20

As the water in the bowl stilled, Emerahl examined her reflection, tilting her head so she could see her scalp. Her natural, youthful hair color was just beginning to show, though only on close examination. It was a less vivid shade of red than the dye she had applied a few days ago, but she would be able to hide the change by using a weaker dye solution as it grew longer.

She straightened and considered herself. A young woman with dazzling green eyes, lightly speckled pale skin and hair the color of a sunset looked back at her. Her long tunic was a faded green that might once have matched her eyes, but the neckline was provocative—and would be more so once she put on some weight.

The small smile the girl in the mirror was wearing disappeared and was replaced by a frown.

Yes, I definitely need to regain my curves, she thought. I’m a scrawny wretch.

Unfortunately, she had used up almost all her small income from her first customers by renting a room for a few nights. The price of accommodation had increased quite a bit in the last hundred or so years. As had other things. She hadn’t realized until it was too late why the fishermen hadn’t haggled too fiercely. She had assumed desire for her had made them malleable, when the truth was they had got themselves a bargain.

Clothes had been her first priority, however. Her price for lying with the fishermen had included a dirty old tawl she had spied in the cabin. It had covered her until she could buy herself the tunic and find a room. That night, after cleaning herself up, she had ventured out to replenish her purse.

Customers did not warm to her that evening and she made barely enough money to pay for food and another night’s rent. On the third night the man she brought back to her room stared at her white hair and treated her roughly. When he left, he all but reeked of vengeful satisfaction. She wondered if the woman he wanted to hurt knew how much he hated her.

She had skipped a meal so she could buy hair dye. The next night she had no trouble picking up customers. There weren’t many red-haired women working the streets of Porin. She was a novelty.

Emerahl ran a comb through her hair one more time, then turned toward the door. She silently cursed the priest who had chased her from her home, then straightened her back and left.

She did not have to travel far. Her accommodation was situated in an alley off Main Street, the main thoroughfare of the low-end of town. Anything could be bought or arranged here: whores, black-market goods, poison, a new identity, someone else’s possessions, someone else’s life. Competition was fierce among the whores and her presence had been quickly noted and challenged. As Emerahl took her place at the alley corner, she looked for now-familiar hostile faces. The dark-skinned twins standing just past the other corner of the alley had tried to intimidate her into leaving, but a small demonstration of her Gifts had convinced them to leave her alone. The sharp-nosed girl across the road had attempted to befriend her, but Emerahl had turned her away. She was not going to be here long enough to need friends, and did not intend to share her customers or income with another.

A chill rain began to fall. Emerahl drew magic and shaped it into a barrier over her head. She noted how the dark twins huddled close under a window awning. One cupped her hands and red light began to spill from between her fingers. The other twin wrapped her hands around her sister’s.

Across the street, the sharp-nosed girl quickly became soaked, turning her from a young woman into a bedraggled child. To Emerahl’s amusement, the girl’s clinging wet clothes attracted a customer. She nodded to herself as the pair disappeared. Though she did not want the girl’s friendship, she had enough fellow-feeling for these street whores that seeing them courting illness bothered her.

The rain became heavier. Pedestrians grew fewer, and most barely spared the street girls a glance. Emerahl watched as a pair of young men swaggered down the opposite side of the road. One looked up at her, then nudged his companion with an elbow. The other began to look in her direction, but as he was about to see her something blocked their view.

Emerahl frowned at the covered platten that had pulled up in front of her. Then she saw the man looking at her from behind an opening in the cover. Middle-aged, she noted, but well dressed. She smiled. “Greetings,” she said. “Are you looking for something?”

His eyes narrowed and a wry smile curled his lips. “Indeed I am.”

She then sauntered up to the opening.

“Something I can help you with?” she murmured.

“Perhaps,” he said. “I was looking for a little company. Some stimulating conversation.”

“I can offer you stimulating and conversation,” she replied.

He laughed, then his eyes strayed to the magical shield above her.

“A useful Gift.”

“I have many useful Gifts,” she said slyly. “Some are useful to me, some may be useful to you.”

His eyes narrowed, though whether at the warning or invitation she wasn’t sure. “What is your name?”

“Emmea.”

The opening in the platten cover widened. “Get in, Emmea.”

“That will cost you at least—”

“Get in, and we’ll negotiate out of the rain.”

She hesitated, then shrugged and climbed inside. If the price was too low, or he proved to be troublesome, she could easily use her Gifts to break free. All she would risk was a walk in the rain and, as she settled onto the soft cushions piled upon the seat beside him and noted the gold rings that graced her customer’s fingers, she knew that was a risk worth taking.

The man called out and the platten jerked into motion. It travelled slowly. Emerahl eyed her customer. He stared back at her.

“Thirty ren,” he said. She felt her heart skip. Generous. Perhaps he could be pushed further. She feigned disdain.

“Fifty.”

He pursed his lips. She began undoing the ties on the front of her tunic. His eyes followed every movement of her fingers.

“Thirty-five,” he offered.

She snorted softly. “Forty-five.”

He smiled as she spread open the cloth of her tunic, revealing the length of her body. She lay back on the cushions and saw the desire in his eyes intensify as she ran her hands down her body, from her small breasts to the fine triangle of red hairs at her groin.

He breathed deeply, then met her eyes.

“Heybrin will not protect you from disease.”

So he had noticed the smell of the herb. She smiled thinly. “I know, but men don’t believe me when I tell them my Gifts can.”

The corner of his lip twitched. “I do. How does forty sound?”

“Forty it is, then,” she agreed, sliding across the seat and reaching for the fastening of his finely tailored pants.

He leaned forward and ran the tip of his tongue down her neck to her nipples, and his fingers slid down into her pubic hair, caressing. She smiled and pretended to be aroused by this, hoping he wasn’t thinking she would forgo the fee if he gave a little pleasure in return.

She turned her attention to his body, and soon he was more interested in his own pleasure. Once he was inside her, she let the instincts of her body keep time with his movements and focused her mind on his. Emotion, mostly lust, came to her like drifts of smoke. She was getting better at sensing it.

His movements became more urgent, then he sighed into a climax. Like most men, he drew away after only a moment’s pause. She sighed and relaxed against the cushions. This is definitely better than a hard brick wall against my back.

When she looked up at him, he was regarding her curiously.

“Why is a beautiful young woman like yourself working the streets, Emmea?”

She managed to stop herself looking at him as if he was an idiot.

“Money.”

“Yes, of course. But what of your parents?”

“They threw me out.”

His eyebrows rose. “What did you do?”

“You mean ‘Who?’—‘Who did I do?’ ” she said lightly. “Or who didn’t I do? I guess I was meant for this work.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

She regarded him coolly. Why all the questions? “Most of the time,” she lied.

He smiled. “How did you learn about heybrin?”

She considered the motion of the platten. It was still moving slowly. They couldn’t have gone far, but the more he talked the further they travelled from Main Street. Was he trying to intimidate her into forgoing her fee for the sake of escaping him? Well, it wasn’t going to work.

“I… my grandmother knew a lot about herbs and magic. She taught me. Mother said she shouldn’t have taught me how to stop babies until I was married, but…” Emerahl smiled wryly. “My grandi knew me better.”

“My grandmother used to say people will always have vices, so you may as well profit from them.” He frowned. “My father is the opposite. Very moral. He’d hate to see me now. He took our money out of her ‘immoral ventures’ and put it all into the eastern mountains. We’ve made a lot of money out of rare woods and mining.”

Suddenly she understood what was going on. He was the kind of customer who liked to talk. Well, he had mentioned wanting stimulating conversation. She may as well play along. If she humored him she might learn something—and if she proved a good listener he might become a regular customer.

“Sounds like he made the right decision, then,” she said.

He grimaced. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. The searches at the gates have slowed traffic and we’ve lost custom because of it. I don’t know why they bother. If a priest with mind-reading Gifts can’t find this sorceress, who can? Now there are rumors the White are going to ally with the Siyee, who want the land we own.”

“The White?”

“Yes. The Siyee sent ambassadors to the White Tower. Apparently one of the White has left to visit Si. The newest one. I guess it’s too much to hope that she’ll mess it up out of inexperience.”

Emerahl shook her head. “Who are the White?”

He turned to stare at her. “You don’t know? How can you not know?”

Something in his tone told her that she had revealed herself ignorant in a matter that every modern man and woman knew well. She shrugged. “My home is remote. We didn’t even have a priest.”

His eyebrows rose. “Well, then. No wonder you ran away.”

Ran away? She hadn’t said that, but perhaps he had sensed in her manner that she was lying and guessed at the reason. Running away was a likely story for a young woman on the streets.

“The White are the highest of the Circlian priests and priestesses,” he explained. “The Gods’ Chosen. Juran is the first, then Dyara, Mairae, Rian, and now Auraya.”

“Ah, the Gods’ Chosen.” Emerahl hoped she had managed to hide her shock. How could Juran still be alive? The answer was obvious. Because the gods want him to be. She nodded to herself. Most likely these other White were long-lived, too. What was this White Tower? She suddenly remembered the tower dream that still occasionally bothered her. Was this the tower?

“You look… Did that make sense?”

She looked at the man sitting beside her and nodded. “Yes, it jogged my memory. Grandi taught me something like that, but I’d forgotten most of it.” She looked at him. “Can you tell me more?”

He smiled, then shook his head sadly. “I must return to my home. First I will take you back to yours.” He called instructions to the driver and the platten began to rock more rapidly. After a few minutes it slowed to a halt.

Reaching into his tunic, he drew out a wallet and silently counted out small copper coins.

“Fifty ren,” he said, handing them to her.

She hesitated. “But…”

“I know. We agreed on forty. You’re worth more than that, Emmea.”

She smiled, then impulsively leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. A brightness flared in his eyes and she felt his hand brush against her waist as she climbed out of the platten.

He’ll be back, she thought with certainty. I knew I wouldn’t be here long.

She noted that the twins had disappeared. Turning around, she waved at her night’s investment as the platten drew away. Then, with fifty ren tucked into her purse, she hurried down the alley to her room.

Tryss woke several times during the night. Each time he opened his eyes he saw only darkness. Finally, he blinked sleep away to see the palest light filtering though the walls of his parents’ bower.

He rose and dressed quietly, strapping his tools to his waist. As an afterthought, he grabbed a piece of bread on the way out and by the time he had reached the Open all that was left was the burned crust, which he tossed aside.

He stretched and warmed up carefully. If he was to test his new harness today, he did not want pulled muscles hampering his movements. As he ran through the exercises, he looked to the northern edge of the Open, but the White priestess’s bower was hidden within the shadows of the trees.

The landwalker’s presence had stirred the Siyee into a state of excitement and suspense. Everyone talked about her and the alliance offer all the time. Tryss was half sick of the subject, particularly because those people most excited by this visit by the Gods’ Chosen were those who had scoffed loudest when they heard of his harness. The people who did not believe the Siyee had anything to offer the White in return for their protection.

That’s because they’re the least intelligent of us, Drilli had said when he voiced this observation.

He smiled at the memory, then leapt into the air. Cold wind rushed over his face and chilled the membrane of his wings. Winter was drawing ever closer. Snow already dusted the highest peaks. Many of the forest trees had lost their leaves, revealing herds of the animals he intended to hunt.

My family won’t go hungry this year, he told himself.

It took him an hour to get to the cave where he now stored his new harness. He came to it by a roundabout route which would hopefully confuse anyone who might try to follow. His cousins were still gloating over their act of spite, but neither had harassed him since. His father had said something about the pair being busy with a task Speaker Sirri had set them.

Landing before the cave, Tryss hurried inside. Every time he entered and found all as it had been when he left it, he felt a surge of relief.

Not this time. A figure stood beside the harness. He froze in alarm, then felt a mix of relief and anxiety as he saw that it was Speaker Sirri.

The leader of his tribe smiled at him.

“Is it finished?”

Tryss glanced at the harness. “Almost.”

The smile faded. “So you haven’t tested it yet.”

“No.”

She looked at him thoughtfully, then beckoned.

“Sit with me, Tryss. I want to talk to you.”

As she dropped into a squat, Tryss moved to the other side of the harness and folded himself down. He watched her closely. She looked into the distance, then turned back to regard him.

“Do you think you could have this finished and working by tomorrow night?”

Tomorrow night was the night of the Gathering. The White priestess would address them. Tryss felt his pulse quicken.

“Maybe.”

“I need a definite ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ ”

He took a deep breath. “Yes.”

She nodded. “Are you willing to risk demonstrating it at a Gathering this important?”

His heart was racing now. “Yes.”

She nodded again. “Then I will arrange for it to be part of the meeting. It should be timed well, if you are to impress everyone.”

“I’d be happy just to convince a few people,” he muttered.

She laughed. “Ah, but we have to convince everyone.”

“Some will never believe in it.”

She tilted her head to one side. “Do you realize that part of the reason they will not open their minds is because they fear you are right?”

He frowned. “Why? If I’m right, they can hunt. And fight.”

“And go to war. If we go to war, many of us will never return, even if the fight is won. We are not as numerous as landwalkers and do not produce as many healthy children. A victory for the White may be the final defeat for the Siyee.”

Tryss felt himself turn cold as her words sank in. If his invention enabled Siyee to go to war, and that led to the end of the Siyee, then he would be responsible for his people’s demise.

“But if we can hunt and grow crops we will be stronger,” he said slowly, thinking aloud. “We will have more healthy children. If we can defend ourselves from invaders, more of us will live to have children. When we go to war we must attack from far enough away that the enemy’s arrows can’t reach us. None of us have to die.”

Sirri chuckled. “If only that were true. We have two paths before us. Both have a price. It may be that the price is the same.” She rose. “Come to my bower late tonight and we will discuss the timing and form of your demonstration.”

“I will.” He stood up. “Thank you, Speaker Sirri.”

“If this works, all of the Siyee will thank you, Tryss.” She paused, then winked. “Not to put any pressure on you, of course.”

Then she strode out of the cave and leapt into the sky, leaving Tryss with the nagging feeling she had just done him a favor he might come to regret.