Thief’s Magic (38 page)

“Have you seen anything suspicious hereabouts?” Sa-Elem asked.

Rielle caught her breath as she realised what he meant by suspicious. “
Another
tainted?”

“Yes.” He almost appeared to smile. “While you are not as safe here as you would be at the dyeworks, he or she is as likely to hide in this part of the city as any other of the lower parts.”

“That’s reassuring,” Rielle replied, letting out a wry laugh. “No, I haven’t seen anything suspicious, though I haven’t been out except to fetch water from the fountain and take out the garbage.”

He nodded. “Well, let us know if you do.” He walked back into the stairwell. “Done?” he called.

A moment passed before Sa-Gest answered. “Yes.”

Rielle heard footsteps move towards the stairs. They seemed to come from near the stack of paintings. She forced herself to breathe slowly and her expression to stay the same – a little concerned but not
too
concerned. The young priest appeared and started down the stairs, his hands tucked into the sleeves of his robes. Sa-Elem turned away, moving to the door. As he did, Sa-Gest looked at her and grinned.

Her stomach flipped over. She permitted herself a frown, then stepped back so that she was well away when he passed her. Sa-Elem held the door open for his companion, then followed him out and closed the door without saying anything more.

She waited, heart racing, until she had counted to a hundred before she ran upstairs. Looking around the room, she saw nothing disturbed. She moved to the window, searching the street below. The priests had gone.

Hurrying over to the paintings, she found the one she had slipped the nude inside. Carefully opening the tear in the fabric, she looked inside.

The painting was gone.

Sitting down on the floor, she pressed her hands to her mouth. How had he known where to look? What would he do with it? She was still sitting there some time later when Izare returned. He came upstairs when she didn’t answer his call, then hurried over to her side. She gasped out the awful news.

“Don’t worry,” he said, drawing her into his arms. “Nobody can tell it’s you.”

“But he’ll have guessed.”

“So? He can’t prove it. If he shows anyone they’ll think he bought it for himself. Which is not something a good priest ought to be doing. Since you worked on most of it I can deny that I painted it. A good artist will be able to tell the difference between our work.” He rubbed her shoulders. “At least he didn’t break anything, or take something more valuable.”

She looked up at him. “I don’t think I can pose for you again.”

He smiled. “You won’t have to. I have a commission.”

Hope filled and lifted her like a gust of cool air. “What is it?”

“A portrait.” He grinned. “The first time someone has walked up to me on the street and commissioned one based entirely on my reputation.”

“Can they pay?”

“Yes.”

“Who is it?

“A young woman of one of the families. About your age.”

The lightness vanished and Rielle’s stomach plunged to the floor.

“Who?”

“Her name is Famire, and she will be coming here next quarterday afternoon for her first sitting.”

T
he scarf draped over Rielle’s head smelled faintly of cheap perfume and someone else’s sweat. Izare had borrowed it from Greya, since Rielle had only the scarf she had worn the day she had fled the dyeworks and it was the wrong colour.

The right colour was a dark red, the most subdued hue that Famire owned. The hope was that if anyone was watching Izare’s house and saw Rielle leave, when they saw a woman wearing similar clothes arrive later they’d assume it was also her. It would be better if nobody saw Famire visiting Izare in case they guessed he was painting another scandalous portrait.

Rielle was half relieved that this meant she would not be present. Famire had always been unpleasant company even when she was in a good mood, and she had expressed nothing but dislike towards Rielle. It was hard to believe that the girl only wanted her portrait done. More likely she wanted to see how far Rielle had fallen in situation and gloat.

To Rielle’s relief, it had occurred to Izare that Famire might not be being honest with him. He’d asked for half of the painting’s worth in advance. If Famire was truly interested in seeing Rielle’s misfortune for herself then she would find some excuse to leave once she’d had a look around, not stay and pay him the first instalment.

As it turned out, Rielle had a good excuse to be absent. Sa-Baro had stopped by the house the previous night to let Rielle know that her aunt would be waiting at a juice seller’s shop the next afternoon, if she still wanted to meet her.

The shop was not far from Izare’s house, at the same group Izare often bought bread from. Rielle approached cautiously, keeping out of sight. The usual collection of seats and tables graced the edges of the little courtyard. She spotted her aunt sitting on a bench built into the side of the juice shop wall. Her insides twisted with guilt, then abruptly loosened again as she saw the woman was not alone.

Mother. Sa-Baro didn’t say anything about her being here as well.

Perhaps Mother had discovered Narmah’s plan to meet Rielle and insisted on coming. Perhaps there was something else afoot. As Izare had suggested, Rielle slipped away and approached the shop from another direction, looking for any other people from the dyeworks in the area. She peered into shop windows but saw nobody familiar.

Skin prickling, she finally took a deep breath, steeled herself and stepped out into the courtyard. Narmah’s frown disappeared as she saw Rielle coming. She leapt to her feet, coming forward with open arms.

“Ah! My little niece! Are you well?” Grabbing Rielle’s hands, Narmah began a quick examination. “You look different.”

“It’s the scarf,” Rielle said. “Not mine. How are you, Aunt?”

Narmah grimaced. “Worried about you.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Everyone’s concerned about you. Even your mother, though she doesn’t like to show it.”

Rielle looked over Narmah’s shoulder to find her mother sitting stiffly, watching them with an expression of disapproval. Only a small twinge of guilt came at the accusing look her mother gave her.
What a terrible daughter I am
, she thought.
I should care more about the trouble I’ve caused, but I don’t.
The dyeworks was the best in the city and would always make money, and in seeking to marry her into one of Fyre’s families her mother had been aiming too high above her station.

“Come and sit down,” Narmah ordered. Holding onto one of Rielle’s hands, she led her over to a chair placed opposite the bench.

“Mother,” Rielle said, for the sake of good manners.

Her mother stared at her, then looked away. “So it was more than having lessons, then.”

Rielle frowned, then remembered her objection when they’d confronted her about her visits to Izare.

“It was mostly that,” she replied. “I can see now that I was already in love with Izare, but I had no plans to … to run away.”

Mother turned to regard her. “Why did you, then?”

“Because the other choice was worse.”

“Who told you that? The girls at temple classes?” Mother shook her head. “Another reason I shouldn’t have sent you. They’ve put foolish ideas into your head, no doubt to stop you considering anyone they wanted themselves.”

“It wasn’t just the temple girls,” Rielle said. “It was obvious at the parties and gatherings I went to that I didn’t belong. And Sa-Baro agreed with me.”

“Sa-Baro would never—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Narmah interrupted, her tone sterner and more determined than Rielle had heard before. “What’s done is done. What matters now is what we do next.” Mother closed her mouth and nodded. Narmah turned to Rielle. “You’ve made a brave choice, but it need not mean breaking ties with your family. If your parents agreed that you would not have to marry anyone you didn’t like, would you come home?”

“Perhaps. What if I want to marry Izare?”

As Mother shook her head, Narmah frowned. “You surely see that you will be poor if you do. What of your children? How will you afford to feed and clothe them?”

“We’ll manage. He may not be wealthy, but he’s not as poor as you fear. He is healthy and clever and hard-working.” Rielle shrugged. “Like most other people in this city who make and sell things. Besides, even if I was willing to leave him, do you think any man in the families would still consider me?”

“I doubt it,” her mother said, scowling.

“Then I may as well marry Izare.”

Narmah’s shoulders sagged, yet she nodded. “Well, if your mind is made up … maybe I can talk your parents into it. Would you come home until the wedding? If he loves you as much as you love him, he should be willing to wait for you.”

“What is the point?” Mother muttered. “It won’t save her reputation.” She narrowed her eyes at Rielle. “Are you pregnant yet?”

Rielle glared back at her mother, the heat of embarrassment followed by anger, then an echo of horror as she remembered the corrupter. “No.”

“It’d be too soon to know for sure,” Narmah said in a hushed voice, looking around to see who might have overheard before leaning towards her sister. “And what if she was? Would you have the child remain nameless and fatherless?”

Mother’s expression darkened, but she shook her head. Narmah turned back to Rielle.

“Will you consider coming home?”

Rielle looked down at her hands, dry and red from cleaning. She hadn’t minded the work, but it wasn’t earning them money. There were few ways she could help Izare and too many ways in which she was a burden. Her old daydream of introducing Izare to her family, him winning them over and them offering him a place in the dyeworks had long been discarded. Perhaps it could be salvaged.

“I will consider it.”

Narmah’s smile was bright, but vanished as Mother abruptly stood up.

“Well, that hasn’t got us very far,” she said, and with a last disapproving look at Rielle she began to walk away.

“Wait, we haven’t paid and…” Narmah sighed and shook her head. “She is angry, but she will get over it. Unlike your father, she can’t be angry and practical at the same time.”

Rielle felt a pang of affection at the determination in her aunt’s expression. “Thank you, Narmah.”

Her aunt smiled again.

“I had better go. Take care of yourself.” She touched Rielle’s cheek briefly, then hurried away to pay the juice shop owner and follow Mother.

The meeting had ended sooner than Rielle had expected. She considered what to do now. Izare didn’t want her to return until Famire had left. Two women wearing red scarves arriving at his home would make it obvious one wasn’t Rielle. She decided to sit down again, order a mug of juice and think over what Narmah had proposed.

Would her parents let her come home and still marry Izare? What if they changed their minds about Izare after she returned?

It would be harder for them to, if I was pregnant.
Having a child outside of marriage was considered much worse than simply having a lover. Which was silly, because the latter often resulted in the former. Fathers were not required by law to provide for illegitimate offspring, which could be hard for both the children and the mother. She thought of Jonare and her sister, taking it in turns to mind the other’s children so that each could work. How would they cope if they did not have each other?

She sipped at the juice. It was sticky-sweet, and she regretted buying it, but she made herself drink it anyway.
If I move back to the dyeworks it would be better if I was already pregnant. If I stay with Izare, eventually he will wonder why I haven’t fallen pregnant.
Either way, she needed to reverse what the corrupter had done to her. Which meant using magic.

“Angels forgive me,” she whispered. The last and only time she had used magic, she had been in pain, so shocked and frightened of the corrupter that she had followed the woman’s instructions without protest. What she was contemplating now was deliberate.

Yet she would be fixing the damage the corrupter had done. Putting things back the way they were supposed to be. Undoing the evil.

Would the Angels agree with her? Her other choice was to be childless for the rest of her life. While the thought of having a child so soon was a little frightening, she’d rather have one now than never at all.

Surely the Angels wouldn’t deny her that? Surely they would see that she had intended to help the priests find the corrupter, and paid a terrible price for her failure?

If they did, they would also see that I haven’t told the priests what I discovered. That I am unwilling to sacrifice myself in order to rid the city of evil.

Suddenly she was too nauseous to finish the drink. She rose and paid the juice seller, then started walking. With plenty of time to fill, she wandered the streets of the city. Having time on her hands was a situation she rarely encountered. Though her family was wealthy, she’d always had studies or painting to do or they had set her to work helping in the shop. She decided she did not like being idle. It left her too much time to worry. It was time wasted in which she could be earning money.

Turning a corner, she looked up and froze as she recognised the street she had entered. A man leaned against a wall, strumming a baamn. Nearby, scarves tied to a shop front fluttered in the breeze. She hadn’t meant to return to the courtyard. In fact, she was approaching it from a different direction, which was why she hadn’t realised she was about to. Which meant that …

Her blood froze. Slowly she turned to her right.

The alley where the corrupter’s covered cart had waited was empty.

Relieved, but with heart pounding, Rielle retraced her steps, turning into a side street as soon as she encountered one. As she put more distance between herself and the scene of her tainting she began to breathe a little easier.

Of course she isn’t there. She probably moves constantly in case one of her customers informs the priests. Or, like me, they came to see her in order to betray her.

Rielle shook her head. It was yet another way in which her attempt to find the corrupter had been a stupid mistake. The woman had said a tainted shouldn’t return to a place where Stain had been created. They should use magic somewhere unpleasant so people wouldn’t look too closely or stay long. Somewhere dark, because Stain appeared black to those who could see it, though they could sense it in other ways. Somewhere it wasn’t strange for the tainted person to be.