libraries, at points throughout these provinces and the warlands to the east. It will take funding and sponsorship, and training of new copyists and scribes. While you may not see the political ramifications immediately, she will.” He gazed out over the room a moment, at the citizens breakfasting quietly, and going back and forth. “I intend to make them open to all.”

“Open?”

“Open,” repeated Azel firmly. “Anyone who can read may come in and read our copies.”

“Even the Vaelinar histories?”

“Especially the Vaelinar histories. It is time we leave behind ourselves as the Suldarran, the Lost, and move to join Kerith. It’s our home. We have to accept that.”

“Half your power is in the unknown, the mythology of being not of Kerith.”

“Yes.” Something glittered deep in Azel’s eyes. “A false influence, don’t you think? Knowledge is the truest power. And, there are other reasons which I will tell Lariel if she’ll grant me an audience, alone. Important reasons.”

“I’ll tell her.”

He nodded. “You drew me out, as well. I came to listen to folk stories and children’s rhymes, and I heard something disturbing on the streets.” He leaned forward, dropping into a melodious bass and sang quietly, “Four forges dire . . .”

Sevryn slapped his hand over Azel’s, shutting the man off. Azel continued smiling mildly at him despite that. “How did you know?”

A silvery flash illuminated the interior of the room for a moment as weather broke overhead, the long awaited storm.

“I didn’t. I came and listened, and that struck a chord in me. I don’t know why or who sent you to ferret that out, but I heard what you may not, could not. You were not raised Vaelinar, that much is obvious in every movement you make, nothing faulting you, but it blinds you to nuances that we can see.”

Thunder rumbled heavily. Chairs and tables pushed across the floor as occupants decided to leave, hurrying back to their proper places before rain pelted down and flooded the streets. The area grew crowded, even the corner, as diners milled about.

“It’s vital you understand,” Azel told him in a low voice. “The Elven Ways we’ve made lead to life, but—” Azel jerked as he stopped abruptly.

Sevryn was watching. He swore he was watching and yet he never saw the strike. Azel sucked his breath in sharply, with a guttural sound of pain, people moving about their table, bumping, even as lightning overhead struck and thunder crackled immediately upon its heels, shaking the whole building. The historian keeled over facefirst.

Sevryn leaped to his feet. He shoved away those closest just to get across the table, rolling Azel over. A dagger impaled his side, and Sevryn pulled it loose, the handle branded with an elaborate K. He pocketed it as he yelled for a healer and the guards. Azel breathed, heavily, painfully. His life bubbled on his lips as he tried to say something more to Sevryn, but he couldn’t catch it. He held the man in his arms.

“Keep breathing,” he told d’Stanthe. “Just keep breathing. It’ll get better. I promise,” with no way of knowing if he could keep that promise.

RAIN POURED DOWN amid the grumbling of thunder, washing away the grit of summer, but not cooling, each drop as hot as the season that bore it. Roofs shed the water in cascades. Lily hurried under the onslaught, her oil-slicked, wide-brimmed hat protecting her from most of it, but her shoes quickly becoming damp in spite of trying to jump and hop puddles. Having worked the orchard for most of her adult years, her good shoes were in an inside pocket of her cape, and these old shoes had seen many a splash and far worse. Everyone still on foot bustled by in a hurry, skirting eaves and gutters and puddling holes as well as they could. A carriage sat on the side street nearby, its driver and horses wet as if standing for a while. She unlocked her shop quickly. Adeena materialized almost on her heels with a smile as she shook out her wet kerchief and placed it on a hook to dry.

“My cousins will be here soon, Mistress Farbranch. They’re bringing samplers with them.”

“Good, good, but I’ve your word on them already. I’m sure they’ll work out.” Lily kicked her shoes off and toed them under a table, dropping her good, dry ones on the floor. She’d barely stepped into them when the two veiled ones stepped through the door, sprinkling rain off them like a fine mist, looking as if the downpour had merely kissed them with wetness. Or, perhaps they’d been sitting in the parked carriage, out of the weather. The taller one, in a rustle of fine silks, put her veil back. “I was in the quarter breakfasting and decided to stop by and see if you’ve received my yard goods yet.”

“Oh, yes! Late yesterday. We were going to send a messenger lad out this morn.” Lily pointed the way to the back storeroom. “My daughters remembered that you wished to inspect it first.”

Galraya smiled wryly. “Not often, but occasionally, I am shorted on my orders. It is thought that I have coin the way the sky has rain, and can afford to pay for goods not delivered.” She glanced upward to the sound on the roof. “Would that it were so.” She glided soundlessly after Lily, her companion staying in the outer room, browsing and murmuring to Adeena.

One shoe on, the other half on and stubbornly folding under her foot, Lily manufactured a coolness she did not feel, as she found the latest stock. She stepped back as Lady Galraya identified the bale as hers, and gave her a questioning look as if she wished to be left alone.

Adeena questioned her from the other room, saving Lily the quandary of asking if that was her wish. She dropped a half curtsy. “If you don’t mind, I’ll go see what’s needed?”

“Of course.”

Adeena fretted the moment she crossed the threshold. Drawing Lily aside, so the second woman could not hear them talking, she stared at the rear door where the deliveries were made and said, “The carter came by. He has a delivery for us but says he won’t make it because you are behind on payments.”

“I’m what?”

Adeena flushed heavily. “Not to him, Mistress, but to the textile warehouse.”

“A few days, perhaps, at the most.” Lily frowned. “It’s none of his business. He delivers their goods; he has no say with their accounts.”

“It’s their way.” Adeena wrung her hands. “They put pressure on for the warehouses.”

“And no doubt wag their tongues.” Lily felt the muscles along the back of her shoulders knot, and she hadn’t even started on the day’s work yet. “I’ll take care of it, no need to worry.” There was no way she’d have a Trader Simon in her doorway, trying to collect money they could ill afford to owe. Not after she’d told Tolby she could pull her own weight and help with his load as well! After her shift, she’d march down and settle a thing or two with the warehouse. She patted Adeena. “No worrying!”

“Mistress Farbranch?”

Lily turned and returned to the soft query from the storeroom. Lady Galraya smoothed her expression out carefully. “It appears the bale has been opened, against my explicit instructions.”

“Actually, m’lady, as my daughters related, the carter was a little rough with the cargo and it had come partially untied. As you can see from the cords,” and Lily picked up what was left of them, for Galraya had slashed through with what must have been an exceedingly sharp knife, and showed the different knots to the veiled one. “Nutmeg retied it as she put it away. It wasn’t opened by us. Is everything else all right?”

“No one else has been through my things?”

“No, m’lady. Are you missing goods?”

“No. Not quite.” Galraya turned her gaze to the shelves, and ran her hand over other bales. “All my yardage came in the one piece?”

“Yes, m’lady.”

Galraya made a noise of unhappiness, then straightened. “Very well, then. It’s all there, ready for your tailoring.”

“Very good. We have your deposit?”

“Not yet, but, now is as good a time as any.” Smiling thinly, the woman opened a sleeve pocket and retrieved a fine-grained leather purse. She shook out an ample sum. “Send a receipt by messenger, will you? Along with a fitting date.”

“Of course.”

The veiled one swept by her, a blush deepening her coppery skin, and she left without a word to her companion who dropped a blouse into Adeena’s hands and scurried to catch up as she went out the door.

There was no mistaking the oddness of it all, but Lily had no answer, and no time for contemplating one. She shrugged it off as she signaled Adeena her intent to go in and begin working. The door had barely closed before it opened again, with a fluttering of noise and nervous laughter, and greetings from Adeena.

She turned at the workroom door, and saw two women, one young and one almost old enough to be the first one’s mother, come in. They shook off shawls and dipped curtsies nervously in her direction.

“Mistress Farbranch! May I present Shyna and Goodie? Not only on time, but even early.” Adeena’s normally serious expression beamed as she drew the two to Lily.

The younger one, plump and with laugh lines about her eyes and a dimple in one cheek, bobbed again, and pulled a roll from her purse, thrusting it at Lily. “My sampler, Mistress.”