Stone of Inheritance

by Melissa McShane

“I know, but didn’t you see how close she was to breaking? We were going to take the job. I just didn’t want you to make her cry.”

  “I don’t make women cry. And if I did, she deserved it.”

  “Probably, but…” Sienne faltered. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have overstepped.”

  Alaric scowled. “That’s right, I… damn it, stop giving me that look.”

  “What look?”

  “The ‘Alaric killed my puppy’ look.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You do trade on your big eyes a lot, Sienne,” Dianthe said. “It doesn’t work on me because I have sisters.”

  “I, on the other hand, dread having it turned on me when supper is over and it is not my turn to wash up,” Perrin said.

  “I do not know this look,” Kalanath said, “unless it is the one you use when you do not want to do a thing and I am available.”

  “I do not do any such thing!” Sienne exclaimed. The corner of Alaric’s mouth twitched in a smile so comical it startled a laugh out of her. “I just—you’re all mad, that’s all, utterly mad. Do you really think I’m so manipulative?”

  “Not that,” Dianthe said. “Just efficient at using your assets. If we thought you were doing it on purpose, we’d have said something earlier.”

  “Now I can’t look at any of you.” Sienne laughed again. “I had no idea I had such power. Good thing enchantment is forbidden, or I might have made that look a weapon.”

  “I thought enchantment was impossible,” Dianthe said.

  “No, just totally forbidden. Nobody is allowed to teach the charm language, and if you’re caught with so much as a single charm in your spellbook, you’re stripped of your book and severely punished.”

  “So not forbidden the way necromancy is,” Alaric said.

  “No. Necromancy is evil, but it doesn’t take a person’s free will. I’ve heard there are charm spells that don’t—there are stories of one that puts people to sleep, for example—but charm is so dangerous there aren’t any exceptions made for those few.”

  “I approve of that,” Alaric said. Sienne nodded. The wizard who had created and enslaved Alaric’s people almost certainly had used charm spells to do it.

  The door opened. “Two hundred lari,” Haritt said, extending a purse to Alaric. Alaric took it without counting it. “I will show you the door,” Haritt added.

  Alaric muttered something under his breath, but followed Haritt, the rest of them trailing along behind. Descending the stairs into darkness felt like the sun setting. Sienne was grateful when they were outside and moving rapidly away from the crumbling old house.

  “Now what?” she said.

  Alaric opened the purse and took out a handful of coins, which he put into his belt pouch. “Perrin and I will negotiate for horses,” he said. “We’ll be traveling through civilized country for most of this, and the faster we get there, the sooner we can return.” He handed the purse to Dianthe. “The rest of you—shopping. Standard equipment.”

  “We don’t need two hundred lari to outfit ourselves for a few weeks’ journey through civilization,” Dianthe protested.

  “No, but we do need new tents, and I don’t feel bad about getting Tonia Figlari to pay for those. If I judge that map correctly, we’ll be sleeping rough at least four nights, and it rains a lot this time of year. And if you can find the appropriate maps, buy those too.” Alaric let out a deep breath. “Plan on leaving tomorrow morning. I want this over with as fast as possible.”

  The others nodded. Sienne looked back over her shoulder at the ruined house as they walked away. A pale blotch at one of the upper windows might have been Tonia, watching them go. Sienne’s moment of sympathy for the young woman disappeared. They might be traveling mostly through civilized territory, but scrapping was dangerous work, and this girl had manipulated them into this job without a single thought that they could be risking their lives. Sienne might bat her eyelashes, or whatever it was this “look” of hers did, but she’d never be so callous of other people. And for what? Some ducal title to a place most of the way to the Empty Lands? Sienne, daughter of a duke, had no illusions about the value of a noble title—but then she’d left hers behind months ago, so clearly she didn’t value it the way Tonia did hers. Even so, rank wasn’t nearly as important as people’s lives, or shouldn’t be.

  She turned away and followed Dianthe and Kalanath toward the market. Normally, she was excited at this point, the start of a new job. At the moment, all she felt was a bitter taste in her mouth.

  4

  Sienne believed she was, if not exactly an experienced scrapper, at least no longer a novice after nine months of expeditions. True, work had slacked off during winter, but she now had thirteen jobs under her belt and knew what to expect. At least, she’d thought so that morning. By evening, she’d learned that not all jobs were the same, that traveling along well-established roads was substantially different from going cross country, and that sunset looked very different when the day ended at an inn and not in a leaky tent. Though if Dianthe had done her job right, the new tents didn’t leak. A bed, then, and not a bedroll on the hard ground. Sienne wasn’t sure how she felt about the difference.

  She handed her horse’s reins over to a stable hand and removed her saddle bags, draping them over one arm. Beside her, Kalanath dismounted with a stagger before catching his balance. They hadn’t ridden much over the last nine months, but even experience wasn’t going to get him to love horses.

  The inn’s yard was damp, but not muddy, thanks to a light sprinkle of rain that had fallen mid-afternoon. Warm light made the stables, painted white, glow in the evening dusk. The inn itself, three stories tall and half-timbered in the latest style, blazed with hundreds of magical lights in glass bulbs, frosted from the magic that made them invulnerable. Laughter, and the sound of a fiddle, drifted toward them from the inn’s open front door.

  “Too loud for you?” Sienne murmured to Kalanath.

  He shrugged. “It is one night. We are in a large town and this is what there is. It is simply not what I would choose to live in.” His eyes looked glassy with tiredness, and he moved as if he ached.

  “Me neither, really. I’m so used to the quiet of Master Tersus’s house, this is rather overwhelming.”

  “Sorry about that,” Alaric said, coming up behind them and startling Sienne. She had no idea how someone his size managed to move so quietly. “There’s some sort of first summer festival going on tomorrow and there aren’t many places available. I got us two rooms on the top floor, well away from the entertainment, and meals are included.”

  “That’s fine,” Sienne said. “It’s so strange to end the day at an inn instead of a nice quiet camp.”

  “I hope you’re not looking forward to that nice quiet camp too much, because it will be at least a week before we set off into the wilderness.” Alaric beckoned to Dianthe and Perrin to join them. “Personally, I like the change of pace and a meal that doesn’t feature some form of hard biscuit.”

  “I object. Hard biscuits are a staple of the scrapper’s life,” Dianthe said. “Staying in inns makes you soft.”

  “I’ll remember that,” Alaric said. Sienne sneaked a look at his well-muscled physique, nothing soft about it, and mentally slapped herself. That was a line of thought that went nowhere good. Then he held out a hand, startling her. “I’ll take the bags upstairs. You all go in and get us some food.”

  A pair of young men, exiting the inn as they approached, saluted them with beery good cheer, and one of them held the door open. The warmth of a good fire and dozens of bodies all packed into a small place struck Sienne like heat coming off a true summer street. The taproom smelled of roast chicken, of the tang of warm beer and the mustiness of those same dozens of bodies, all mingled together with the smoky odor of a wood fire burning merrily against the dark night. Trestle tables overflowing with diners lined the long room, and serving girls dressed in identical blue dresses and white apro
ns moved busily from table to bar and from bar to kitchen door.

  Dianthe pushed her way through the crowd to a spot at one of the tables. It was closer to the fire than Sienne liked, which was probably why it was unoccupied. She took a seat on the bench and enjoyed the fire’s warmth on her back. Soon enough it would be uncomfortable, but for now it soaked into her bones and made her appreciate the fact that it wasn’t outdoors.

  “Four of you?” a serving girl shouted. Dianthe shook her head, holding up five fingers. “Beer, wine, or brandy? We’re all out of stout,” she added.

  “Brandy, I beg of you,” Perrin said.

  “Beer for the rest of us,” Dianthe said. Sienne was in the mood for wine, but said nothing. Something to relax her tired muscles at the end of a long day was what she wanted, and it didn’t really matter what.

  The serving girl—she was in her late thirties, so more like serving woman—nodded and sidled away past a couple of men standing between her and the bar, passing Alaric coming toward them. He took a seat, forcing two men to edge away to give him room.

  “You said there was some kind of festival happening tomorrow?” Dianthe said, then repeated herself more loudly as the last of her words were swallowed up by loud cheering from the other side of the taproom.

  “I didn’t get the details. Something celebrating the beginning of first summer,” Alaric said. “Most of the people here are traveling performers or merchants, getting in out of the cold. There are far more of them camped over the fields, the stable mistress said.”

  “Unfortunate that we cannot stay to see their performances, or sample their wares,” Perrin said.

  The sound of a violin curled out across the room. “We will see a performance now, I think,” Kalanath said, turning to look in that direction.

  Sienne could barely see the violinist, who was male and had long dark hair pulled back from a very handsome face. His eyes were closed as he sent the bow gliding across the strings, sending up a mournful keen that made her heart ache. “He’s good,” she said.

  “Better than this crowd will appreciate, that’s sure,” Alaric said. He leaned back for the serving woman to set a platter with a whole roast chicken in front of him. “What are you four going to eat?” he joked, picking up a knife and carving meat away from the bone.

  “We’ll need more than one of those,” Dianthe said to the serving woman, who laid out four mugs and a small glass before them and turned away. Perrin, to Sienne’s relief, sipped his brandy rather than tossing it back in one gulp. This must be a good day. She accepted a chicken leg, her favorite piece, and bit into it happily. The crisp skin crunched between her teeth, and juices dripped down her chin. How nice to end the day with a meal with friends who didn’t comment on her greasy face.

  The crowd shifted, giving her a better view of the performer. He was slim but broad-shouldered, dressed in a brightly-embroidered vest over a pale green shirt, with shining black boots that came to his thighs. He put his whole body into his performance, looking as if he were wresting the notes bodily from his instrument. Sienne watched in fascination. She wiped her chin with her handkerchief and took a drink of beer. It wasn’t very good.

  She set her mug down and applauded as the violinist ended his song with a swooping note and a deep bow. As he rose, his eyes met hers, and he smiled, an intimate expression that made Sienne uncomfortable in its open appraisal of her. It had been a long time since anyone, and by anyone she meant her ex-lover Rance, now her sister’s husband, had looked at her that way.

  She smiled politely and turned away, taking another bite out of her chicken leg. The others continued to eat in appreciative silence. The violinist struck up another song, this one with lyrics many of the listeners knew. The singing wasn’t melodious, but it was enthusiastic, and Sienne found herself tapping her toe along with the rhythm. She risked a glance at the violinist, who had his eyes closed again. She relaxed. She didn’t need to be stared at by a stranger.

  She finished off her chicken and put the bone on the platter with the others. Alaric was making inroads on the second roast chicken. Dianthe had finished and was leaning back facing the fire, eyes closed, cradling her mug in both hands. Kalanath held his staff awkwardly, trying to keep it out of the way of anyone passing by. Sienne didn’t bother suggesting he lean it up against the wall. He still looked incredibly weary, and he’d only picked at his food. Perrin had finished his brandy and was trying to catch the eye of a serving girl, probably for seconds. It was as if they had their own peaceful island in the middle of the chaos, nobody needing to say anything. If the fire weren’t becoming unpleasantly hot, it would have been a perfect moment.

  Sienne turned to face the fire as Dianthe was. The fireplace was big enough for a sizable log or two, big enough that she could lie down in it if it weren’t full of wood. Her skin felt parched after only a minute, and her nostrils felt dried out, making breathing uncomfortable. “I’m going to take a walk,” she said, standing. “Too hot.”

  “Be careful,” Alaric said.

  Sienne patted the spellbook slung by her side. She’d made the harness herself, having grown tired of carrying the book under her vest, and now it was second nature to carry it with her. “Just follow the sound of the explosions.”

  She made her way around the outside of the room, skirting a couple kissing intently with no apparent awareness of anyone else, and found the door, falling on it gratefully. The chill evening air slapped her whole body, and she stepped outside and breathed it in. The sky was still overcast, hiding the moon, but the magic lights illuminating the inn made the place where she stood as bright as if the moon shone in a clear sky. It was funny how comfortable the cold was by contrast to the fire, when if they’d been camping, she would be shivering and cursing it.

  She stood outside until she became chilled, then went back to the taproom. The space near her friends had contracted, with people seeking out the warmth of the fire, and her seat was now occupied by a big hairy man in a merchant’s smock. He was talking animatedly with Perrin, who had an untasted glass of brandy by his elbow.

  She made her way to the bar and found an unoccupied seat. No one behind the bar noticed her, and she thought about trying to attract their attention, but the noise and warmth made her uninterested in more of the second-rate beer. Instead, she sat and watched the performers. The violinist had vanished, replaced by a juggler who had a trained monkey, also a juggler. Sienne didn’t care for animal acts, but the monkey was cute, dressed in short pants and a little vest and making faces at the audience. The monkey sat on its master’s head and tossed marbles in a loop. Much as she admired its skill, she couldn’t help imagining the man’s consternation if the monkey defecated on him.

  A hand holding a wine glass came into her range of vision. “You look as if you could use some company,” the violinist said. “Dare I hope you’ll share a drink with me?” His accent was unfamiliar, though he looked like any Rafellish man—any extremely handsome Rafellish man, that is.

  Automatically, Sienne took the glass. The violinist’s smile was no more than friendly, making her wonder if she’d misread his earlier expression. “I was just—the beer’s not very good,” she stammered.

  The violinist leaned against the bar next to her and sipped from his own glass. “The wine is tolerable, but I’ve had better. What do you think?”

  Sienne took a small drink. It was warmer than she liked, and she magically chilled it before taking another sip. “It’s good. You’re right, though, it’s not the best.”

  His smile broadened. “I had a feeling you were someone who appreciates quality.” He held out a hand. “Aneirin.”

  She clasped it lightly. “Sienne.”

  “What a lovely name. Are you here for the festival?”

  She hesitated. Should she share her business with a total stranger? “Just passing through.”

  “Then I consider myself fortunate to have met you, Sienne.” He smiled, and now the look in his eyes was appreciative. Without thinking
, she cast a quick glance at the fireplace. Alaric was watching her, though his attention drifted elsewhere as their eyes met, as if he wasn’t that interested. It irritated her, and she didn’t know why. None of her other friends were looking her way. Dianthe looked as if she’d fallen asleep, though how she’d managed that with all the noise was a mystery.

  “You’re very talented,” she managed.

  He laughed. “Come, now, we can do better than this commonplace talk. If we’d met at the festival, I would ask you to dance, and you would tell me all about yourself, and I would tell you great lies of my adventures. Shall we dance here next to the bar, or simply pretend we are not strangers?”

  Sienne laughed. “You are outrageous.”

  “Merely daring. I know what I want and I go after it. And I get it.” He took a step closer. “Are you from Fioretti? We were there yesterday, having made landfall in the morning.”

  “Landfall? Where did you take ship from?”

  “Oh, so it’s me we’re talking about now, is it? Very well, if it will make the lady more comfortable…” Aneirin sipped his wine. “I am from Chysegar.”

  “Chysegar!” Sienne had heard stories of the mysterious island, but never met anyone from the reclusive place. “Then you’ve come a long way.”

  “I have not been home in some time. I’ve traveled a long time and met so many… interesting… people.” He smiled at her, and she blushed and looked away. Aneirin’s gaze and his low, seductive tone left her flustered. Part of her loved the attention. Part of her wished she knew how to dissuade him. All of her felt as if the wine were something much stronger.

  “I’m really not that interesting,” she heard herself say, and inwardly winced. That was the sort of thing coquettish females said to entice flattery out of their admirers.

  “I disagree. I see you are a wizard, or at least I assume so.” Aneirin pointed at her spellbook. “I find wizardry fascinating. What spells are you capable of? Aside from the one you have cast on my heart.”