As he walked, he noticed that the houses became newer looking, and straighter on their beams. They had a bit of light between them, then there were small swaths of grass, then great green lawns fenced with twisted iron. The iron heads were bent into the shapes of animals, plants, and things he couldn't name at all. As the buildings got grander, the sounds got quieter. Back home, there was the constant whine of the wind, the hiss of little fires, the soft voices of the court, and the shushing of hundreds of feet moving over sand and stone. Here, there was a positive assault of sound, from animals of every description to the vehicles they dragged, to the shouting voices of the humans, all trying to be heard above the general din. The sounds were harder to take than the profusion of color.
He did decide the smells were mostly nicer here, although dust and ash wasn't much by way of competition. Even the smell of many humans in close quarters, while sharp, was interesting. He spotted people in a street side stall cooking some sort of meat threaded onto sticks over a charcoal grate. Passers-by would stop, point, pay and stroll off with their meal. The aroma was astonishing, and despite his reaction to the meat he'd eaten earlier, he thought it might be worth another try based on the smell alone. Maybe there were different kinds of meat? He lingered in the shadows behind them until their wares had all been sold. Even the trace of grease on the cooling metal had an interesting note to it.
It was the flowers that finally showed him the way. He spent a long time looking at a trailing evening glory climbing a gas-lit lamppost. The flowers, he noted, were the same blue as the deepest part of the river. He felt clever noticing that. And the soft golden gas flame reminded him of something—he couldn't put his finger on it. The flowers were everywhere. Every house, every gate had piles of the things that looked pretty and smelled better. This must be what a sweet smell is. He couldn't wait to tell his friends. Flowers that have a smell, they'd never believe it. He thought of the black and white flowers at Ilaan's party. Pretty and delicate, but not like these. He'd had flowers made for Aelle, once. That was a long time ago.
He watched as the oblivious humans rushed past. Is it possible that I am like them? He thought about stepping away from the shadows and just joining the throng. He could do it, just step out of the shadows and try his hand at being human. He couldn't possibly make as much of a hash of it as he'd made of being a demon. Maybe they cared less about being ugly and crippled here, it was possible. He could have a nice new life. Until someone looked him in the eye. He sighed and leaned back into the shadows. His peasant's clothing, he decided, that was to blame. It would make him stand out. He had to find something nicer. Thief, he thought, you can add that to your resume.
For a while he hung back in a doorway and watched them, so many shapes and sizes. You couldn't say they didn't deserve such a world, could you? Moving along, he stopped to look at a large cluster of white rosalies hanging over a gate. They had tiny red throats. He looked up at the house, which had every door and window flung open and streaming with light. This was his destination.
He kept to the shadows to remain unseen, and he kept his hat low so no one would see his face. He was growing decidedly un-fond of the hat. He had enough faith in his ability to be unnoticed that the hat wasn't strictly necessary, but the 'what ifs' gnawed at him. What if someone should look and see, and what if they saw his eyes? He had concocted a story about a childhood injury, but he fervently hoped he'd never have to use it. So for now, the hat stayed on. The main problem it created was that it made it more difficult to see the human faces—it was enough of a challenge for him to tell them apart as it was. Mostly they looked like smears of color. They were so bright! He practiced focusing on seeing the details—an eye (every color, it seemed, but red), a mouth, and hair (once he got over the shock of women with loose hair, he found he was quite attracted to it. He followed a woman with particularly nice hair for two blocks until they'd turned a corner and he realized he'd been following a man).
He followed the crowd, melting in and out of the shadows along the walls and in the doorways. He was pleased to see that the party was underway. The Duke acted like he hated the parties and balls he had to dress for every few chapters, but Rhuun suspected he secretly enjoyed the attention. He on the other hand, did not. Unlike the chore of the endless rounds of parties back home, at this event he'd merely be an observer, which suited him perfectly. He slid through the door, one foot always in enough of a shadow that the human people, if they noticed him at all, would say, 'I think someone just went that way, I didn't see him though.'
In any case it turned out to be more than enough as the mostly young, very loud humans were well occupied with each other.
If he thought he'd seen a riot of color on the street, he realized he'd only scratched the surface of how they liked to decorate themselves. The boys were as brightly colored as the girls. And he was very surprised to see them striking little flames everywhere. They'd hold their hands together—scratch, flare! He resolved to figure out how they all did so easily what he couldn't do at all.
There were some humans dressed all in black and holding things that made noise in the corner, and a crowd of humans leapt about in front of them. He listened for a while and decided he liked the sounds. It was a bit like the birds but more orderly.
He drifted through the rooms, making sure to sample as many of the little bites of food as he could take. They all tasted as good as they smelled, except for a sweet with a coating of something crunchy and tan that made the inside of his mouth feel furry and his lips itch. Other than that, he found them far more interesting and more deeply flavorful than the stolen food he'd been living on. Something called 'baby lamb chops', no longer than his finger, were the best thing he'd ever eaten. He wondered what the humans meant by 'baby', though. He had reconsidered meat, and found it went very well with the glass of wine he took from a passing tray. The server took no notice, of course, and he was extremely anxious to try it. It was almost clear, a little yellowish tint to it, and it was nothing at all like sarave. The only thing they had in common was the warmth he felt in his chest and stomach, and the slight detachment he'd been missing.
As he went, he listened to bits and snatches of conversation.
"Well, she's a silly fool to think you'd ever—"
"D'you like this band? I think they're a bit... over, don't you?"
"Be a love and get me another drink!"
But when he heard, "Did you see someone with a hat just now? Who wears a hat anymore?" he realized he had been distracted and set off in search of the rest of the wine so he could complete his task.
When he took a look at the bar, he realized it was a little more complicated than he had hoped or the girl had anticipated. Did she think all these people were drinking from one bottle?
He realized, That child, the girl—she's probably never been to a party like this. She didn't know.
And so he didn't know which bottle or glass or cup he was supposed to poison. On the other hand, since she'd been so vague in her instructions, if he complied at all, his task was done. The law she had bound him with, like all laws of a supernatural variety, was very specific. He’d heard Ilaan often enough reading stories of how some Mage or other had tricked a daaeva by the use of a magical loophole.
Well, there was the bar. Where was the girl? He looked over the crowd of mostly dark heads, with a few golden haired people and even a tall young man with red hair, which made him feel nostalgic for the library and Ilaan. Then he noticed a streak of pink moving as quickly and unsteadily as a firewhirl in his direction.
The young woman with bright pink hair—who could only be the dreaded, evil Lelet—brushed past him and pointed to a sparkling red. This was a stroke of luck! He hadn't minded the idea of tracking her down, but here she was, come right to him. The horrible child had noted his target would likely be found near the bar. She also seemed to be the only one in the house sporting quite that shade.
He watched with interest as she tried to order a drink. He wasn't sure
she needed one—she seemed a bit drunk already—and looked quite put out when the server said he'd have to take a moment to open it as he didn't want to damage the ancient cork.
"Fine! Always something. But be quick!" She tried to snap her fingers but her lacy gloves got in the way, which she seemed to find extremely funny. She waved towards a huge door which led to a garden lit with many dozens of candles in little jars. The shadows jumped and shivered—he could use that. "Bring it there. It's my fav—" she hiccupped, "just bring it." She pulled herself up and added, "Thank you, sir," and stumbling only a tiny bit, went back to her friends.
Rhuun handed the serving man a wine glass. "Use this one."
The man shrugged without looking up as he teased the old cork from the bottle. "Good as any. Silly bitch. This is an excellent wine and she won't even know."
Rhuun held up another glass and said, "Would you mind?" The man poured a splash and set the bottle on ice, nodded distractedly at the demon and went back to the kitchen.
Rhuun (Moth, I have to start thinking of myself as Moth) had to agree that the sparkling red was excellent. He thought about all the sarave he'd drunk (which, he realized uncomfortably, was quite a lot) and pronounced fine, and felt a little foolish. Transforming sand into sarave was something the Mages had set to with a vengeance, but hadn't quite mastered. This was the best he'd ever tasted. Too bad that after this evening, monstrous, depraved Lelet would probably never want to drink it again. He suspected her friends would agree, once they all recovered. He tipped the rest of the powder into the bottle, loosely corked it, and tucked it under his arm.
He lingered at the shadowy edge of the garden and watched the loud girl, who was now definitely drunk, struggle with lighting a cigarette while still holding her empty wine glass. Her cheeks were quite pink, a prettier and more natural shade by far than her hair. The fire in her hand came from a tiny stick of wood, another Mistran miracle.
I shouldn't be doing this, he thought. But here I am. So—the Duke is at a party. There is a pretty human person. What would he do?
He set the bottle on a table barely big enough to hold it, forcing himself not to get drawn in by the exquisitely carved vines on the graceful legs, and stood in the shadows just behind the girl and her companions.
Lelet had her head quite close to that of her friend, whispering about something that appeared important. Her demeanor had changed, too. She seemed clear headed now that no one was looking at her. She laughed less and listened more closely. He had to admit she looked more pretty than evil, but he didn't feel like a competent judge of humans yet. The other woman had the same startling height as everyone else on this side of The Door, and her hair was a glossy dark red. He'd seen eyes that color, but never hair. She was also deliciously round. She looked soft, unlike his pink-haired target, who had barely any curves to speak of. In that, at least, the girl shared something with the women on Eriis.
"... just not working out, Al," she said. Al must be the round girl's name, he gathered. "But I'm not going to tell him tonight after all. We’ll have to save the Dumping Gloves for another time. He'll make a scene."
"Hmm, maybe he'll need a shoulder to cry on," her friend answered with a smile.
Lelet laughed. "Are you volunteering? Be warned, he is a crier." She looked between her empty glass and handful of matches and unlit cigarette. "Now I'm going to cry!"
Moth moved to stand just behind her elbow, replaced her empty glass with the full one, and took the matches out of her hand.
He said, "Please, allow me."
She thanked him through a puff of exhaled smoke and immediately started coughing. Her friends laughed at her. With eyes back on her, her behavior changed again.
"I hate these things! Why do you let me smoke them? I quit!" She threw it, still smoldering, into the bushes. Moth circled around behind her, admiring her slight form while ignoring her chatter. She was nearly the correct size, as narrow and neat as the women back home. Tall, of course, but that went for all of them. He was sorry to see that her bright hair was carefully coiffed, and imagined himself taking the pins out. The vividness of the image, his hand touching her hair, surprised him. Her dress was black lace with several sheer panels. The gloves reached her elbow and were also made of black lace, and looked slippery. It wasn't helping her coordination.
He had noticed these humans came in all different sizes—maybe that was how they could tell each other apart? There were not only men, but he'd even spotted a woman who was as tall as he was. And no one stared at anyone else with distaste or pity, at least not that he could tell.
"You say that three times a week," said one of those tall young men. His yellow hair was cut short (most of the men had short hair) and his jacket was quite fine. The blond man was looking at Lelet like she was something good to eat. Was this the crier? "Would've lit it for you if I thought you'd really smoke it." He glared at where the demon had been standing, then frowned vaguely, shrugged and completely forgot what he'd seen.
Lelet gulped the rest of her wine and said, "Well this time I mean it, Billah. May will lop off my head if I keep it up. She thinks it’s unladylike." She peered up at the blond boy through her dark lashes. "Billah, you don't think I'm unladylike, do you?"
"Oh no, you're sometimes something like a lady," he said.
They all laughed again, although the girl's smile was a bit forced. She shared a glance with the round girl, who shrugged and dramatically wiped away an imaginary tear. Lelet held the empty glass up over her shoulder and said to Moth, "Get me another, won't you, darling?"
She assumes a lot, he thought. She is used to a lot. She speaks to me to hurt the boy, but she doesn't know I'm even here. Only that someone will get her what she wants. He leaned forward. "Of course," he whispered in her ear.
The girl shivered and then put a hand to her temple. She frowned. "Who has my matches?"
Moth took the glass, threw it in the fishpond, and vanished into the dark street beyond the garden.
***
Moth found an empty rooftop and practiced the match trick (scratch, flare) until second moonrise. Then he lit the candle.
"WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?"
"No need to shout. I had some trouble with the candle."
In the little flame, he was pleased to see that see Scilla was nearly purple in the face. She took a series of deep breaths.
"Where are you?" she asked.
"Not sure. On top of a bunch of pushed together houses. There's no one around, it's late. I just went to the nicest party. Too bad you couldn't go yourself."
He could practically hear her teeth grinding. "Did you see my sister? Did she see you?"
"I saw her. She seems like quite a popular girl. Lots of friends. I liked her. She didn't see me. No, that's not it. What happened was, she didn't notice me." He knew the child wanted a full report but there was no reason to help more than he had to. "No one did. And wine. Now, wine is a really nice thing. Do they serve wine where you are?"
She looked as if she might combust. "No. They do not. But you know what they do serve? A big glass of not having to do what your human MASTER tells you to do. Now. Did. You. Do. What. I. Said."
He sat back on his heels. "Yes. Powder in the wine. Are we done here?"
"Mirrors. Two nights from now. And don't have any more 'trouble with the candle'." She leaned forward and blew her own candle out.
He did the same. Very nice work, provoking a fight with a little girl who quite literally owns you. He wished Ilaan were there, he'd have loved that party. The noisemakers, he had to find out more about them.
He looked around. Another one of those tiny, angry looking dogs was watching him from the edge of the roofline. This one was black. It made a great show of licking its front paw, then turned and vanished into the darkness.
Like me. There and then not there. Well, I suppose I ought to find a quiet place to sleep. He thought about his comfortable bed back home, the food that appeared at mealtime, clean clothes, and cool water. I wanted thi
s, and look! Now I've got it. But this is not what I expected.
He thought about the girl’s grey eyes. He hoped her headache wasn’t a bad one.
Chapter 40
"You must at least consider our proposal, my Lord."
"Must? Now a peasant from the hills is telling me what I must do! Be gone and go back to your fat cow of a wife and take this slattern with you."
The Duke strode to the window, showing them his broad back. The interview was over.
Gwenyth struggled not to cry in front of the Duke. Her father touched her shoulder and they rose from the table.
-The Claiming of the Duke, pg 19
Malloy Dos Capeheart, Little Gorda Press (out of print)
Mistra
100 years after the War of the Door, Mistran calendar
20 years later, Eriisai calendar
va’Everley family residence
The headache kept Lelet from coming down to breakfast on time. Everyone knew she relied on her coffee and chocolate to start her day, it was absolutely required. So the rest of them ate with one eye on the stairwell and with some trepidation. Except for Rane, who smiled at nothing and ate with his usual enthusiasm. May figured she’d give her sister another 20 minutes and then send up a tray.
She had just started to ring for the maid when Lelet made her entrance. Her dark green velvet dressing gown paired poorly with her bright pink hair, which at the moment stuck out like she'd lost her comb. In fact, she looked like a stale candy.
"Slip something in my wine, Rane? So obvious." She held a shaky hand to her forehead, genuinely fearing it might pop off. "I could so use a cigarette."
Rane barely glanced up. "Drinks and smokes. Very elegant, Madame va’Everly. You are still drunk, correct?"
Lelet let go of her head long enough to snap at her brother. "That is not true, and even if it were you’re still a liar. Do you expect me—"
May broke in, "Yes dear. He’s a liar, we all know. You’re a silly whore. He’s mad. You’re fat."
The Sand Prince Page 21
