by Melissa Mead
"Gracious! Are you all right, Sweetheart?” said Lady Myringa. Still holding Miska in a vice-grip, she brought out a voluminous magenta handkerchief and tried to dab at Miska's bleeding lip.
"I'm all right, thank you. Please, let go."
"Careful, Majestra,” the man rumbled. “That thing'll put a hex on you!"
Myringa stopped short, the handkerchief dangling limply from her hand. Her painful grip loosened. Miska slipped gently from the older woman's grasp. Myringa didn't move, but Miska had the uncomfortable feeling that the eyes behind the veil were studying her intently. Miska took a step back.
Myringa clamped down on her wrist, and locked eyes with Miska's pursuer.
"What are you talking about? Leave the child alone!"
"But, Majestra..."
"Leave, now!"
With a surly glare at Miska, the man edged away.
"Ill-bred vermin,” Myringa snorted. “The Temple should post guards. Oh my-you're bleeding, Honeybunch. Hold still. I..."
"Miska! Are you all right? What happened?” Lindi called, running up behind her, with her aunt following. “Oh, good morning, Lady Myringa."
"Your little friend has a split lip, I believe. I'll take her to the Temple."
"That's not necessary, Myri,” said Doria.
Miska looked up in relief-and surprise at Doria's sour expression.
Myringa's grip loosened. “Ah, hello, Doria. One of yours?"
"In a manner of speaking. Excuse us.” Despite Doria's obvious coolness, Myringa did not leave. She lingered, watching, while Miska climbed into Doria's carriage. Even as the chevrals trotted away, Miska felt those veiled eyes fixed on her.
"What happened, Miska?” Doria turned to look back at her from the front seat, her forehead creased with concern.
"I saw ... my cousin. He was so near! But he ran. And someone chased me—a Thorn. I'm sure of it."
"Did he poison you? Is that why you're bleeding?” Lindi squeaked.
"If he had, I wouldn't be talking to you,” Miska pointed out, smiling painfully.
"But he might have, if it weren't for Lady Myringa.” Lindi shuddered. “Here—take my handkerchief."
All three of them searched the streets as they drove, but the man was gone. So was Kimo.
Kimo would have screamed, if the Steel Thorns had caught him, Miska told herself. I would have heard him.
She closed her eyes and shivered.
* * * *
Miska sat cross-legged on the library rug, with a damp rag pressed to her swollen lip. She'd stopped trembling. It was hard for her to stay frightened in the library. It reminded her of Vedi Sharanis's study, with its wide windows and book-lined walls, but this room was carpeted in bright crimson wool with blue and gold patterns, and warmly lit by both shaded gaslights and a fireplace. Vedi Sharanis's books had stood in regimented order on their shelves. Here, they piled every table and desk, and more than one chair.
"I've never seen so many books at once,” she said, rather indistinctly.
Aldinan understood. He smiled, crow's-feet crinkling at the corners of his eyes. “You should have seen me the first time I ever came here. Doria and my sister Tamani—Lindi's mother—worked for the same trading fleet. I came along on one of my sister's trips. Doria met us in this room—and she was reading an early copy of ‘Voyage to the Hidden Isles.’ First printing, nearly impossible to find, even then. I spent nearly the whole trip in that chair Lindi's sitting in, with a stack of books right to hand. Dory and Tami practically had to pack me in a crate and ship me home. Even then, I kept coming back."
"I always suspected,” Doria groaned. “I thought he married me for my looks, but no—he wanted my books!"
Aldinan winked at her.
Lindi laughed. Miska rose to look at a title, and tripped over her hem.
Doria frowned. “Those dresses can't come soon enough. Elle Foster never rushes her work, though."
"Thank you, for not letting her measure me. It would have been ... awkward."
"Quite all right, dear. I was shy at your age, too."
"What, forty-three?” Lindi giggled. “I still don't believe you're forty-three, Miska. You'd be an old matron with a husband and at least four children ... What's wrong?” For Miska stood with her back to them all, hands clenched on a bookshelf, breathing hard.
"Miska?"
"You don't have to believe me,” she said softly. “But I have a betrothed. He has no idea where I am, or why I vanished. If we had children, we would be married. Just one child. I've never known anyone with four children.” She took another deep, shuddering breath. “There were seven children born among all the Kankenni this Barren Season. And every ... single ... one ... except my best friend's ... died."
Complete silence filled the library. A log in the fireplace popped and crackled, and still no one moved.
"I'm sorry,” Lindi whispered finally.
Slowly, Miska turned around.
"These Steel Thorns,” she said, with deliberate calm. “I don't understand why they need to hunt us. We'll only last a few more generations, even without them."
No one said anything.
"It's why I must bring my ‘cousin’ home. He's difficult. He won't want to listen to me—oh, not at all!—but he's part of our family, and we need him."
"We've been asking...” Doria began.
"No Kankenni will come to your asking,” said Miska. “Especially this one. Let me go looking for him, please."
"Now?” All three humans looked alarmed.
"I will come back,” Miska said, though her eyes strayed to the window. “I gave my word."
"It's not that we don't trust you,” Doria hastened to assure her. “But if Lady Myringa hadn't come along this morning ... and that poor girl, Lila..."
Miska paced before the window until static crackled from the carpet. “I'd be better off at the Temple. At least I'd be some help to Lila there."
"Lindi needs you here,” Aldinan reminded her.
"To amuse her with tricks, as though she were a child? No, Worldwalking isn't about making rocks into sparkly colored gems. Let me go!"
"But it's not safe! You..."
A bell rang at the front door. A moment later a nervous boy rapped on the doorframe.
"It's a gentleman from the Temple, Lady Doria."
"A gentleman? How odd. Maybe Estrellia sent news about your cousin, Miska! Thank you, Sammi. Send him in."
Half curious, half wary, Miska edged into a corner.
"Laundry call! You folks have a Temple uniform that needs returning.” Juliar appeared in the doorway, wagging a scolding finger at Lindi. “Making off with Temple property, tsk tsk. Sacrilege, you know."
He stopped and looked around, puzzled. “Ah ... Good morning, Lady Doria, Master Lamarie. Um, has Miska..."
"Juliar!” Miska bolted from the corner and nearly bowled the young scribe over by hugging him as far up as she could reach. He went white, then red, his expression slowly changing to his more usual smile.
"Miska! I thought you might have ... What happened? That's a nasty cut."
"It ... I thought I saw my cousin. I fell. It will be all right."
"Nurse Dannae could give you something for it, if you'd like to come to the Temple,” he offered lightly.
"Marigold? Comfrey? Sweet willow? I already have some in my pockets, I think."
"Er, never mind.” He looked crestfallen, for a moment. “Isn't that dress a bit long for you? The color does suit you better than gray, though."
"I hope you didn't really want that uniform back,” Lindi said. “She's turned it blue."
"Really? Care to change mine too? Gray is so insufferably dull. Speaking of insufferably dull, Miska, your old friend Gerun stopped by this morning. Wanted his milk pitcher back. Besides his usual collection of insults, he gave me a bit of news. Well, not really gave—Gerun never gives anyone anything but trouble. But he cursed quite a bit about a ‘little rat with weird gold eyes’ that made off with one of his cheese
s yesterday."
Miska looked up at him. “What happened to ... the thief?"
"Vanished. I looked, of course, but didn't find anyone. I thought you might like to come down to the Market with me, and look around yourself."
"Gladly!"
"You were going to give me a lesson, though.” Lindi looked crestfallen.
"It's a beautiful day out,” Juliar coaxed. “I brought the Temple's kid-cart. The chevrals are young, but they can pull up to four people. Three will be no problem."
"And I can give you lessons as we ride, Lindi,” Miska added.
"May we, Aunt Doria?"
"Aren't you supposed to be working, Juliar?"
"Yes—I will be, but Vedi Sharanis gave permission for me to bring the ladies to the Market first. She did promise to help Miska, after all. The Temple owes her a favor."
"How is the little girl—Lila?"
"Much better! Still spending nights in the Infirmary—just in case. One of the Temple Stewards carried her to Morningsong today, and she insisted on standing through the blessing. She did it, too.” Juliar traced lines in the carpet with the tip of his walking stick. “She doesn't remember anything about the attack. The older Matrons are calling her ‘Miracle Girl.’ He grinned wickedly. “I'm calling her ‘Runt,’ just to even things out. This morning she threw her pillow at me. It's great therapy. A few more weeks and she'll be a splendid arm-wrestler."
Doria laughed. “Some therapy! And how's your leg, Juliar? Is Miska's cure holding up?"
"Amazingly well, as long as I don't go climbing about on the Temple roof."
"Why would you ... Never mind."
"So, may we go, Aunt Doria?” Lindi begged.
Doria started to shake her head, and then reconsidered. “To the Market and back. Nowhere else."
"Nowhere else,” Juliar agreed, his smile broadening.
"Then you three may go to the Market while I take care of some business at the harbor. But be careful!"
"Never fear, ma'am. The Ladies Fair are safe in my care.” Juliar swept a courtly bow, and ushered Lindi and Miska out.
Chapter 8
Miska sat in the front of the cart, with Juliar, watching for any sign of Kimo.
"It's finally starting to warm up a bit,” Lindi commented. “Do you have your hairclip, Miska?"
"It bent, before. It doesn't matter. I won't need any pearls."
"Let me give you a few, just in case.” She handed them over the seat. “Of course, we'll get our change in silver, and you can just put that in your pocket."
"Can you make silver into pearls?” Juliar wondered.
"Juliar!” Lindi scolded. “That's stealing, or ... or something."
"I was just curious, Miss Salera."
"No.” Miska rolled a pearl in her palm, marveling. “Not yet, at least. Jewels are ... box-shaped inside. Simple. This is much more complicated.” She turned her head to look back at Lindi. “Thank you."
"You're my guest.” Lindi smiled and leaned into the seat of the open, two-chevral cart. Miska thought she looked like a little cat, with her face peeking out of her fur-lined hood. She herself had left behind the confining tangle of Lindi's gown for the blue Temple dress.
Lindi shivered. “Aren't you two cold? Although"—she pointed—"Look. You can actually see patches of grass through the slush."
"Greening Season's coming,” said Miska. “Can't you smell it?” Juliar, one eye on the chevrals, raised an eyebrow.
"You mean Spring?” Lindi wanted to know.
Miska laughed. “Doddi Jakki used to say that too. A spring is what you put in toys to make them bounce. Or new water, running.” She chuckled. “How many seasons do you think there are?"
"Four, of course!” Lindi and Juliar chorused.
Miska shook her head at them, still amused. “There are six: Greening, Growing, Sun, Harvest, Fading and Barren. The turning from Barren Season to Greening Season—now—is one of the thinnest times of the year, but if the harvest was good and no one has died, it's such fun! We gather tree-sugar, and make candy...” She looked somberly at them. “I promised to make some for ... my cousin."
"Well, once we find him, you'll have to make some for us too.” Juliar guided the cart to a gentle halt. “Hop out, ladies. I'll hitch up, grab the tools of my trade, and be right with you.” He climbed out himself, and the young chevrals instantly turned to nuzzle at him.
Miska watched him, frowning.
"You're limping again, Juliar,” she chided him.
"Yes, you weren't really climbing on the Temple roof, were you?” Lindi asked. Juliar winked at her.
* * * *
The market was even more beautiful on a clear day. The colors glowed as brightly as a sunset from Cavern Hill. People laughed and chatted, no longer huddled under cloaks and hoods. Despite the relative warmth, Miska kept her own face hidden.
"It's not as crowded today,” she observed.
"It's very busy, all the same,” said Lindi. “Almost like home. Kivinan's market has more flowers, though. And it's open to the air. This is like a circus."
Juliar shrugged, shifting the Temple mailbag into a more comfortable position over his shoulder. “Last time—when you were here, Miska—it was a main Market day. Today's just the odds and ends. The sideshow."
"I wasn't complaining. I like circuses,” Lindi pointed out. She started forward.
Miska grabbed her arm. “Lindi! Don't step on the eggs!"
The old egg-seller peered up at them. “Well, hello, lass!” he said to Miska. “Come to collect that cousin of yours?"
"Is he here?” Miska knelt at the edge of the old man's mat. “Have you seen him?"
His face twisted in a sour grimace. “Well, if you don't mind my saying, that cousin of yours is none so polite as yourself. Running wild and stealing from honest folk..."
"Has he come back? Juliar and Lindi have come to help me take him home. He won't trouble you any more."
The egg-seller looked up, seeing the others for the first time. “Why, it's the writing lad from the Temple! Wrote a nice letter for my granddaughter, you did once. With pictures, too."
"Yes, I remember, Mr. Anders.” Juliar smiled at him. “How is Katti? Does she still like rabbits?"
The old man's face crinkled into a smile. “The ones you drew for her? Nine years old she is now, and still keeps her ‘bunny letter’ over the mantle."
"She liked it that much?” Juliar looked delighted. “Just a moment ... I have a pen and ink, but ... Paper, paper..."
"I have some. It's yellow, but...” After a moment's hesitation, Miska tore a blank page from Doddi Jakki's journal.
With a few deft strokes, Juliar sketched a lop-eared rabbit with a bow over one ear. “There, Mr. Anders. Tell her the first bunny needed a friend."
"Now, won't she be surprised! That's kind.” The old man's eyes crinkled with mischief. “And you, young man—looks like you've found a couple of lady friends, yourself!” He waved a gnarled hand at Lindi and Miska. Miska looked to the others for an explanation. Lindi looked startled. Juliar looked mortified.
"Mr. Anders! The ladies are just helping me look for a little boy..."
"The rude fellow? I hear he ran off with a cheese near as big as himself. Gerun's hopping mad. Not that it takes much to get that fellow mad. Just last week he..."
"Have you seen him, Mr. Anders?"
"The boy? Not today, lad. But that Gerun..."
"Gerun. Yes. If you'll excuse us, we should speak to him."
"Of course, of course. You'll find Gerun at Spensie's spot, ‘less he's cooling his temper at the beer seller's. Need some eggs up at the Temple, lad? I can find you a double yolked one."
"Perhaps later, Mr. Anders."
"I'd like four, if you please.” Miska slid a pearl from her clip. “How many of these would you like?"
"One's far too much, lass,” the seller protested, but Miska pressed the pearl into his hand and plucked four brown eggs from the pile.
"Don't give me
silver, please. My hands are full. Goodbye!” She skipped away before anyone could protest.
"What are we going to do with four raw eggs?” Lindi demanded. “And I thought we were in a hurry. And why four?"
"We are. I promised you a lesson, though. There's an egg for each of us, and one for ... my cousin. Don't worry, Juliar. We can do this while we're walking."
"Do what?"
"Make boiled eggs. Can you see the Motes, Lindi?"
"Yes, lots of them."
"The what? Are you two making fun of me?” Juliar looked curious, annoyed and fascinated, all at once.
"Motes. They helped me with your leg, Juliar. Are you ready, Lindi? Push them toward me."
"How? I can't touch them."
"Cross into ... No, you can't do that yet. I'll teach you a game the children play, before they can Worldwalk. Make a whistling face, and blow them this way."
Lindi squirmed, and managed a feeble whistle. “This looks silly. People are staring."
"It sure does!” Juliar agreed. “Can I help?” He waved his free arm as though shooing pigeons. “Come on, you Mites! Go to Miska!"
"It's Motes, silly!” Lindi sputtered, still trying to whistle. Miska doubled over with laughter, nearly dropping the eggs.
"You can do it, Miss Salera,” Juliar encouraged. He whistled a few bars himself, slipping without pause from a stately hymn to a swirling waltz to a lively jig. Between giggles, Lindi managed a few more notes. The Motes spiraled around her.
"Very good!” Miska began juggling the eggs. “Keep sending them this way."
"This is a circus.” Juliar said.
Lindi laughed, dropped a curtsy, and poured a stream of Motes into Miska's waiting hands. Miska kept juggling. The eggs began to steam lightly in the cold air. Juliar watched in amazement.
"They're ... ouch ... nearly done. Here.” Miska handed an egg each to Lindi and Juliar. Juliar took his gingerly.
"By the Stars! I'm lucky you didn't cook me like an egg, the other day."
Miska looked up from peeling her egg. “Why would anyone do such a thing?"
"There are people who would, if they knew this kind of trick. The Steel Thorns, for one,” Juliar said quietly.
A small crowd had gathered to watch what looked, to them, like a wandering juggling act. There was a spattering of applause. Juliar swept an elaborate bow and began a grandiose speech thanking the audience—and taking their attention away from Miska, who stood frozen under the stares. She turned a paper-white face to Lindi.
