Maleen laughed to cover the red the names brought to her face. "The Embodiments? Whatever makes you think they were at my House? They would have been children. Not our specialty at all. And children, you know--quite illegal. I am in strict compliance with the law, and pay my fee at Pagg's Temple every spoke."
"They were the children of one of your girls. A Liddy Obby, if my sources are correct."
Maleen calculated the risk in her head. She'd sworn to the one who burned the Oakwood Street house down never to speak of the Obbys. If found out, she would lose more than her business and her eyebrows, but she had a score to settle against those social-climbing twins, and their protector, that Strange Gentleman, though Deck swore up and down it was the Black Man. Twenty thousand gold, with what she had in the safe, was enough to sail across the Anatalian Ocean for a comfortable retirement in Sairland, for she'd have to flee; she'd avoided death once, but in the light of the burning House, the Strange Gentleman had sworn to kill her should she so much as remember the Obbys had been there.
"Ten thousand apiece?"
"Possibly more."
She leaned back in her chair, gave Mr Brown her most conspiratorial smile, and crossed her ankles. "What would you like to know?"
CHAPTER TEN
Nerrday, the 29th day of Spring's Beginning
"You're a Princess--why d'you have to fetch your own dresses?" said Temmin as he handed his sister down from the carriage at Mistress Naister's shop, not far off the Temple Promenade. "I should think the dressmaker would come to the Keep."
"Oh, she does, but I like to come into town, see and be seen and all that," Ellika answered, acknowledging the small crowd through the Guards lining their way to the door.
Mistress Naister's shop looked like the inside of a fragile seashell, pink and cream and gold; Temmin kept his knees and elbows in for fear he'd break something, though what he could break in a dressmaker's shop, he wasn't sure. Mistress Naister curtsied so low, Temmin felt compelled to help her stand again. He impulsively kissed her knobby hand; her fingers smelled of beeswax. Mistress Naister swallowed a girlish giggle, sat Temmin down on a spindly chair made for someone much shorter, and clapped twice. A nervous little shopman came from the back carrying a tiny pink and gilt tea set; he served the Prince while Ellika and Mistress Naister exclaimed over one another like old friends. The cup looked like a thimble in Temmin's hand, and he hastily put it down.
The shopman brought out many heavy bolts of fine muslins and silks; Ellika nattered on to the dressmaker about summer frocks, hats, gloves, shoes, jewels, and whether her current provisioners remained in fashion, until Temmin stopped listening and their conversation turned into a soft, feminine murmur broken by Ellika's familiar, infectious laugh. Temmin conquered his fear of breaking the teacup and drank the entire pot in a quarter of an hour. The shopman kept the pot refilled, but in spite of the tea--and no biscuits, he grumped to himself--he soon grew desperately bored and in need of a bathroom.
Time stretched on, and Ellika hadn't even gotten to the trying-on-the-dress part. A thump brought Temmin out of his stupor, and he looked up to see the shopman had dropped an armful of bolts on the floor; the little man's hands shook as he picked them up, and Temmin wondered if perhaps serving the royal family unnerved him. But he had to have met Ellika before, surely. Temmin tried to keep his observation discreet, but their eyes met more than once before the man looked away. Sweat poured from the shopman's forehead as he shuttled in and out of the stockroom, and he patted himself with a futile handkerchief. Was he ill? He looked as if he might faint.
Ellika and Mistress Naister finally disappeared into the fitting salon; Temmin sighed and rose to stretch, lifting his arms over his head until he brushed against a low-hanging lamp. He heard the shopman's voice, broken and croaking: "I'm sorry, Your Highness, but they have my children!" Temmin turned; the man held a dagger in both hands. The man thrust the dagger at him, like a child attempting to cut his meat for the first time. Temmin jumped back as far from the shopman as he could get, knocking over the gilt chair and its table; the pink tea set shattered on the floor. Cream and tea spilled everywhere; Temmin slipped, but managed to regain his footing as the man sprang forward.
The Prince grabbed the nearest object for a shield, a bolt of sprigged muslin. The shopman slashed at it, shredding the delicate fabric trailing from the bolt end; Temmin parried every thrust, keeping the bolt between them. The shopman tried to thrust underneath it at Temmin's gut, but Temmin darted to one side; the dagger found its mark in the bolt instead, and stuck fast. The shopman struggled but could not free it; he cried in despair, casting about for another weapon, and found an enormous pair of shears, a tool he used every day that fit in his hands. But by then, Temmin had wrested the dagger from the bolt himself; his much longer reach held the man off. Temmin tried talking with him, but kept the table between them. "What is this about? Who has your children?"
"I have to kill you, sir! I don't want to, but if I don't, they'll kill 'em!" said the man. He cried so hard Temmin wondered if he could see.
"Stop!" pleaded Temmin. "I can help you!"
Ellika screamed from the fitting salon door; the shopman turned toward her. Temmin took the opening, came round the display table, and grabbed the shopman's arm. The shears fell to the floor, and Temmin kicked them under the table.
The front door burst open and Guards filled the room, swords drawn. "Don't kill him!" Temmin cried over the noise, but the first Guardsman to reach the shopman stabbed him full in the belly. The man fell to the floor; the spilled cream turned pink, and then red. The Guardsman pulled back what hair the man had to finish him. "I said, no!" boomed Temmin, in a voice he didn't recognize.
The Guardsman looked up, startled. "There's no savin' 'im, Your Highness, not with a gut wound like that, and he's going to end up with his head over Marketgate whether he lives or dies!"
"We wish to question him," came Teacher's voice behind Temmin.
"Where'd you come from?" said Temmin.
Teacher raised an eyebrow. "The fitting salon. Guardsman, let him go. He's not going to hurt anyone." The Guardsman shrugged, but released the shopman's hair; his head fell back against the shredded bolt of muslin lying on the floor.
Temmin and Teacher crouched down beside him. The man's face grew gray; he reached out for Temmin's hand, and said, "Your Highness, I've been loyal all my life. I'd as soon kill myself as hurt you. But they took my son and my two little girls last night. Sent me one of the baby's fingers--" He choked. "I told them I was no fighter, but they said you were too well-guarded...they had to take every chance from now on...and that if I didn't kill you when you came today, they'd send all three back in pieces."
"We will find them, and they will pay for this," said Teacher. "Who are they? There's no point in hiding their identity."
The man shook his head, strength almost gone. "Don't know their names, sir," he whispered. "Please don't let them die..."
Temmin looked up at Teacher, who reached out and closed the man's eyes.
"Leave her alone! She's done nothing!" Ellika screamed. Temmin turned toward her; two Guardsmen held Mistress Naister as she begged for her life. A third stood before her with his sword drawn, while three ashen-faced girls, pincushions on their wrists, stood supporting one another in the doorway to the work room. "She's done nothing!" Ellika repeated, tugging at the nearest Guardsman's arm.
"Let the woman go!" called Temmin, straightening. "She's blameless!" The Guardsmen released her, only to catch her again as she fainted. They carried Mistress Naister to a settee in the fitting salon; Ellika waved smelling salts under the dressmaker's nose. When she came round, Mistress Naister told them the dead man's name was Nat Horn. He and his wife Nan kept a tiny house just inside the Old Walls on Tallow Street, and they did indeed have three children. "Nat was a good man, a kind man, worked so hard--he's been with me for fifteen years! Oh, poor Nan! Poor Nan!" wailed Mistress Naister.
Ellika wanted to stay, but the captain of th
e Guards was adamant: respectfully, the Heir and the Princess Ellika were to be taken back to the Keep directly. The three seamstresses would be able to provide for their mistress better than Her Highness, begging pardon. Teacher assured Temmin they'd find Horn's children, and that Mistress Naister and the seamstresses would be questioned without any harm coming to them.
The two were hurried back into the carriage, past a hushed crowd held far back from their path. They sat side by side on the red velvet cushions, holding hands. Clouds eclipsed Ellika's sunny face, and Temmin couldn't stop thinking about Nat Horn, bleeding to death into the cream. Neither spoke until the carriage passed the great gates; Ellika sat up and cried, "Oh! All that, and I left the dress in the shop!" She gave a high, squeaking laugh that fell into sobs, and Temmin held her the rest of the way, trying not to cry himself.
Temmin demanded his father keep Nat Horn's head off the hooks above Marketgate. Without his head, Nat Horn would spend the afterlife forever separated from everyone he loved; Harla did not permit headless bodies within Her Hill. The Guards found Horn's wife--poor Nan--and their three children murdered, and Harsin relented. The Friends of the Bloody One welcomed the Horns to a niche in the catacombs of Harla's Hill, where their bones would rest together forever.
Temmin, Harsin and Teacher met after dinner that night in the King's sitting room. The fire provided most of the light, and the resulting gloom matched the mood. It glittered in the King's dark eyes as he sat before it.
"How did whoever-it-was know I was going to Mistress Naister's in the first place?" said Temmin. "It's not as if I make a habit of going to dress shops."
Harsin looked up at Teacher, who leaned against the mantel to one side. "We have a spy in our midst," said the counselor. "Brother Mardus, Winmer and Affton are going through recent hirings. So far we have no trace of the men who set Nat Horn on you, Your Highness. Mistress Naister and her women have already been acquitted, but we are shadowing them nonetheless. Now that you've come of age, your uncles are becoming desperate."
"Up until now," said his father, "the attempts have been more subtle. Then the attack at the ball, and now this--much more brazen. You are not to stir from the Keep without a visible guard, Temmin."
"Why? I can take care of myself. I stopped Horn."
"Ellika could have stopped Horn," snorted his father. "This is why you must stay away from the Lovers' Temple. Temmin, it's a weakness to devote to the Lovers, let alone become a Supplicant! You'd be showing my brothers your belly, and protecting you at the Temple--I can't think how we'd do it! Teacher," he appealed, "explain it to him."
"I cannot," Teacher said in a hard, flat voice.
The two stared at one another, until Harsin shook his head and sank back into his wing chair. "Son, I just want you to understand the very real danger you're putting yourself and the kingdom in if you do this--all for the sake of a woman."
Temmin clasped his hands before him. "I promise to think on all that, sir."
"Good night, then," said his father.
Temmin shambled out, lost in thought. The King watched him leave. He turned to his counselor, still leaning against the mantel. "The Embodiment's leading him by the prick, and you're just going to stand there," he said.
"Sir, if there is one thing the Prince can learn at the Lovers' Temple it's how to keep from being led by the prick," said Teacher. "It is a more valuable skill than perhaps you realize."
Harsin glanced sharply at his counselor, but said nothing.
Temmin came to his tour of the Temple on Neyaday. A quiet Jenks helped the Prince dress; Temmin thought it wisest not to ask after his subdued mood, and let him have his way without complaint.
Ellika stayed in her room after the incident at Naister's, and never did send for the new dress. She found an unworn one suited for the occasion in the back of her wardrobe, and insisted on going with Temmin "just to the door if nothing else." Some of her naturally cheerful spirit made its way past the shock of Horn's death, and she came bouncing down the stairs behind her brother to take his arm. She wore a confection of white lace and ribbons against pale pink silk. "You look like a wedding cake," said Temmin, kissing the top of her head.
"Thank you! Put your gloves on, Temmy."
The apprehensive ride to the Temple passed quietly. Even Ellika's chatter limited itself to comments on the scenery as the carriage rolled up the Temple Promenade. First they passed the gray granite expanse of Eddin's Temple, students and priestly Scholars coming and going from the university spreading out behind it; opposite stood Amma's Temple, its Mother's House filled with the orphaned and abandoned children of the City nestled inside its wings; at the Promenade's end loomed the crowded, white marble House of Law bound to Pagg's Temple.
The carriage came to a stop halfway down the graceful boulevard. To his right, through the blossoming dogwoods edging the Promenade's center park, Temmin could just see the busy Healer's House connected to the Sister's Temple. He looked to his left to the graceful, rose marble Temple of the Lovers as the carriage pulled to a halt.
Temmin alighted first, then handed Ellika down. "I'm still not comfortable with your being here," he said.
"Pfft," said Ellika. "I'm the royal patroness of this Temple. And I'm not taking the tour with you, I'm merely introducing you."
"I've met them!"
"Not the Most Highs, you haven't."
Brother Mardus arrayed the security detail around them, and bowed: "Your Highnesses." Temmin followed his gaze to the Temple's roof; sentries in unfamiliar uniforms stood along it, crossbows cocked. Temmin sighed inwardly--would they turn the Temple into an armed camp for his sake? He took Ellika's arm in his, and led the way up the steps. A phalanx of men in the same uniform as the sentries met them midway to the top; they wore helmets like the Brothers, but crowned with swan’s feathers instead of red horsetails. He had seen swan’s feathers on the helmets of Allis’s escorts the day she came to the Keep, but those men were definitely Brothers; these men were definitely not. Then again, swans were one of the Lovers’ symbols. "The Temple's Own, sir," murmured Brother Mardus. "They will protect you in public areas, but only in the Temple. They don't leave the grounds, at least in their official capacity. We will be waiting when you leave." Temmin nodded his thanks, and let himself be handed off like a package to the Temple's Own.
At the top of the steps stood two familiar figures and two new ones--old ones, really, he thought. Allis and Issak stood next to a wizened pair he assumed were the High Lover and High Beloved: a surprise. He'd expected them to be younger, though he couldn't say why. All four dressed in the same plain gauze clothing, though the Most Highs' loose clothes were dyed rose, and the undyed clothing of the Embodiments clung. He wondered if they were cold.
Temmin and Ellika stood before the clerics and bowed. "Ellika of Tremont, why are you here?" said the High Lover.
"I am here to present my brother to you," she answered. "High Lover Gan, High Beloved Malla, may I make known to you Temmin of Tremont, Heir to the Throne."
"We welcome you to the Lovers' Temple, Your Highness," said Malla; she took his hands, and kissed him. He expected a kiss like one of his bristly, sour-smelling great-aunts, but her lips were soft, and she smelled warm and sweet, like the clover honey of the Estate. Her hands were warm, too. Before he could recover from his surprise, the High Lover took his hands and kissed him in turn. Both kisses were unexpected, and pleasant; little wonder how the two had come to be Most High, if they could still kiss like that.
He turned to face Issak. This kiss was expected, and when Issak took him by the wrists and pulled him close, he leaned in and closed his eyes. It was less of a kiss and more a sharing of breath, some exchange of vital energy that set his hair crackling, as if a thunderstorm were imminent. Issak broke the kiss first, his expression somewhat surprised.
Temmin turned to Allis. He took her small hands, leaned down and kissed her. It was shorter than Issak's kiss, but it still sent a thrill down his neck to the base of his spine.
When she pulled back, she smiled, small and intimate, and the thrill traveled up the way it came.
"Welcome," the twins said at the same time. Temmin walked into the Temple with one on each side, Ellika and the Most Highs following behind and the Temple's Own clustered around them all. The bustle of the Great Hall paused to let them pass, worshippers and clergy bowing and curtseying. They led Temmin up a broad staircase on Nerr's side of the Hall to a private, guarded area, where the Temple's Own left them.
Two servants--an almost ridiculously beautiful man, and a plain, fat girl--bowed them into an opulent sitting room. Two wide, low-backed couches sat close to the floor, more like small beds piled with cushions than couches. Several braziers warmed the room, and Temmin resisted the strong urge to loosen his starched collar. The servants brought tea and cakes on trays and put them on a low table between the couches. Allis poured the tea and Issak passed it round; he let his hand linger on Temmin's when his turn came for a cup, and Temmin swallowed hard.
The talk was formal: Temmin's recent arrival in the City and its differences from life at the Estate in Reggiston; his parents' wellbeing; polite, vague inquiries into the Most Highs' health; the weather. Temmin drank a good deal of tea and ate a huge pile of cakes in his nervousness. To his surprise, Ellika didn't filch a single sugar cube from the bowl.
At last, his sister said her goodbyes, accepting kisses all round. "Be good," she whispered to him as she kissed his cheek, then let the beautiful young man lead her away.
"And with that, we shall take our leave and return to our duties," said High Lover Gan. The plain, fat girl helped each Most High to stand. Temmin bowed. They inclined their heads, their eyes filled with mirth more than gravity; the beautiful servant opened the doors, and they left the room with the fat girl trailing behind. Odd they'd employ an ordinary-looking girl as a servant, and then pair the poor thing with that man, thought Temmin. Almost cruel.
Allis took his arm on one side, Issak on the other, and they began their tour, four of the Temple's Own trailing before and behind. Temmin observed politely as they looked into the neat dormitories, the vast library, and the erotic art collection. He wanted to spend more time in the last, but the twins propelled him out the door into the gardens.
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