17

Watching the Siyee ambassadors closely, Auraya recognized the telltale signs of weariness. Being small in stature, they did not have a great tolerance for intoxicating drink, and, like children, they were energetic in their movements but tired quickly.

Dyara was talking quietly to Tireel. Auraya heard snatches of their conversation.

“… courage to cross so much landwalker territory, when your people have had good reason to fear us.”

“We flew high and mostly at night,” he replied. “Landwalkers do not look up often. When they did, they probably thought they were seeing large birds.”

Dyara nodded. “You will not need to take such precautions on your return. Auraya will not allow you to be harmed.”

“For that we are grateful. It seems to me that the gods must be in favor of this alliance, or they would not have given one of you this power to resist the pull of the earth.”

Auraya smiled. The Siyee ambassadors did not call her Gift flight. They saw no similarity between using magic, as she did, and riding the winds. Even so, they believed that she, of all landwalkers, might truly understand their people. The ability to fly was at the core of what they were, both physically and culturally.

As Zeeriz yawned she looked pointedly at Juran.

:Our guests have reached their limits, Auraya told the White leader.

:I think you‘re right.

Juran straightened, then cleared his throat. All eyes turned to him.

“I would like to offer a prayer,” he said. “And wish our guests a good journey one last time before we retire.” He paused, then closed his eyes. “Chaia, Huan, Lore, Yranna, Sam. We thank you for all you have done to bring us together tonight, in order that we may bring peace and understanding to the lands of Ithania. We ask that you watch over Tireel of the Green Lake tribe, Zeeriz of the Fork River tribe and Auraya of the White as they journey to the land of Si. May you guide and protect them.”

He opened his eyes, then picked up his glass. At once servants hurried forward to add a dash more tintra to their glasses. Auraya smothered a smile as she saw Zeeriz’s look of dismay.

“I wish you a safe and pleasant journey.” Juran looked over the rim of his glass at one ambassador, then the other. His grave expression softened into a smile. He raised his glass to his lips and sipped. As all followed suit, Auraya noted how Zeeriz gulped almost all of the tintra in his glass, as if to get rid of it faster.

Tireel grinned. “We’ll look after Auraya,” he assured Juran.

“She’ll be treated like… like…” Zeeriz began.

“Like an honored guest,” Tireel finished.

“Thank you,” Juran said. “Then we’d best let you both get some sleep in preparation for your long flight.”

He pushed back his chair and rose. Auraya turned to face Zeeriz and, finding him gone, looked down. She had ordered high chairs to be made so the Siyee would sit at an equal height to any other occupants of the dining table. It was always a surprise to find herself suddenly towering over them again at the end of a meal.

Zeeriz’s eyes were closed. He swayed a little, then opened them and blinked up at her.

“It’s just not fair how much you landwalkers can drink,” he muttered.

She chuckled. “Let me take you back to your room.”

He nodded and let her guide him out into the corridor. She heard Dyara and Tireel following, still talking. The ambassadors were staying on one of the middle floors of the Tower, close to the dining hall. Auraya and Dyara bade their guests good night, then started toward their rooms. As they reached the great staircase, Dyara gave Auraya a speculative look.

“You seem more worried about this journey than the last,” she observed.

Auraya glanced at Dyara. “I am,” she admitted.

“Why do you think that is?”

“I must do it alone.”

“You can still consult with Juran or me,” Dyara pointed out. “It is more than that, I think.”

Auraya nodded. “Perhaps I didn’t care quite as much whether I succeeded with the Somreyans or not. It’s not that I didn’t care at all,” she hurried to explain, “but the possibility of failing with the Siyee, of giving them reason to dislike us, bothers me. They are, I guess, more trusting of us. The Somreyans weren’t. So, if I fail, it will be akin to betraying their trust.”

“You didn’t feel the same obligation to avoid betraying the trust of the Dreamweavers?”

Auraya shrugged. “They never trusted us in the first place.”

“No,” Dyara replied. She looked thoughtful. “But your friend trusts you. It was a bold move, making him your adviser. I thought it unwise, but it has proved to be quite beneficial.”

Auraya stared at Dyara in amazement, then looked away. Was this approval? From Dyara? Over befriending a Dreamweaver?

Dyara halted at the door to Auraya’s rooms. “Good night, Auraya. I will see you at the farewell tomorrow.”

“Good night,” Auraya replied. “And… thank you.”

Dyara smiled, then turned away to continue up the stairs. As Auraya entered her rooms, she considered Dyara’s words.

“But your friend trusts you.”

She hadn’t had a chance to speak to Leiard in the last few days. Tomorrow she would be leaving early. No chance to see him one last time.

Then tonight is my only chance to say goodbye.

She frowned. It was late. Too late to send for him. She couldn’t send someone to wake him up and bring him to the Tower only to spend five minutes with him before sending him home again.

Would he really mind? She pursed her lips. What was worse: dragging him up here in the middle of the night, or not saying goodbye?

Smiling to herself, she closed her eyes and sought the mind of the priest on night duty below. After giving him her instructions, she sat down to wait.

This time tomorrow I’ll be sleeping in a village Temple somewhere. She glanced around the room. Everything looked as it always did. There was no trunk of belongings, just a small pack containing spare white clothing and some gifts for the Siyee. Everything she needed would be given to her by the priests and priestesses of the Temples she stayed in.

Once she entered the mountains there would be no more Temples. The Siyee had assured her that all her needs could be met in their land. They would supply her with all the objects of a civilized culture, such as paper and ink, which they made themselves. She would be given a “bower” of her own to stay in.

Standing up, she walked to the window and looked down. The Dome was a shadowed expanse, ringed by lanterns. A few priests and servants hurried about their business. The city below was a scattering of lights in a sea of black.

A tarn entered the Temple loaded with healer priests. Auraya watched two platten arrive, then felt her heartbeat quicken as she saw another pass under the arch bearing a single occupant. Even from so far above, she recognized Leiard. His white hair and beard stood out despite the distance. As the platten approached, he looked up. She found herself smiling, even though she knew he could not see her.

Moving away from the window, she began pacing the room. Would he mind that she’d called him here? Suddenly her purpose for doing so—just to say goodbye—seemed silly. She could have sent a note instead. She could have visited him… No, that would have disturbed the whole household of the people he was staying with.

Well, there’s nothing to be done about it now, she decided. I’ll apologize, say goodbye, then send him home. By the time I return to Jarime he’ll have forgiven me.

She paced the room. What was taking him so long? Perhaps she had been mistaken. She moved to the window.

I could question the priest on duty…

She froze as a light tapping came from the door, then let her breath out in a rush.

He’s here.

Smoothing her circ, she strode to the door and opened it. Leiard regarded her with wary expectation.

“Leiard. Come in.” She ushered him inside. “Sorry about the late hour. I haven’t had a moment to myself, and no time to see you as I promised. I’m leaving tomorrow. I couldn’t go without saying goodbye.”

He nodded slowly, and she was pleased to see he was not annoyed, only relieved. It dawned on her, then, that by calling him here so late she had caused him to wonder if something was wrong. Why hadn’t she foreseen that?

“I guess I should have just sent a message,” she added ruefully. “Rather than wake you up.”

His lips twitched into a slight smile. “I don’t mind.”

“I don’t just need to say goodbye. I need to thank you.” She paused, then reached for his hand. He hesitated, then lifted his hand to hers. Their fingers met. She drew breath to speak, but stopped as she met his eyes. His expression was tight and wary, as if he was struggling to control some emotion. She looked closer. His thoughts were in turmoil. Her touch had roused…

She felt heat rush through her body. Her touch had aroused him. He was struggling to suppress desire for her.

I hadn’t realized his admiration was so… but I guess it wasn’t or I would have seen it in his mind. This is something new. This has happened tonight. Now.

Her heart was racing. Her own body had reacted to his desire. She felt a smile pull at her lips. I desire him. Now we’ve both discovered something.

She was conscious of the tense silence between them. The only sound was their breathing. Neither of them had moved. His gaze hadn’t left hers. We should step away from each other and pretend this never happened. Instead, she reached out and touched his cheek, then traced a finger across his lips. He didn’t move away, but neither did he return the caress. She read hesitation in his thoughts.

This decision has to be mine, she realized. He cannot forget who we are. Only I can make this choice.

She smiled and lifted her lips to his. He returned her kiss gently, sending a shiver down her spine. Then they both moved together, reaching out to the other. She kissed him firmly and he responded with equal hunger and passion. Their bodies collided; she grasped his vest and pulled him close against her. His hands slid around her back, but his touch was dulled by the thickness of her circ.

Vest. Circ. Reminders of who they were. She didn’t want to be reminded. Not now. These reminders must go.

She laughed quietly. This is not like me, she thought. Leiard’s lips left her mouth and he began kissing her throat, and then her neck, his lips hot and firm. This is not like him either. She was discovering a side of him she had never suspected existed.

And I like it. She chuckled. Winding her arms around his waist, she backed toward the door to her private rooms.

Emerahl smiled and ran her hands over her body.

It worked.

But of course it had. She had never botched the change. Mirar had told her long ago that her ability to change her body was an innate Gift. He had a theory that all Wilds had a Gift that came naturally. Like musical ability came to those with true talent. Hers was the ability to change her physical age.

Opening her eyes, she saw only darkness. The air was growing stuffy rapidly. Once she had roused from the death trance, she had created small tunnels to let air into the box. They weren’t enough now that she had brought her body out of the slowed state necessary to change her appearance, and she was breathing at a normal rate.

She grimaced. A death trance was never pleasant, but it had been essential to fool the children and had allowed her to survive being buried underground. She did not know how many days had passed, but one thing was sure: she had to get out of her coffin soon or she would suffocate.

She was not sure where the children had buried her, however. If they, or anyone else, saw her dig her way out of her grave, the story of it would spread faster than a winter cough, perhaps alerting the priest to her change of appearance. She would have to be careful.

Closing her eyes, she sent her mind out and was pleased when she managed to sense the emotions of others nearby. It was not easy sorting through them, but she recognized the sleepy thoughts of children. She cursed. They were somewhere close by. She would have to be quiet.

Slowly, Emerahl drew magic and used it to break through the box lid just above her head. She shifted the dirt above it down to the other end of her coffin to gather around her feet. The pale sky of near-dawn appeared above her sooner than she expected.

They ought to have buried me deeper, she thought. But their ignorance has saved me some trouble.

She enlarged the hole until it was big enough to allow her body through, then squirmed and pushed upward. Peering out, she saw that she was in the small yard at the back of the burned-out house the children lived under. She paused to think.

I could bury myself again and wait until they all go out for the day. She considered. No. A few always stay behind to mind the place during the day. Better to go now while they‘re asleep.

Drawing her arms up, she grabbed the lip of the hole and pulled. She had to pause to catch her breath several times, and as more of her emerged into the morning light she saw why. The change had used up a lot of her body fat.

Her arms were bony and wasted, her breasts almost nonexistent. As she brushed dirt off the dirty white shift the children had left her in, she felt the hardness of protruding hip bones beneath.

I’m weak and scrawny, she mused. A skeleton reborn from a coffin womb. I wouldn’t blame anyone for thinking me some unholy, unwholesome creature today.

At last she was able to get her feet under her and stand up. To her relief she had enough strength to stand, probably to walk, too. Stepping up out of her grave, she turned and considered the evidence of her rise from death.

Better fix this mess.

Drawing magic, she shifted and smoothed the dirt until the hole was filled and all sign of her emergence was gone. She smiled sadly as she saw the shrivelled flowers scattered over the ground. She wished she could do more for the children, but she had her own survival to think of.

What next?

She looked down at herself. Her hands and arms were covered in dirt and she was wearing only a stained shift. Her hair hung down over her shoulders, still the stiff white hair of an old woman. She needed a wash, then clothes and food, and something to dye her hair with.

It was then that she realized the wallet she had strapped to her body was gone. She was not surprised; she had known there was a good chance the children would find it. After all, she could not hide everything inside her.

She briefly considered sneaking into the house to look for it, but dismissed the thought straightaway. It was too great a risk, and the children had probably spent most of it already. Turning her back on her “grave,” she quietly walked past the house and out into the poor quarter.

The thin gray light of morning slowly brightened. The streets were quiet but not deserted. She passed a pair of middle-aged washerwomen, who regarded her with distaste, then a younger man with a wooden leg stopped to leer at her. She felt self-conscious for the first time in over a hundred years.

And people ask me why I, who can be any age I please, would choose to be old? Emerahl thought wryly.

But then, there were definitely pleasures to be gained from being young again. She had always been attractive to men when in her younger form. Sometimes women, too. Some of her good looks obviously still showed despite her current wasted state. She only needed some regular healthy meals to regain her curves.

But food cost money. She frowned as she considered the near future. With her wallet and her body fat gone, she needed to find a source of income quickly. Theft was a possibility, but she was long out of practice and didn’t have the strength to run if she was seen. Being caught might bring her to priestly attention.

Priests were looking for a woman who sold cures, so she could not consider selling her knowledge and skills in that area either. She continued downhill, heading toward the sea. The direction she had chosen amused her. She had been born by the ocean, and had always been drawn to water in times of strife. When the flat, liquid horizon finally appeared, she sighed with relief and quickened her steps.

Once she reached the water’s edge she followed the road that hugged the shore, looking for a more private place to wash. Most of the small bays were occupied. When she came to a small bay with a single pier she stopped. Two fishermen were working in their boat, one young, one old, preparing their catch for market. She considered them for a moment, then walked boldly down the pier.

“Looks like a good catch,” she said as she passed.

They glanced up, then stared at her. She smiled back at them, then turned away. Reaching the end of the pier, she stepped off.

Cold water engulfed her and the shock of it drove the air from her lungs in a rush of bubbles. She felt sand beneath her feet and pushed up again. Coming to the surface, she sucked in air, then kicked away from the pier.

“Lady?”

She rolled over, then laughed as she saw the two fishermen peering at her from the end of the pier, both wearing worried expressions.

“Don’t worry,” she told them. “I just wanted to get clean.”

“You gave us a scare,” the younger man said reproachfully. “Thought you wanted to drown yourself.”

“I’m sorry.” She swam toward them, noting how their eyes shifted from her face to those parts of her that came to the surface. The shift was half-transparent now that it was wet. “Thank you for thinking to save me.” She swam under the pier.

She could hear them walking along the boards above her. There had been no mistaking their interest. She pursed her lips, considering. One way to solve her current dilemma had already occurred to her, and now an opportunity had presented itself. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t done this sort of work before. In fact, she had always considered herself quite good at it.

Looking up, she noted how the beams of wood crossed to form a narrow, slimy shelf. Hidden by the water, she reached under her shift, probed inside herself.

This is one of the reasons some men call this part of a woman’s body a whore’s purse, she thought as she drew out a small bag. Among the contents was the sea bell, dembar sap pendant and some coins. The coins would not buy her much more than a few meals, and no jeweller would give her even a fraction of a fair price for such a valuable sea bell while she looked like she did now. No, she would have to work up to that. She put the bag up on the slimy shelf then swam out from under the pier.

The fishermen’s attention snapped back to her. They walked alongside as she paddled toward their boat.

“This your boat?” she asked.

“My father’s,” the young man said, glancing at his companion.

“Mind if I come aboard while I dry off?”

The pair exchanged glances, then the older man nodded. “Why not?”

She grinned at them, then swam to the vessel’s side. The younger man stepped onto the boat, reached down and took her hand, then hauled her up onto the deck. She noticed the father glancing about to see if anyone was watching, and smothered a smile. Thinking of your wife, are you?

Stepping back, she drew magic and sent heat and air through her shift. The younger man moved away and regarded her with new respect. Though she knew she probably looked more exciting wet, these two potential customers needed to know she could not be easily cheated of her fee.

When her shift was dry, she let out a sigh.

“You’d think with all my Gifts I wouldn’t have ended up a whore.” She looked up at them and blushed. “I only just started, mind. And I won’t be doing it for long, either. Only until I can find a job.”

The two men exchanged glances, then the father cleared his throat.

“How much?”

Emerahl smiled. “Well, I think such gallant men who thought to save a lady from drowning ought to receive a discount, don’t you?”

And this, she thought wryly, is the other reason men call that part of a woman’s body a whore’s purse.