Path of Fate (11 page)

After a moment’s debate, Reisil tucked the scarf Kaval had given her into her pack along with a long apron. She didn’t know what Raim had in mind for her today, but she doubted he’d give her a chance to come home and change before the festivities began and she didn’t want to get too filthy. Whatever did find its way onto her clothing, she’d be able to hide much of it with the scarf.

The cool morning breeze stroked her cheeks. There a light mist rose from the river and the scent of growing things filled the air. A bubble of happiness burbled up inside Reisil. She thought of Raim’s wonderful food, the delight on Roheline’s face when she saw the purple of Reisil’s clothes, of Kaval’s possessive arm curled about her shoulders. She ran a few steps and dropped back to a walk, laughing out loud.

To her surprise, Teemart waited for her outside the gates. He wore heavy boots and a battered straw hat that he tore from his head and crushed in his fist at her approach. He smiled shyly at her and avoided meeting her eyes.

“Bright morning,” Reisil said, curiosity coloring her voice.

“Ma sent me to give this to you,” he said abruptly, holding out a small object. “She said she’ll not take it back. It’s for you and only you.”

“How are you feeling?” Reisil asked, taking the small, cloth-wrapped package, turning it over in her fingers. It was hard and had a flat shape covered with bumps. A gift of gratitude for her care of Teemart, she supposed.

He lifted one shoulder and kicked at the dirt. “Fit enough. Been mending walls and cutting sod.”

“Don’t overdo it,” Reisil cautioned.

“No, ma’am. I wouldn’t do that,” Teemart replied, still looking at Reisil’s feet.

“Are you coming to the feast?”

“I can’t say. Ma will do what she’ll do.”

“Well, I hope to see you both there,” Reisil said. “Tell your mother thank-you. I’ll come ’round and thank her myself when the commotion of the Dure Vadonis’s visit is over.” She turned to leave but Teemart’s rough hand on her sleeve stopped her, his face flushing darkly.

“Ma wanted me to tell you something else. She said to say that she knows all about it and that you’d better stop—” He broke off and rubbed a hand across his mouth. His eyes flickered up to hers for a second, then back to her feet.

“Go on.”

“You know how Ma is. But she said to tell you, so . . .”

“It’s all right.” But it wasn’t. A fist of foreboding closed around Reisil’s throat.

Teemart licked his lips. “Well, she said that she knows all about it and you’d better stop being a fool and take up what’s yours. She said you ought to know better and not to be such a coward.”

At the last Teemart’s voice dropped into a whisper. He didn’t wait for Reisil to reply, but jogged off along the road home, his head jerking up and down with his awkward gait.

Reisil stood rooted to the ground, mouth open, Nurema’s gift clutched in her hand. The message had to refer to Saljane. But how did the old woman know? Had she seen the goshawk flying over, following Reisil, and made the connection? She was a keen-witted old woman, for certain. But if she knew, then who else?

Her sense of joyous well-being drained away, leaving her trembling. Slowly she unwrapped Nurema’s gift. Inside the cloth was a silver talisman of the Blessed Lady.

Reisil gasped.

The workmanship of the pendant was exquisite. It showed a gryphon in flight, a moon and sun clutched in its talons, a streamer of ivy dangling from its beak. The eye of the gryphon burned red, reminding her uncomfortably of Saljane’s eyes. Reisil could see every feather on the gryphon, every hair of its fur. Where had Nurema gotten it? It was too fine a thing to have come from Kallas. Too expensive for her to just give away.

Reisil turned the pendant over in her hand. The back was as finely worked as the front. That Nurema meant the pendant as a reinforcement of her message, Reisil did not doubt. But she was no more inclined to be pushed into becoming
ahalad-kaaslane
by the old woman than by Saljane. She’d return the thing in the morning and that would be the end of it.

To keep it safe until then Reisil slipped the talisman onto the ribbon about her neck and retied it so that the cold metal fell between her breasts, hidden from sight.

She passed through the gates with an absent wave at the gatekeeper and made her way to Raim’s kohv-house. The pendant lay chill and heavy against her breast, its rough edges chafing her tender skin. It never seemed to warm with the heat of her skin, but remained a cold reminder of Nurema’s admonishment.

 

Raim greeted her with a cheery wave as she entered his kohv-house, hardly glancing up from his sheaf of lists.

“Bright morning! Sit down. Have some breakfast. You’re going to need a good meal for what I’ve in mind for you. Something better than porridge and dried fruit.” A boy brought her a plate of eggs, smoked fish, crisp buttercakes and grilled squash, and a cup of creamy hot kohv with a dash of nussa spice. As Reisil began her meal, Raim glanced up, noticing her at last.

“Ah! What beautiful color!” He clapped his hands together in his extravagant way. “My Roheline will be envious. You will get no rest until she has some of this wonderful purple.”

Reisil smiled at him, sipping at the hot brew.

“I will gladly give her some of my dye, and hope she takes pity on my poor cottage. It’s so dark and dreary.”

Raim chuckled.

“It is no hard bargain,” he said. “You could charge much more and she would pay. But now I must return to my kitchen. The Dure Vadonis will arrive today and all must be ready. Varitsema is like a nervous mother. He will not forgive me if the food is undone.” He pushed through the swinging doors, calling over his shoulder, “When you are through, let me know and I will set you to work.”

So busy did Raim keep her that Reisil missed the arrival of the Dure Vadonis and his entourage. So busy did he keep her that she almost could forget Nurema’s message and the talisman around her neck.

Almost.

She began her morning overseeing the arrangement of the tables and seating arrangements. Roheline, who was making lavish decorations with candles, blown-glass lamps, cartloads of flowers, ribbons, banners, silvertoned chimes and gleaming metal ornaments, went into raptures over her outfit. Reisil promised her some of the dye, for which Roheline pledged to come begin painting in the cottage as soon as she was able.

She stroked the sleeve of Reisil’s tunic with covetous fingers. “Don’t give out the formula too quickly,” she cautioned Reisil after a moment. “It will make anyone’s fortune.”

“I am here to serve Kallas, not make a profit,” Reisil protested.

“As is correct for any tark. But trust in me, there are those who will see nothing but profit in your dye. Rikutud, for instance. He’s a wily one, and eats and breathes money. He will not wish to share with all of Kallas. But all could benefit from the dye if you arrange it so.”

Reisil grinned wickedly.

“All right. I’ll give you the formulas for the dye and the mordant, and you can handle the rest.”

“Me! Oh, no! I have much too much to do,” Roheline exclaimed. “I could not do such a thing.” But her eyes sparkled.

“But it’s your idea. And I know just the woman who could help you.” During this season of spring cleaning and sprucing up, Reisil had been able to find odd jobs for Shorin, the starving mother who’d accosted her in the street. But those jobs would dry up quickly now. A dye works would set her up permanently. Though the
ahalad-kaaslane
had already begun moving the squatters to a new village along the river twelve leagues to the north, Shorin would have an easier time in Kallas. And Roheline already liked Shorin, admired her dry humor, hard work and devotion to her children.

Grinning with satisfaction, Reisil gave Roheline a wink. “I’d better get on with preparations. I can’t have Raim angry with me.” Reisil gave the other woman a sunny wave and departed. As she left, she could see Roheline’s mind clicking away at the problem. The dye could become an enormous business, Reisil knew. In taking it on, Roheline might not have time to paint. Yet despite her words to the contrary, she seemed willing to make that sacrifice, at least for now.
But what happens later?
Reisil asked herself.
What happens when she wants her life back?

She scanned the nearby rooftops and sky for the ever-present Saljane. She was nowhere to be seen.

The bird wanted Reisil to sacrifice her life for a new one, a new challenge. But she wasn’t like Roheline. She wasn’t interested in that new challenge. She wanted to be Kallas’s tark. She wanted to explore her burgeoning feelings for Kaval.
Ahalad-kaaslane
were forbidden such attachments. They must keep free of all biases, which meant constant travel and few true friends. She did not want to be
ahalad-kaaslane
with the goshawk, with a lynx, with a bear or a mouse. She did not want to be
ahalad-kaaslane
at all.

With the serving arrangements well under way, she returned to Raim. He sent her on a flurry of errands. When the city bells rang, signaling the arrival of the Dure Vadonis and his entourage, Reisil was outside the walls in the woods, where pits had been dug days before, and roasted two steers, four pigs, six goats and a bevy of chickens.

“So it begins,” muttered Taimeoli, whom Raim had put in charge of overseeing the roasting pits. Reisil eyed him, wondering if he felt as Kaval did.

“Do you know,” Taimeoli continued, “that my brother and two cousins went to fight in the war? Killed they were. All three together at Mysane Kosk. Or at least we haven’t seen them since.” He sighed, his square face set in hard lines. His lame foot explained why he had not gone with his brother and cousins to fight.

“I didn’t know,” Reisil said. “It is a great loss.”

Tameoli frowned. “I didn’t care for my cousins much. But I do miss Aare. He was one of the Lady’s bright lights. The Patversemese have a lot to answer for.” At Reisil’s sharp look Taimeoli held up his hands. “I’m not the one to ask for such answers. But don’t look for me tonight. I’ll not welcome them to Kallas. My family died to keep them out. Where’s the justice of it?”

Reisil thought of Roheline, Shorin and Saljane.

Changing lives. No choices. New challenges.

The Iisand Samir had given Kallas no choice but to welcome the entourage from Patverseme. Taimeoli had had no choice but to let his brother and cousins go off without him. They had had no choice but to die at Mysane Kosk. She wasn’t giving Roheline much choice with the dye. Shorin had had no choice but to leave her home and beg. The challenge in all of it was to keep going, to keep building their lives.

And then there was Saljane.

“They’ll be gone in two days,” Reisil said. “It’s not long.”

“No. The wizards razed Mysane Kosk in two days. It’s not long at all.”

 

Feeling unsettled, Reisil returned to Raim to report the progress of the roasting meat. Flour dusted his hair and colorful spatters patterned his long apron. He waved her inside, nodding as she reported.

“Ah, good! I need you. Come here and ice these tarts. Like so.” He showed her how to squeeze the thin honeycream icing onto the trays of fruit-filled tarts that lined the tables of the kohv-house. “Good. Exactly. There is plenty more when you run out,” he said, pointing to an enormous copper bowl at the end of the board. He washed the sticky icing from his hands, watching her critically. “There are meatrolls, wine and fruit here when you are hungry.”

With that he trotted off into the kitchen, leaving Reisil in the relative peace of the kohv-house dining room. She donned a smock and apron and set to work. She had completed nearly half the trays when a man and woman wandered through the courtyard, under the blue-and-white-striped awning. They stopped, uncertain, eyeing the trays of tarts lining every flat surface in sight.

“Is there no service today?”

Reisil started at the sound of Kebonsat’s voice, turning around warily. With the back of her hand, she brushed a stray hair from her face.

“Not to speak of, no. But there is plain fare, if you’d like. I can get that for you.”

Kebonsat exchanged a look with the girl who’d accompanied him. Though not as tall, she bore an uncanny resemblance to him. She shared the same high cheek-bones, aquiline nose and firm jaw. Her dark hair was caught up in a series of braids and combs to create a tousled, cascading effect that was quite striking. She wore a light summer gown that swept the floor in soft, delicate folds. Sapphires twinkled in her ears. She nodded at Kebonsat. He turned back to Reisil.

“Thank you. We would be grateful.” He said the words formally, but the coolness of the tone contradicted completely the meaning of the words.

Reisil gave him a sharp look and then waved to the tile-topped tables beneath the awning. “You’ll have to sit out there. I’ll get you something. No choices, I’m afraid.”

The words continued to ring in Reisil’s ears as the two Patversemese went to sit.

She piled a platter with cold meat rolls, apples, pears and plums. She added a bowl of radishes, plates, napkins and forks, and a jug of lightly spiced wine.

“Can I help?”

Reisil jumped at the girl’s musical voice close behind her.

“The gruff Kebonsat is my brother. My name is Ceriba. Can I carry anything?”

“I am Reisil,” she answered, handing Ceriba the jug of wine and two cups. “I can manage the rest.” She followed Ceriba back to the table where Kebonsat sat stiffly, frowning at his sister with undisguised disapproval.

Reisil waited for Ceriba to sit before setting down the platter.

“I’ve heard this kohv-house serves the best food in Kallas,” Ceriba said, breaking the silence.

Kebonsat picked up a meat roll and turned it over in his hand. “Doesn’t look like much.” Ceriba gave him a Look and Reisil thought she might have kicked him beneath the table.