Copyright © 1986 by Jayne Krentz
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Crystal Flame
Jayne Ann Krentz
One
It was understood throughout the great Northern Continent of Zantalia that assassins were invariably male.
Clutching the marriage contract in one hand, Kalena stood on the wide threshold of the Traders’ Guild Hall and considered what it meant to be an exception to that rule. She had been waiting since the summer of her twelfth year to carry out the lethal task that would set her free. Now she was finally on the brink of a future she had only been able to dream of in hazy images; a future as a freewoman with obligations to no one but herself.
She gazed in wonder at the noisy, bustling activity going on inside the wide hall. She had arrived in the thriving town of Crosspurposes only a day earlier, but already her life back home in the farming town of Interlock seemed very distant. That was fine with Kalena. She had no intention of ever going back to the rich, fertile fields of the Interlock valley with its prim, conservative farmers and villagers. Nor did she have any desire to return ever to the harsh, bitter company of her aunt. The marriage contract she held in her hand was her ticket out of bucolic boredom and the stifling demands of her aunt. But for Kalena, the contract was more important as her first step toward freedom.
Still, Kalena wasn’t yet completely free of the past. There was a price on all things, and she still had to pay for her ticket to a new life. The packet of poison she carried sewn into her journey bag was the means by which she would fulfill her final duty to the House of the Ice Harvest.
Kalena, the last daughter of the Great House of the Ice Harvest, had been sent to Crosspurposes to avenge her devastated clan. The mandate had been handed down from the last Lady of the House, her father’s sister, Olara. Olara knew as well as anyone that entrusting a mission of vengeance to a woman was a risky thing to do, but there was no choice. Olara and Kalena were the only members of the House of the Ice Harvest left. Kalena’s mother had died shortly after learning of the deaths of her husband and her son. Olara herself was a Healer, and so could not kill. That left only Kalena.
Kalena had known for some time that Olara wasn’t particularly satisfied with her niece as a potential assassin, but neither she nor her aunt had any choice. Someone had to carry out the task of assassinating the man responsible for the deaths of men of the House of the Ice Harvest. More than murder had been done. An entire Great House had been terminated with the deaths of the men of the clan. Such an act required the most extreme form of vengeance, and if there was only a woman left to mete out justice then so be it. Olara had made her plans accordingly. What Olara didn’t know was that Kalena had a plan of her own.
Kalena gazed at the colorful scene before her and tasted the first, heady essence of freedom. She would do her duty as honor demanded. There was no question of that. Kalena had been taught the importance of one’s responsibility to one’s honor before she could walk. But she hoped to buy more than vengeance with her victim’s death. She intended to use his death to buy a new future for herself, the kind of unlimited future most women on the Northern Continent never knew.
She had been working on her plan to accomplish these two goals since the summer of her twelfth year. Never for a moment had Aunt Olara allowed her to forget her destiny. But once she had recovered from the shock of the death of her family and accepted her dangerous task, Kalena had begun to dream her own dreams.
So be it. Life was Spectrum. For every action there was another, opposing action that would ensure an ultimate balance. Kalena understood that fundamental philosophical principle. She might have been raised in a farming town since the fall of her House, but she’d had an excellent education. Aunt Olara had seen to it that the last daughter of the House had been brought up in accordance with the high standards that befitted her heritage. The works of Zantalia’s most influential polarity philosophers had been available for her to read. Kalena had studied well.
Now she looked up at the second tier of offices that ringed the large Guild hall. She couldn’t help being impressed by the elaborate architecture. There was nothing quite like this back home in Interlock Valley. The building was two stories high with massive, arched windows lining the ground floor, and flooding the open central hall with light. The second floor was lined with small rooms on all four sides. Every facet of construction, from the elaborately inlaid floor to the heavily carved pillars of expensive moonwood, served to emphasize the wealth that the business of trade brought to Crosspurposes.
Overhead several people were lounging against the upper railing watching the crowds down on the main floor. Kalena wondered which, if any, of those strange faces belonged to the man whose name was on the marriage contract alongside her own.
A trio of laughing, joking men arrived in the open doorway behind Kalena. Their lanti skin boots were caked with dried mud and their trousers and wide-sleeved shirts were dusty from travel. Kalena guessed that they were traders returning from a venture and she stepped out of their way. As they went past two of them hailed a friend they spotted in the crowd. The third man turned his head and saw Kalena standing in the shadow of the arched doorway. He grinned wickedly and started to say something to her. But before he could speak another group of males sauntered through the door, providing a shield for Kalena. She used the small distraction to slip into the crowd.
Moving through the busy hall, she searched for someone who looked as if he or she would be willing to take a minute to help her. Most of the people she passed seemed noisily intent on business and boisterous conversation.
As Kalena made her way through the large, two-tiered hall she surreptitiously observed the clothing of the few women present in the crowd. The first thing she noticed was that the colorful tunics they wore over their narrow trousers were much shorter, almost knee length, and slit far higher up the side than her own. Earlier, she had noted the same type of clothing on women she had passed in the street.
Town fashion was obviously a great deal more daring than the styles favored in the Interlock valley. Kalena made a mental note to make some changes in her own wardrobe as soon as possible. She would have to do something about her hair, too. The women here in town all seemed to wear theirs quite short in back, with chin-length ringlets of curls framing their faces. Kalena felt distinctly old-fashioned with her own thick mass of golden red curls held back from her face by a wide, embroidered band.
One of the women she was studying turned suddenly and Kalena’s eyes collided with the stranger’s. Embarrassed for having been caught staring, she started to turn aside and then changed her mind. It would be easier to ask another woman for directions than to try to get the attention of one of the rough and burly male traders. Tentatively, Kalena smiled.
“Could you help me, please? I’m trying to find someone. I was told he would probably be here in the Guild hall at this time of day.”
The other woman eyed her intently for a moment, taking in her obviously provincial appearance. She apparently decided to take pity on the young woman, and asked in a kind voice, “Who is it you’re trying to find?” She stepped closer to Kalena so they would be able to converse above the din.
“A man named Ridge. I don’t know the name of his House. He works for the Trade Baron Quintel of the House of the Gliding Fallon.”
The woman’s eyebrows rose and she pursed her lips for a few seconds. “You hav
e business with the Fire Whip?”
Kalena shook her head. “No, Ridge is his name. I’m quite sure of it. It’s written here on the contract.”
Curiously, the woman glanced at the folded document in Kalena’s hand. “Contract? What sort of contract do you have with Quintel’s Fire Whip?”
“A trade marriage agreement.” Kalena felt quite daring as she said the words aloud. Trade marriages might be legal, but they were hardly respectable. She had a hunch the woman in front of her knew all about trade marriages. “And I’ve explained, it’s not with someone called Whip. It’s with a man named Ridge.”
“The Ridge who works for Quintel is known as the Fire Whip,” the woman explained impatiently. “Here, let me see that contract. I can’t believe you’ve really got a trade marriage arrangement with him. He’s not a regular trader. He’s Quintel’s private weapon. Quintel uses him the way another man uses a sintar.”
“I see,” Kalena said, although she didn’t. “Is…is Fire Whip the House name of this man, Ridge?”
The other woman laughed as if Kalena’s question was genuinely funny. “Hardly. Ridge has no House. He’s a bastard. In more ways than one, some people say. Has a temper that can make—” She broke off at the sight of Kalena’s chagrined expression. “Never mind. Let’s just say that wise folks do not go out of their way to provoke him.”
“If he works for Quintel, then he’s the man I seek,” Kalena said quietly. The other woman didn’t understand, Kalena realized. She wasn’t upset because her future husband had a reputedly fiery temper; Kalena didn’t expect to be around this Ridge person long enough to provoke him. Rather, she was startled to learn that she was signing a marriage contract—even something as straightforward as a trade marriage contract—with a man who could claim no House at all, not even a small one. Olara hadn’t warned her about that aspect of the situation.
Kalena hesitated, then handed over the trade marriage agreement, watching closely as her new acquaintance scanned the legal document. She was fascinated by her first encounter with what appeared to be a freewoman who made her own living and her own decisions. With a little luck and a little successful vengeance, Kalena herself might be joining the ranks of such free females.
The woman in front of her was a few years older than Kalena. She had a strong, full-figured body and carried herself with an almost aggressive air. Her hair was dark and done in the town fashion, the long side curls framing a handsome face and challenging eyes. She wore no House band on her wrist, which was not surprising. Only members of the Great Houses wore such symbols of rank and recognition. The families that comprised the vast majority of less important Houses were not entitled to wear them.
Under most circumstances, no female member of a Great House would have been allowed to involve herself in trade or any other similar business. Kalena’s ability to do so was only one of the many exceptional circumstances of her life. Her own House band was hidden away in her travel bag along with her father’s jeweled sintar and the packet of poison. She had not been allowed to use her real House name since the summer of her twelfth year. Olara had forbidden it in an effort to hide her niece’s identity. Kalena had grown accustomed to introducing herself as a daughter of a small House called the Summer Wind. But in her heart she was always conscious of her rightful name and heritage.
But what fascinated Kalena about her new friend was not so much her lack of a Great House band as it was her lack of a man’s lock and key around her throat. In Kalena’s experience, females who had reached this woman’s age were invariably married. At least that was the case in the Interlock valley. Kalena was somewhat taken aback by this first tangible proof of the kind of freedom that was really possible. Until now Kalena’s imagination had been able to conjure up only vague, uncertain images of what it meant to be a freewoman; she was quickly realizing a whole new way of life truly did wait for her. Her dreams could more than come true. She couldn’t wait.
The woman looked up abruptly, her eyes mirroring a kind of wry amazement. “By the Stones, you’re telling the truth, aren’t you? You truly do have a trade marriage contract with Quintel’s Fire Whip. And your name is Kalena of the House of the Summer Wind?”
Kalena inclined her head, embarrassed that she hadn’t properly introduced herself. “I’m from the Interlock valley.” The contract contained no hint of her connection with the House of the Ice Harvest, of course. Kalena and Olara wore their false names like a cloak.
“Welcome to Crosspurposes, Kalena,” the woman said in a now friendly voice. “I’m Arrisa.” She paused and then added carelessly, “House of the Wet Fields.” Obviously she didn’t use her House name very often. The words sounded rusty. “I’ll be glad to take you to meet Ridge.”
“You are very kind.”
“Not at all.” Arrisa grinned, leading her charge toward the far end of the teeming hall. “I’m just in the mood for a good joke.”
Kalena’s chin lifted with a faint touch of Great House arrogance. “You think I’m going to be a source of amusement for you?”
“We’ll see, won’t we? Ridge is probably up there on the second level. That’s where the trade offices are.”
Arrisa led the way up a wide, curving staircase that opened onto the second level gallery of offices. Kalena followed, still holding tightly to her precious contract. Olara had made it clear that it was absolutely necessary to contract the less-than-acceptable trade marriage in order to get close to the intended assassination victim. He was far too well protected to be reached otherwise.
Yes, she realized, it was still precious to her, even if it was a contract with a houseless man. No matter how much below her the groom-to-be was, this marriage was still her ticket to freedom. Once she had accomplished the assassination, Aunt Olara had assured Kalena there would be no need to go on the trail as a trade wife. If all went well, Kalena would carry out her task on her wedding night. After all, in the depths of a Far Seeing trance, Olara had caught a glimpse of Kalena’s intended victim dying amidst the boisterous confusion of a large wedding party. Olara’s trances had a way of proving very accurate.
When Olara had come out of that particular trance, she had assured her niece that the chaos that would be caused in the household after the victim’s death by an apparent heart attack would serve to protect Kalena. The death would appear to be of natural causes and the resulting confusion should insure that immediate, short-term business arrangements such as a trade marriage would be terminated with any members or associate of her victim’s House. But Kalena was especially glad of Olara’s reassurances now that she knew her intended husband was a man without a House name of any kind. Honor and duty could demand many sacrifices from a woman in Kalena’s position but carrying out the responsibilities of a wife, even a trade wife, to a bastard would have been asking a great deal. The prospect of becoming a murderess was bad enough.
“Quintel’s business is handled on this side of the gallery,” Arrisa explained, leading Kalena past a row of small rooms in which industrious looking clerks were working. The clerks were all males, naturally. Quintel might use women in some areas of his trading business, but not in any role as prestigious as that of clerk.
Kalena wondered what type of man she was about to meet. Perhaps this Ridge would be shy and unassuming like one of these clerks. Things would certainly be easier if he were, she decided. She could see herself having no trouble at all manipulating someone like that. More probably he would prove to be a rough and uncouth trader who had risen through the ranks. Even if that were true, Kalena told herself, she was confident she could handle the situation. It should be simple to intimidate such a man with her Great House manners and accomplishments. Her spirits rose cheerfully at the thought.
“If I’m right, we’ll find Ridge in this last office,” Arrisa said with an air of gleeful expectation. “I hope you don’t mind if I stick around to watch?”
“Watch what? This is a business arrangement, Arrisa. I don’t understand why you think it’s goin
g to be amusing.” Kalena halted behind her guide as the other woman stopped in front of an arched, open door. As Arrisa slapped her hand against the side of the wall to get the attention of the two men inside, Kalena tried to peer around her shoulder.
“Excuse me, Traders,” Arrisa said with a formality that sounded almost mocking. “I have a visitor here who says she has business with Trade Master Ridge.”
The man sitting at the desk facing Kalena looked up with an annoyed frown. He was plump and balding and he had a strip of reading glass dangling from a cord around his neck. He was older than Kalena had expected, but other than that she saw no problem. Pure clerk mentality, she told herself. The daughter of a Great House could handle him. She smiled winningly, ignoring the other man who still sat with his back to her, booted feet resting casually on the desk as he studied a document in his hand. Kalena waited for Arrisa to make the introductions.
“What is this all about, Arrisa?” the balding man asked irritably. “I am extremely busy at the moment.”
“Don’t fret yourself, Hotch,” Arrisa said soothingly. “I told you, my companion is here to see Ridge, not you.”
“Damn it to the far end of the Spectrum,” the man called Hotch muttered, snatching up a pen. “How am I expected to accomplish anything even remotely connected with business when I’m faced with continuing interruptions? Kindly take care of this matter, Ridge, and then return so that we may finish Quintel’s report. I do have a job to do, you know”
So it’s not the clerk, Kalena thought in mild dismay. Her attention swung to the second man in the room as he slowly put down the document he had been studying and turned his head. His golden gaze flicked disinterestedly across Arrisa’s features and settled with jolting intensity on Kalena’s face.
Definitely not the shy, unassuming type, Kalena decided. It occurred to Kalena in that moment that matters might not be fated to proceed as easily as Olara had led her to expect.
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