22

The sun was a bright ball softened by the mist shrouding the city. Few people were about, and those who were hesitated before they passed Leiard, no doubt wondering what a Dreamweaver was doing wandering through the docks on such a morning.

What he was doing was thinking. Remembering dreams of remembering… and feeling guilty about them.

He had decided days ago that he would not reach out to her in dreams, but last night his subconscious had decided otherwise. By the time he had realized what he was doing, it was too late. She had answered him.

Even then, he should have had the will to stop, but Auraya had embraced the dream link so naturally and completely. She was impossible to deny, and the night’s pleasures had been too good to resist.

She has a good imagination, that one, a voice in his mind murmured. It is a pity she’s a tool of the gods.

Leiard frowned. She is more than just a tool.

No? Do you think that if the gods ordered her to kill you, she’d refuse?

Yes.

You are a fool.

Leiard stopped and looked out over the water. Ships swayed in the water, ghostly in the mist.

I am a fool, he agreed.

Well, it’s been a while.

Leiard decided to ignore that. I shouldn‘t have done it, he thought. We broke the law.

A stupid law.

A law nonetheless. A law that is punishable by death.

I doubt she’ll be punished. As for you… once again, you were clever enough to ensure it was her decision. She’ll blame herself for encouraging you to break that law, if she has any conscience.

It wasn‘t her fault.

No? So you think you’re so charming she lost all will and couldn‘t resist you?

Oh, be quiet! Leiard scowled and crossed his arms. This was ridiculous. He was arguing with a memory of Mirar. Which was happening more often now. He hadn’t been linking with Jayim for fear of the boy learning of his night with Auraya, but Arleej had said he must in order to regain his sense of identity. Was this why Mirar’s personality had become so… so…

Protective? Because I know you and Auraya plan to sneak away to secret locations in the city to rut yourselves silly once she gets back. Because you’re a Dreamweaver, and when your affair is discovered my people will pay the price.

They won’t discover it, Leiard replied. Not if the other White never get a chance to read my mind. I will have to give up the role of adviser.

Which will make them suspicious. They’ll want to question you. To ask why.

I’ll send a message. I’ll tell them I need more time to train Jayim.

A likely story.

They won’t spare me a second thought. I’m just an ordinary Dreamweaver. They’ll probably be relieved to get rid of me. They’ll—

“Leiard?”

The voice came from close by. Leiard blinked as he realized he was at the end of a pier. He turned to see Jayim standing behind him.

“Jayim?” he said. “What are you doing here?”

The boy’s forehead crinkled. “Looking for you.” He glanced from side to side. “Who were you talking to?”

Leiard stared at his student. Talking? He swallowed and realized his throat did feel as it did when he had been speaking for some time.

“Nobody,” he said, hoping that he didn’t look as disturbed as he felt He shrugged. “Just reciting formulas aloud.”

Jayim nodded, accepting Leiard’s explanation. “Are we going to have lessons today?”

Leiard looked out at the ships. The fog was thinner now, rising in drifts. It was impossible to tell how long he had been standing here. A few hours, from the position of the sun.

“Yes. More cures, I think. Yes, you can never know too many by heart.”

Jayim grimaced. “No links?”

Leiard shook his head. “Not yet.”

Emerahl was dragged, protesting, from the depths of sleep by a persistent hammering. Reaching a state of befuddled awareness, she recognized the sound as that of a fist making contact with a door. She opened her eyes and muttered a curse. The one advantage of staying up late and sleeping all morning was that she did not have the tower dream, but occasionally the landlord came early for the rent.

“I hear you,” she called. “I’m coming.”

With an effort, she pushed herself upright. Immediately she felt the cloying ropes of sleep loosen. She blinked and rubbed her eyes until they remained open, yawned several times, then, throwing on her dirty old tawl, went to the door.

As soon as the latch clicked the door swung inward. Emerahl stumbled back, gathering magic quickly to form an invisible shield. The intruder was a large middle-aged woman dressed in fine clothing. Behind her stood two broad-shouldered men, obviously hired guards.

No feeling of violent intent came from this rich stranger and her guards, only curiosity and the arrogance of people with wealth or power. Emerahl stared at the woman.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

The woman ignored the question. She glanced around the room, eyebrows rising with disdain, then gave Emerahl an assessing look. “So you’re the whore Panilo’s discovered.” She pursed her lips. “Take off the tawl.”

Emerahl made no move to obey. She met the woman’s eyes levelly. “Who are you?” she repeated.

The stranger crossed her arms and thrust out her generous bosom. “I am Rozea Peporan.”

She obviously expected Emerahl to know the name. After a short silence, the woman frowned and uncrossed her arms, placing her hands on her hips instead.

“I own and run the richest brothel in Porin.”

A brothel? Opportunity comes knocking quickly in Toren. Or hammering, as it was.

“Is that so?” Emerahl said.

“Yes.”

Emerahl put a knuckle to her lips. “Panilo is the trader who bought my services the last few nights.”

“That’s right. He’s a regular customer. At least he was until recently. He has an eye for quality so I’m always suspicious if my spies tell me he’s been visiting Main Street.”

“So you’re here to tell me to move on, then?”

Rozea smiled, but her eyes remained cold. “That depends. Take off your tawl. And your shift.”

Emerahl shrugged out of the garments and tossed them on the bed, then drew her shoulders back and turned to display her naked body. She didn’t have to strain her senses to detect the guards’ interest. The way the woman examined her body was impersonal and calculating. Emerahl turned full circle and tossed her head.

“Skinny,” Rozea said. “Good bones. I can always work with good bones. No scars… What is your natural hair color?”

“Red.”

“Then why dye it?”

“To make it redder. So I stand out.”

“It looks cheap. My establishment isn’t cheap. My girls can strip it back and redye it a natural shade. Were any of your customers diseased?”

“No.”

“You?”

“No.”

“Good. Get dressed.”

Emerahl moved to her chair, where she had draped her green tunic after washing and drying it last night. “What makes you think I want to work in your establishment?” she asked as she donned it.

“Safety. A clean room. Better clients. Better money.”

“I have Gifts. I can protect myself,” she stated. She gave Rozea a sidelong look. “What kind of money are we talking about?”

Rozea chuckled…“You’ll earn no more than fifty ren to start with.”

Emerahl shrugged. “Panilo paid me that. I want a hundred.”

“Sixty, with new clothes and some jewelry.”

“Eighty.”

“Sixty,” Rozea said firmly. “No more.”

Emerahl sat on the edge of the bed and pretended to consider. “No rough customers. I hear people like you let rich men get nasty with their girls if they offer enough money. Not with me. I have Gifts. If they try anything, I’ll kill them.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed, then she shrugged. “No rough types, then. Are we agreed?”

“And no diseased ones. No money’s worth sickness.”

Rozea smiled. “I do my best to keep my girls safe,” she said proudly. “Customers are encouraged to bathe beforehand, which gives us the opportunity to examine them. Any customers known to be diseased are banned from the house. All girls are given cleansing herbals. If you are Gifted enough, there are other methods you can be taught.” She gave Emerahl a lofty look. “We have a reputation to uphold as the cleanest brothel in Porin.”

Emerahl nodded, impressed. “Sounds reasonable. I’ll give it a try.”

“Fetch your things, then. I have a platten waiting.”

Looking around, Emerahl recalled that her purse was in a pocket of the tunic and the sea bell was sewn into her sleeve. She rose and walked to the door. Rozea glanced at the discarded tawl and shift, then smiled and led her out.

“We tell our customers our girls are from good families that fell on hard times,” Rozea said as they descended the stairs. “You have an old-fashioned way of talking which will support that illusion. You’ll be taught all the social graces of high society. If you prove an apt student we’ll teach you a language or two.”

Emerahl smiled wryly. “You’ll find I’m a fast learner.”

“Good. Can you read?”

“A little.” She hoped she was right. If the language had changed over a century, how much had writing changed?

“Write?”

“A little.”

“Sing?”

“Well enough to frighten birds from the crops.”

Rozea laughed quietly. “No singing, then. What about dancing?”

“No.” Which was probably true. It had been a long time.

“What is your name?”

“Emmea.”

“Not any longer. Your new name is Jade.”

“Jade.” Emerahl shrugged. “The eyes, right?”

“Of course. They are your best feature at the moment. My girls will teach you how to enhance your better features and hide your worst by selecting clothing, modifying your posture and, as a last resort, applying paint.”

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Rozea pushed through the door. A platten waited in the alley. The two guards climbed onto the seat next to the driver. Rozea gestured for Emerahl to join her inside. Emerahl glanced to either side as she climbed in. Main Street was empty but for a few sleeping beggars. Nobody was going to witness her “disappearance.” Not even her landlord, which wasn’t a bad thing.

At an order from the driver, the arem pulling the platten started forward, carrying Emerahl away. A brothel, she thought. Are the priests more or less likely to find me there? Probably neither. At least it will be more comfortable. It might even be profitable.