Red Hood's Revenge (18 page)

“I wear this cape until the day I die,” Roudette said.

Snow wrinkled her nose. “That would explain the smell. I didn’t want to say anything, but—”

“Wait here.” Talia jogged through the hallway to the kitchen. She squeezed past two young girls who were busy packing food. Ignoring their protests, Talia snatched a pot and filled it with water from the cistern. She crushed several handfuls of tea leaves into the water and returned to the room.

By now, Snow and Danielle had changed clothes, donning the plain shifts and capes Talia had brought. The sleeveless shifts would have been unseemly back home. Though the material covered both women from throat to ankle, the thin white linen left little to the imagination. Danielle was already buttoning her cape. The material was a dark green, almost brown in color. Large horn buttons ran from neck to waist, providing a bit of modesty.

“I want clothes like yours,” Snow complained.

Talia snorted. “Servant’s garb is the closest thing to invisibility you have. Unless you can lose your accent and change the way you move? You stand too far from people, and you look away too quickly. Even with your illusions, it wouldn’t take long for someone to notice there’s something not quite right about you.”

Danielle smiled. “I notice that about her too.”

Snow threw a grape at her.

“Fix your hair,” Talia said. “You’ll want it braided or knotted back, unless you want to be mistaken for prostitutes. Keep the sheffeyah wrapped about your faces. Your skin might be the right color, but your features might give you away.” She set the tea on the floor. “Snow, can you heat that for me?”

“Beer and milk weren’t enough?” Snow adjusted her choker. Sunlight shone from one of the mirrors. Moments later, the water began to boil, and the smell of tea filled the room.

Talia shoved the pot at Roudette. “The tea should darken your hair enough to let you pass for Arathean.” That left only the cape. Fortunately, the temple had just the thing to go with it.

 

The sun was rising as Danielle and the others made their way through the temple. Roudette followed a short distance behind, wearing an all-encompassing robe Talia called a hiqab.

The robe was a filthy tan thing of camel hair. According to Talia, the hiqab marked Roudette as a leper. It had no sleeves, fitting over Roudette like an oversized sack with only a single ragged hole for her head. A deep hood hid her face, and the lack of sleeves prevented her from touching anyone, not that anyone approached that closely. Even the sisters moved to the side as Roudette passed.

Mother Khardija stopped them at the main entrance. She kissed Talia’s forehead, then pressed a beaded purse into her hands. Snow translated her words for Danielle. “The church will expect a donation.”

“I can’t take this.” Talia tried to give the purse back, but Khardija refused. Talia lowered her voice. “Even if the Wild Hunt spares the temple, you’ll need every scrap of gold to help those who were hurt in last night’s attack.”

“I know you.” A smile eased Khardija’s words. “If I give you this, you’ll use it well. If I don’t, you’ll simply take what you need from random passersby on the streets.”

Talia blushed, but she tucked the purse into the sash at her waist. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to repay you.”

“Repay me by staying alive.” Khardija made shooing motions with her hands. “Be safe.”

They joined the exodus leaving the temple, sisters escorting patients into the streets. Others in the black robes stood outside the gates, gently turning away those who had come for help.

Talia shook her head. “I brought the Wild Hunt into her home, and she repays me in gold.”

“She loves you,” said Danielle.

“I know.” Talia looked back at the temple. “I just hope that love doesn’t get her killed.”

As they departed the Temple of the Hedge, Danielle got her first real view of Jahrasima. In the darkness the night before, she had seen little more than shadows. This morning, with the sun already baking the air, she could make out every detail. Including the destruction left by the Wild Hunt.

The rooftops were flat, thatched with straw that had turned brown from dust and sand. The windows were larger than those in Lorindar, covered only by shutters or heavy curtains. Stones were laid out on the borders of paths and property. Many of the homes had been in poor repair already. Mud bricks crumbled from the walls. Rats disappeared into the cracks and holes.

The Hunt hadn’t bothered with subtlety. Stones were kicked aside, showing where riders had moved from house to house. Doors were smashed, shutters ripped from the windows, even whole walls had been knocked down.

At one house, a little boy sat crying in a patch of dirt darkened by blood while an older girl tried to comfort him. “What happened there?” Danielle whispered.

Snow tilted her head to listen as they passed. “The boy’s dog tried to protect him from a hunter.”

“It will be worse tonight,” Roudette said. “This was but a fraction of the Wild Hunt’s power.”

Danielle turned to look at Roudette. The hiqab’s hood shadowed her face, but it couldn’t hide the hatred in her voice. Roudette hadn’t hesitated to murder innocent people back in Lorindar, and she had delighted in the death of the hunter. But the aftermath of the Hunt had clearly shaken her.

Roudette stopped to look at a larger house, one that had obviously been expanded over the years. The Hunt had trampled straight through the walls, and a group of men now worked to keep the rest of the building from collapsing.

Their passage drew stares. Small, dirty faces watched from shadows and windows. The adults’ expressions were warier. Their glances lingered on Danielle’s sword. They spoke in low voices, if at all, as though they were afraid the sound might bring the Wild Hunt back to their city.

“They’re all human,” Danielle said softly. “I thought fairies and humans lived together in Arathea.”

“The fairies live in the northern part of town.” Talia slashed a hand through the air for silence as a young girl approached with a basket of dried figs. Talia took three, offering a pair of copper coins in return.

The girl bowed and said something in Arathean. Talia grimaced, but repeated the words.

“What did she say?” Danielle asked.

Snow made a face. “Blessings of the peri be upon you.”

“The peri?”

“The first fairies,” said Snow, taking one of the figs. “They say the peri are the ancestors of all that’s good in fairykind, whereas the evil deev gave rise to the trolls and ogres, the goblins and giants. They fought for centuries—”

“Using humans as their pawns.” Roudette’s voice was huskier than usual. “The ‘blessed’ peri hid in their mountains, sending mortals out to die against the deev. Some say their war scoured the land, turned Arathea into a desert. Be grateful they never spread beyond this land.”

The road widened, dust and dirt changing to paving stones. The homes here were taller, their lines straighter. Grain bins topped the flat roofs like giant beehives. Heavy canopies stretched from the front of the houses, sheltering merchants on the street and inviting potential buyers to take advantage of the shade. This morning, many of the merchants sat alone, their wares untouched. They called out to passersby, but their energy was muted.

Snow started toward one merchant who was showing off what looked like a baby dragon in a silver cage.

Talia caught her sleeve. “No.”

“But he’s—”

“No.” Talia glanced at the dragon. “The scales are falling out, and he’s yet to belch a single spark. Do you really want a diseased dragon?”

Snow pointed to another merchant, a woman surrounded by piles of brightly colored silk. “What about—”

“No.”

Snow folded her arms. “Fine. But when we’re finished here, I want a dragon.”

“Who’s going to clean up after it?” Talia asked.

“Enough!” Roudette swept past them. “Your prattling is worse than any fairy torment.” She stopped a short distance beyond, looking at a collapsed building. The small garden behind was trampled and blackened as if scorched. A small group was digging through the rubble. Roudette sniffed the air. “Three people were crushed when the walls fell.”

“The Hunt wanted us,” Danielle protested. “Why would they hurt these people?”

“Don’t look for reasons,” said Roudette. “The Wild Hunt were once men, but they’re more fairy than not now, reborn of chaos and whimsy and destruction. Place two identical children before them, and they’ll leave one untouched while their dogs savage the other. This . . . is restrained, for the Hunt.”

“What did they do to you?” Danielle asked, her voice gentle.

Roudette turned away, hiding within the darkness of her hood. “My grandmother tried to fight them. She failed. They killed everyone they could find. In a single night, they reduced my town to rubble and ash.”

“I’m sorry,” Danielle said. Wails of grief broke the stillness as they walked. Danielle could hear the pain in the distant cries, even if she couldn’t understand the words. Men and women alike wept together.

“At least my grandmother tried to fight,” Roudette said disgustedly. “Talia’s people have surrendered their magic. Obeying Siqlah and trusting God to protect them. Even after last night, look how few bother to carry weapons.”

Talia spun. “So they should have fought? The Hunt would have slaughtered them all, just as they did your people.”

“Instead they surrender their souls to the fairies,” Roudette said.

“That’s enough.” Danielle and Roudette stared at one another until Roudette snorted and turned away.

Talia moved on without answering, leading them another block to a stone bridge that crossed a canal. On the far side of the bridge, the streets were paved with white stone. Sandstone statues with horned helms and inhumanly narrow features bordered the road. Fig and olive trees grew behind the statues, shielding the homes and buildings beyond. Small whirlwinds blew through the street.

“Air dervishes,” Snow said. “Fairy sprites, sweeping the dust from the roads.”

Roudette snarled at one of the dervishes. When it approached too close, she jumped forward and stomped on it, moving too quickly for the sprite to dodge. It burst in a small explosion of dirt and dust. “Ha!”

Slowly the sprite re-formed, gathering the worst of the dirt back into itself. Roudette growled, and it raced away.

Danielle might not speak the language, but she could read the disapproval in the faces that turned to watch. “You probably shouldn’t do that again.”

The populace here seemed an equal mix of human and fairy. A wrinkled dwarf rode a white donkey through the street. A man whose body seemed made of black smoke drifted past, his feet leaving a faint trail of soot. A yellow-skinned woman walked by conversing with a hooded serpent draped around her neck. Everywhere the fairies traveled, humans moved aside to let them pass.

“Maybe Arathea deserves to fall to the fairies,” Roudette said.

Talia stiffened but didn’t break stride.

Before Roudette could say anything further, Danielle caught her arm and pulled her to the side of the road. “Snow’s fairy mark prevents you from harming us. Which means there’s little you can do to defend yourself when Talia decides she’s had enough. So by all means, continue to insult her home and draw attention to us. See how much longer her patience lasts.”

“Be grateful that mark protects you, Princess.” Roudette pulled away. “Show me one fairy who suffered so much as a bruise last night. This is—” Her voice broke. “This is what my home was like. Few of the ‘blessed race’ lived among us, but the blind respect and worship was the same. Time and again my mother warned me not to stray from the path as my grandmother had done. We followed the path of the fairy church, and it destroyed us. I’ve no sympathy for those who embrace fairy lies.”

People were stopping to stare, humans and fairies alike. Danielle lowered her voice, hoping Roudette would do the same. “We’re going to a fairy church. Tell me now whether you can do this.”

Roudette glanced around. “I will do whatever is needed.”

Danielle took that as a yes. “I’m sorry about your mother. About your home.”

Roudette said nothing.

The crowds grew as they neared a domed structure of green-painted stone. Two giant statues framed the entrance, where a wide stairway led down into darkness. The statue on the right sat with one hand extended in welcome. His other hand clutched a sword carved so that it appeared to be on fire. He wore a helm that shone like real gold. Spiral antlers rose from the sides of the helmet.

The other statue was a woman seated in a similar pose. Her extended hand overflowed with coins, mostly copper and silver, which spilled into a large bowl at her feet. As Danielle watched, a family stopped at the statue and placed a bracelet into her hand, dislodging several coins into the bowl below.

“The statues are enchanted,” Snow said softly. “Someone is watching through their eyes.”

“My cape will shield us,” Roudette said. “It was made to avoid the eyes of the fey.” She stood like an island in a stream, with people doing their best to avoid her and her disease. Her voice was calm once more, with no hint of the pain from moments before.

“We’re here for information,” Danielle reminded her. “To learn about Zestan. That’s all.”

Roudette shrugged. “Get me alone in a room with the priest, and I promise he’ll tell us whatever we need to know.”