“Once more the Quereci prove their prowess at weaving,” she said, sliding her fingers along one of the cloth’s edges. “This is extraordinary.”
Omeya beamed. “You’re pleased then?”
“Thrilled,” Emerence assured her. “As my father will be. As the lucky bride will be, and her groom as well. Shall we settle accounts?”
She left them to retrieve her accounts ledger and quill and ink. When she returned, they’d already cleared the table and stacked the bolts of cloth neatly to one side, the amaranthine bolt carefully folded and placed atop the stacks.
Once the sale was recorded and money exchanged, she escorted the Quereci back through the shop and onto the street. Evening came early these days and the air had turned even more brittle. The heavy sky was darker, grayer, and Emerence smelled snow.
“You’ll not want to linger behind the walls,” she told them. “Or you’ll end up trudging through a snowfall to reach your camp.” Making your way anywhere in the dark under a heavy snowfall made for a miserable, half-blind journey, no matter how short or long.
Still, the Quereci hesitated. It was Gaeres who explained their hesitation. “The man in the street earlier. Is he a danger to you? Will he return?”
It was thoughtful of them to ask, and while she couldn’t guarantee Culkhen wouldn’t return to plant himself on the walkway to harass passersby and slander the Ipsan name, Emerence didn’t think him a danger. “Culkhen is a nuisance who finds courage at the bottom of a spirits glass. I’ll be fine.” She tilted her head toward the shops behind her. “And I’m not alone. We’ll manage him together if necessary.”
Assured by her words, the Quereci women bid her farewell and left to join the diminishing throng in the street. Gaeres lingered, his regard intense, those black eyes reminding her of a bolt of black velvet her father had once presented to her mother as a gift. “Where is your husband to guard you from the likes of this Culkhen, Madam Ipsan?”
Emerence sighed. It always came down to this. She didn’t fault him for the assumption. Most women her age were or had been married for years. Those who weren’t were widows or embraced partnerships outside the accepted bonds of marriage. Never married, with no prospects in sight or a wish to pursue any, she was an oddity in Beladine society, sometimes ridiculed, often pitied.
“I have no husband,” she said without apology. “I’ve yet to meet one worthy of that role.” She smiled to take the sting out of her words though she meant every one. “And you, Gaeres? Does your wife wait for your return?” If he felt entitled to ask about her marital status, then she’d return the favor and ask about his. She tried not to pay attention to the flutters of anticipation and dread in her belly as she waited for his answer. Not that it mattered either way.
A smile curved his mouth, enhancing the prominence of his high cheekbones. “I have no wife,” he admitted. “I’ve not yet been deemed worthy enough for one.”
Those flutters in her belly burst into flight. Mortified by her reaction to his words, Emerence thanked almighty Yalda that she was good at hiding her thoughts, though the way Gaeres watched her made her doubt her ability.
“I’ve no doubt that will be rectified very soon,” she told him. “Especially if you’re about to be made a council chief as Dahran has said.” She glanced over her shoulder to see the figures of the women disappearing into the crowd, obviously not concerned that Gaeres wasn’t with them. “You should hurry,” she said. “Before they leave you behind.”
“And you have a shop to attend to.” He bowed to her. “It was my honor and my pleasure to meet you, Madam Ipsan.”
The way he said it made it seem more than just a polite, perfunctory farewell. Impassioned almost with the hint of hope they’d meet again. The awful blush plagued her yet again, and she returned Gaeres’s bow to hide the fire licking at her cheeks. “Likewise, sir. May you and yours enjoy Delyalda while you’re here.”
She watched him sprint after the Quereci women, his tall figure fleet as he maneuvered through the crowd to catch up. He was handsome, intriguing, courageous, and courteous. And young. At least too young to consider a woman like her anything more than the role she fulfilled: Beladine merchant. She shrugged. His presence had afforded her a pleasant interlude for a short time, and if she’d imagined the admiration in his eyes, that was fine too. It was good to dream.
She shivered in the blustering wind and retreated to the drapery where fine cloth dyed by an Elder race and woven by mysterious nomads waited to be repackaged and stored for her father’s return and inspection. The work day didn’t stop, not even for daydreams of future Quereci chieftains.
She didn’t see Gaeres the following day or any days after, though Kaster said the Quereci had returned to the drapery to inquire after her and ask questions about the festival. Gaeres had also spoken to her father who’d been in raptures over the amaranthine wool and regaled Emerence over supper one evening with gossip from the royal palace.
When he left for the kitchen to refill his tankard from the ale ask, his wife Linnett gave Emerence a pitying look. “You realize you’ll hear all of this at least three times?”
“How many times have you heard it so far?”
Tocqua’s second wife was much like Emerence’s deceased mother in character if not in looks. Pragmatic to the bone and just as patient. Emerence had liked her from the first moment they’d met.
Linnett huffed. “Four, and I was there with him, mind, so I saw and heard the same things he did firsthand.
Emerence smothered her laughter when her father returned with his ale and continued with his stories of palace chaos and intrigue as the royal family planned to open the festivities for Delyalda and host a mob of nobles attending the winter celebration as well as the wedding of Lord Sodrin Uhlfrida to King Rodan’s niece.
He and his assistant tailors had been run ragged with seeing to the wardrobes of the many lords ordering new finery at the last minute or updating what they already owned. He turned to more serious matters after exhausting the subject of palace gossip. “I was told by more than a few people about Culkhen Goa making an ass of himself, and that Gaeres had to stop him when he threatened you. You should have told me yourself, Em.”
Linnett nodded. “Keeping quiet doesn’t help anyone.”
Emerence pushed her food around her plate. “I’m sorry to you both, but there really was nothing to tell. Culkhen was deep in his cups and spouting nonsense. I dealt with him and Gaeres convinced him not to linger. I didn’t mention it because you would have worried needlessly as this conversation proves.”
“You’re my child. Of course I’ll worry.”
“I’m a long way from childhood, Papa.”
“But still my daughter,” Tocqua insisted. “I’ll walk you home when you’re ready to leave.” His expression brightened. “Or you can just stay the night here and return home in the morning.”
“Papa, I live next door. I’ll be fine.”
Nevertheless, he ended up watching her from his doorway, refusing to budge until she unlocked her door and waved to him before going inside. Culkhen was becoming even more of an annoyance than anticipated if he was motivating her father to treat her like she was five years old.
Her tiny house was a cozy refuge, perfect for one person, two at most if the pair were enamored with each other. The corner hearth was barely large enough to hold a decent size cook pot but when lit, it kept the main room and the alcove serving as her bedroom warm. The rug underfoot, the blankets on her bed and the curtains at the single window near the door worked as barriers against the cold as well. A humble, comfortable home, and most important of all, entirely hers.
She shed her outer garb and cap, lit the hearth and set a pot of tea to boil. She added a warming pan as well to glide over her bed linens once it got hot enough to do the job. She caught a flicker of motion in the corner of her eye and rose from her crouch by the fire to twitch back the window curtains. The window pane’s glass was frigid under her touch with a line of frost
already painting the edges. The street was mostly dark except for a few puddles of light cast by lamps placed in windows of houses across from her.
People were awake later than usual. Delyalda would start in another day, and many prepared to either host or attend private parties as well as the public festivals. Soon enough the streets would remain brightly lit, crowded, and noisy until dawn.
Every year Tocqua groused about the noise and crowds though he didn’t complain about the increase in business. Emerence loved it all. The festival provided a much-needed break from the dreariness of deep winter and the seemingly endless days of bone-chilling temperatures and leaden skies. The Festival of Delyalda bid farewell to the longest night of the year, with an eye toward the preeminence of the longest day, still months away but getting closer with every sunrise.
She finished her tea, dressed for bed, and by the time she banked the fire, her house was toasty. The warming pan turned her bed from a mortuary slab to a cozy haven that invited her to snuggle in and pull the covers over her head, content.
Mostly content, a small voice niggled in her mind. Memories and images played across the backs of her eyelids. Gaeres, tall and burnished, with his hawkish features and black eyes whose expression belonged to an old veteran of brutal wars instead of a young man still sliding into his prime.
She’d found him beautiful. Even his voice, with its rich quiet tones and the half smile he often bestowed on the Quereci women he guarded, enchanted her. He did indeed remind her of summer with its promise of warmth and the sultry play of sunlight on smooth skin and dark hair.
Drowsiness encroached on her visions, and she welcomed it. To dwell too long on those things not hers, and never would be, invited melancholy. She wanted to fall asleep happy not sad. Still, her last image before slumber overtook her was of Gaeres as he took his teacup from her hand, his brown fingers slender and elegant, their tips the whisper of a caress against her own.
As it was every year, the days designated for celebrating Delyalda were defined by crowded streets and a city swelled to thrice its usual size in population. The weekly outdoor market reflected the same as it crept beyond the edges of neighborhoods, and enterprising citizens with an item to sell or a skill to trade set up shop in their doorways, their parlors even, and earned coin from visitors arriving hourly to celebrate the winter festival.
Emerence split her time between the apothecary and the drapery, helping her father and Linnett manage both. She’d intended to balance the accounts for both shops this day, but the crush of customers kept her far too busy. Tocqua was in his glory, he and his army of tailors frantically plying needle and thread to festival finery while Linnett handled the apothecary and Emerence kept the harried staff of both stores from dropping with exhaustion.
Summer came unexpectedly to the apothecary near noon, golden and warm and dusted with snow. She glanced up from measuring a packet of ground willow bark for a client to see Gaeres standing at the counter watching her. She offered him a wide smile, inordinately happy to find him here but worried for the reason. Those who visited this shop did so seeking relief from or a cure for ailments.
She scraped the order of willow bark into a small cloth bag, gave instructions for dosage to her customer and took payment. She signaled one of the clerks to take her place at the counter so she could concentrate on her Quereci visitor.
“What a pleasure to see you here, sir,” she said, meaning every word. “Though I fear why. Is Dahran Omeya ill? The others?”
Gaeres shook his head, flinging droplets of melted snow from his hat onto the floor. “We’re mostly well, Madam Ipsan. I’m here for two purposes. Two of my cousins are next door looking at ribbon, and I’m to escort them to the open market later for one of the daytime events. My other cousin woke this morning with a sick stomach. I’ve been instructed to return to the camp with something to settle it fast so she’ll feel well enough to attend tonight’s festivities with her sisters.” His black eyes warmed. “It was a good excuse as any to see and speak with you once more.”
The surprise jolting her at his forthright statement was only surpassed by the heat suddenly coursing through her veins. She didn’t doubt his sincerity. A lifetime as a shopkeeper’s daughter had trained her ear to know when someone spoke truly or simply tried to charm her into giving them something for free. Even if she weren’t so immune to such false wiles, she’d believe him. Her impression of Gaeres thus far had been of a man of upstanding character, and Emerence trusted her judgment.
“I have just the thing,” she said and motioned to him to follow her toward the back of the shop and one of the floor-to-ceiling shelves crowded with jars and bottles. She went up on her toes to reach a small vial, swallowing a gasp when slender fingers curved around hers to grasp it.
Gaeres let go almost instantly, but Emerence’s hand still tingled from the brief touch as did the rest of her body, especially with him standing so close behind her. She turned to offer him the vial and almost collided with his chest. The apothecary’s small confines and the number of people currently shopping inside it enforced even closer proximity. In this instance, she didn’t mind at all, and if Gaeres’s expression was anything to judge by, he didn’t mind either.
She held the bottle up for his perusal. “Candied ginger, suspended in a little honey,” she told him. “Chew it or steep it in a hot tea. It’s guaranteed to ease the touchiest stomach.”
He plucked the bottle gently from her fingers. A clerk and three more customers sidled up next to them, squeezing them into a corner. If Gaeres was close before, he practically enveloped Emerence now. She savored the moment. He loomed above her, half in shadow, half in lamplight, the fur edging of his hat framing his angular face.
“I’m sorry it’s so crowded,” she said.
“I’m not.” His words caressed her. “What do I owe for the ginger?”
She was tempted to tell him it was gratis, a gift to repay his help with Culkhen days earlier, but she avoided that trap, listening to instinct that warned he’d find insult in that kind of gratitude for his nobility. Instead, she quoted him the price, to which he nodded then grinned. “If we can get out of this corner, I can reach my coin to pay you.”
Never before had Emerence been so reluctant to take payment from a customer.
His hands settled on her waist as he maneuvered her away from the corner toward the counter where customers made their purchases.
“Mae Ipsan,” a clerk called from the other side of the store. “Could I get your assistance please?”
A sigh of regret escaped her lips before she could stop it. She gazed up at Gaeres who towered over her, his hands a warm pressure on her waist even through her heavy clothing. “I’m needed,” she said. “Someone at the counter will see to your purchase.” She smiled. “It was a pleasure to see you again, sir.”
“Gaeres,” he corrected her. “Call me Gaeres, Madam Ipsan.” His hands fell away and he edged back enough to give her room.
“Then you must call me Emerence, Gaeres.” She liked the way his name fell on her lips. “I may be older than you, but it makes me feel like your mother or your aunt when you address me as madam.”
He frowned. “Of the many things about you that have crossed my mind since we met, a comparison to my mother or my aunt was never one of them.”
“Mae Ipsan!” The clerk sounded panicked now.
Emerence brushed Gaeres’s hand with hers. “Give my best to Dahran Omeya and to your cousin. The ginger and honey will help.”
His regard rested soft on her shoulders as she walked away. She watched from the corner of her eye as he paid for his purchase. She missed seeing him leave except for a glimpse of his hat as he passed through the doorway and onto the street.
The remainder of the day was defined by crowds, chaos, and Tocqua Ipsan’s glee over the many sales both shops made. Emerence managed to escape the madness shortly before they closed, explaining she couldn’t put off balancing accounts any longer.
She didn�
��t lie. The spike in business had delayed her monthly reconciliations and she’d sworn to herself she’d put in a few hours balancing entries before going home. Her stepmother brought her dinner while she worked alone in the draper’s office upstairs, and Emerence savored the quiet of the finally empty shop, even as her eyes itched with fatigue.
She finally set the accounts aside after adding a column of numbers incorrectly for the fourth time. Linnett had extracted a promise from her that she’d go home once she finished her meal. Emerence had broken that promise a good three hours ago.
The distant sounds of party-goers celebrating at some of the homes owned by Beladine nobility echoed through the market district’s deserted streets. Thick clouds obscured the moon and stars above, and snow fell in a gentle curtain onto the rooftops and cobblestone walkways.
She locked the drapery’s front door, checked the door to the apothecary for good measure and turned to walk home. Her heart vaulted into her throat at the sight of a hulking shadow standing across the street, silent, watching. She fumbled for the key she’d dropped into her apron pocket beneath her cloak, as well as the small knife she carried. A tool more than a weapon.
The streets of Timsiora were safe enough if one stayed away from the worst quarters of the city, and she had nothing on her to attract the attentions of a cutpurse or pickpocket, but one could never be too careful. The menacing figure watching her made her glad she carried even the smallest weapon and wish she’d kept her promise to Linnet to leave earlier.
Her small squeak of distress changed to one of relief when the shadow sharpened into details, revealing a familiar tall form. “Gaeres?”
He crossed the street, halting in front of her before offering one of his courteous bows. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Gladdened and puzzled by his appearance, she looked to either side of him wondering where his cousins might be. “What are you doing here? I thought you were escorting your relatives to one of the evening parties.”
Under a Winter Sky Page 36
