by Jill Myles
“Hello,” she called, tying her mule to the pole in front. “Do you sell potions for the sick?”
The woman in the booth had a pale and dark hair. Deep grooves lined her pursed lips. She wore a long, high-collared dress. Athonite, then. “I sell potions, yes.”
Seri took a step closer, examining the array of bright powders and shriveled roots displayed on the table. “I need one for a sick man with the wasting disease. He has a fever.”
The herbalist lifted her chin. “One dru.”
Seri gasped. A dru? That would feed their farm for a year. The Vidari herbalist had only charged her one fat chicken. “I don’t have a dru.”
The woman’s eyes hardened. “Then get your mule and be gone.”
“Don’t you have anything you could give me? He’s very sick.” Seri clutched at the bag of coins in her pocket. “Please, help me.”
“I can,” the woman said imperiously. “For one dru.”
Furious, Seri gestured at a tray of herbal teas. “How much for one of these?”
The woman’s eyes narrowed at Seri. “Two dru for Vidari.”
So that was how it was to be, was it? Tea cost pennies. A few rumma at best. “I see,” Seri choked out, then spun on her heel and left. Her hands trembled with anger as she unwrapped the mule’s reins and led her away. Overcharged because she was Vidari? Horrible woman. For a brief, shining moment, she wished she were as warlike and wild as the Athonites thought the Vidari were. Then she could wave a knife in the woman’s face and take the potion she needed.
Of course, then she’d end up on the gate next to Kasmar’s corpse. Seri led her mule away and wove through the stalls until she found the tailor’s, a cloth tent with lanterns that swayed from hooks in the ceiling.
“Seri, so good to see you.” Maester Grimald greeted her warmly. He was a longtime friend of her father’s. He lived in Vidara City but traveled between all the Vidari farm villages, peddling everything from delicate silk and velvet down to the rough wool Seri wore.
“And you,” she said, smiling.
He rubbed his hands together. “What have you brought me?”
She opened Josdi’s shawl and showed him her offerings.
“I can’t give you more than six rumma for all three bags of feathers, Seri,” he said apologetically.
“Six rumma?” she repeated despondently. “Can you at least do eight?” Goose feathers were appallingly common, and Seri was ashamed to have to haggle over the price. But six rumma would barely buy a sack of flour.
“It’s all I can give you, my girl,” he said, patting her arm. “You know about the uprisings to the north?”
She shook her head. First Rilen’s talk of revolution, then Kasmar’s death. Now they were fighting in the north? Had everyone gone mad?
Grimald’s mouth thinned. “The Athonites are trying to break the rebellious factions by declaring all Vidari goods be taxed at three times the regular amount. They figure if we’re too busy trying to survive, no one will have time to rebel.”
“But that’s ridiculous.” She thought of the rude herbalist with the outrageous prices. Was that to be normal now? “How are we to endure this?”
“I don’t know,” he said in a dark tone. “All I know is that it is law, and I must obey if I mean to keep my business.”
Blinking back tears, Seri nodded and held her palm out for the coins. “Whatever you can give me, I’ll take, Maester Grimald. You have my thanks.”
Maester Grimald peered into Josdi’s shawl once more and pulled out a pillow. “I’ll give you six more rumma for these little pillows as well.”
Six more would at least let her buy some decent food supplies. With relief, Seri agreed to his deal, though she was a bit surprised. “I wouldn’t have thought there was a larger market for pillows than mattress feathers.”
“All the noble ladies in the city are spending coins on useless things, and freely,” Maester Grimald said, a note of distaste in his voice. “They’ll buy these as soon as I put them out, wait and see.” He gave her a kind pat on the shoulder and a fond wink. “Josdi’s last lot sold for a fine bit. Tell your sister I shall buy all that she makes.”
Seri smiled at the elderly man, grateful for his kindness. “She will be so pleased. She works very hard on her craft.”
“A talent,” Maester Grimald agreed, handing her a bag of material scraps for Josdi. He hesitated a moment, then leaned in. “Did Rilen come with you?”
She nodded. “Shall I carry a message to him?”
Maester Grimald’s gaze flicked to the guards milling about outside the tent, then back to her. “No, no,” he said, a little too cheerily. “If he’s coming by, I’ll speak with him later.” He glanced at the guards again. “So, tell me how your father is doing.”
“He’s not well.”
Grimald nodded distractedly, refolding a bolt of fabric. A knot formed in Seri’s stomach as she eyed the nervous shopkeeper. But before she could ask if he was involved in the rebellion, too, Maester Grimaldi turned away, clearing his throat, and headed back behind the counter. Her thoughts swimming, she tucked the small purse of coins into her belt, took the bag of scraps, and headed for the front of the tent.
On her way out, she paused by a table of linens and fingered a green brocade, wondering if she’d be able to make a nice dress for her handfasting. It seemed unlikely at this rate, but perhaps she could use Rilen’s money for fabric and Josdi could help her decorate it.
“That’s a rather expensive fabric for someone such as yourself to be handling, dear girl.”
Seri turned at the strange voice.
A beautiful woman stood in the tent across from her, followed closely behind by a frowning maidservant. A woven gold crown decorated her brow, resting on dark braids artfully wrapped about her head. Her skin was milk pale and her eyes a catlike slit of green. A silk dress in the high Athonite style—tight around the bust and waist and loose to the floor, with a stitched hem—marked her as one of the visiting nobles.
The woman lifted her skirts as she stepped forward, regarding Seri. “Interesting. A bit dark of skin and uncouth, but typical for your wild people, I imagine.” She stepped closer to Seri and touched a lock of her dark blond waves. “Given the right clothing, this could be intriguing. . . .” The woman hummed to herself thoughtfully and reached for Seri’s hand, turning it over and staring at the calluses on her palm.
Seri snatched it out of the stranger’s grip. “What do you want?”
The woman tsked and smiled, showing a flash of teeth. “Do you know who I am, girl?” At Seri’s silence, she laughed. “My name is Mila de Vray, Lady of Goldenvale and daughter of Lord de Vray, one of the king’s most trusted advisers.”
When none of this registered on Seri’s face, the corners of Mila’s mouth turned down. “The prince is to hold a Betrothal Ceremony within the next sevenday, and I am one of the most likely candidates for his mate.” She tossed her head regally.
With her beautiful clothing, Seri had no doubt that the woman spoke the truth. Still, it puzzled her. “What does that have to do with me?”
Lady Mila regarded her with an amused, petulant smile. “You’re a comely enough sort for one of the wild people—what is it you’re called?”
“Vidari,” Seri said, tensing. Her people had not been “wild” in generations. Obviously the Athonites didn’t notice such things. “We’re people just like any Athonite.”
“Not with those hands. I can’t imagine what the soles of your feet look like.”
Seri’s toes curled against the hard-packed dirt. “We’re not wild.”
“No?” she said coyly. She gave Seri a long, searching look. “I must be mistaken.”
“You are. Now let me pass.” Seri moved to step around her.
The woman blocked her way. “Don’t you want to hear what I have to say, wild girl?”
/> “Why should I wish to hear anything you have to say? It’s clear on your face what you think of me and my kind.” Seri knew she was toeing a fine line, but between the herbalist and the taxes, she’d had enough.
The lady fluttered her bejeweled fingers. “Are your feelings hurt? That was not my intent. You’re perfect for what I need. You see, girl, I need something refreshing and just a tiny bit scandalous to catch the prince’s eye at the ceremony.” Her eyes gleamed in the lantern’s light. “What better way to stand out than to be accompanied by a wild girl as my attendant?”
Seri managed to keep her face composed. “I am not interested.”
“I’ll pay you well. Three dru for the sevenday, provided you show up tomorrow so we can”—she sniffed—“clean you up a bit and teach you some of the basics of servitude.”
Seri stood up straighter. Three dru? That was more than her family earned in a year. One dru alone would buy a cow. Two was uninhibited luxury. Three? That was madness. She could buy a potion for her father and still have enough left over for a cow and other provisions.
But three dru to debase herself in front of the Athonite nobles and make a mockery of her people?
“I’m not interested,” she maintained, fixing her frown on the noblewoman. She would not be bought. Oh, but three dru. She could have wept at the loss.
“Pity.” Lady Mila clucked her tongue. “Well, should you change your mind, ask for me at the gate to the inner bailey of the castle.”
“I won’t,” Seri promised and swept out of the tailoring shop to her mule with as much dignity as a barefoot Vidari girl could.
By the time Seri loaded Bialla with her meager purchases, Rilen had returned. His friend Timmar was with him, rubbing an apple against his stained cotton tunic. “Ah, my lovely Seri. Did you make your money?” Rilen asked.
“Enough to buy a few things to keep us fed for a couple of days,” she said.
“And medicine for your father?”
She hesitated. “I bought some ingredients for a few hearty soups.” She blinked rapidly, fighting back frustrated tears. “They wanted too much money for medicine.”
“Was it an Athonite herbalist?” Timmar asked. His hazel eyes narrowed, and he pushed back a lock of curly brown hair.
Seri nodded.
He looked at Rilen. “Knew it.” He snorted and bit into the apple, making Seri’s mouth water.
“Yes, well, I’m sorry to hear that, Seri,” Rilen said. He produced a small package wrapped in cheesecloth. “I bought you a sweet bread, though, since I knew you wouldn’t spend a penny on yourself.”
Seri flung her arms around Rilen in gratitude. “You wonderful man.”
“I take care of what’s mine,” he said, passing her the sweet. “Now eat.”
She unwrapped the bun, catching a few loose nuts before they could fall to the ground. The urge to pop them into her mouth was overwhelming, but she forced herself to go to the nearest brazier and throw them in, along with the first bite for the gods. Then, she sank her teeth into the still-warm bread and moaned at the delicious flavor.
As she ate, Rilen looked over at Grimald’s tent and exchanged a glance with Timmar. Rilen moved closer to Seri, his eyes on one of the guards that strolled nearby. “I must speak to Grimald. I’ll just be a moment.”
Seri paused mid-bite. So her suspicions were true. “Rilen, we talked about this.”
“You’d rather live as a slave for the rest of your days, then?” His mouth twisted and he gave her an impatient look. “We do this for all our people, Seri. Not just for you or me or Timmar.”
“It’s too risky.”
“So’s living under the Athonite thumb,” Timmar said in a hushed tone.
She sighed. It was futile to argue with them. “Please hurry, then. I have to get home to father and Josdi to make them dinner.”
“You work too hard.” Rilen took her hand in his own and turned it over, pressing a kiss onto her callused palm. “When you become my wife, that will change.”
“Does your family not eat?” She smiled and snatched her arm back for the second time that day. “And why is it everyone is fascinated with the state of my hands?”
A possessive look swept over Rilen’s face and he took a step closer to Seri. “Who else has been touching you?”
Uneasy, Seri moved closer to the brazier. “No one important. A visiting noblewoman made me a proposition, that’s all.”
His eyes narrowed. “What sort of proposition?”
She finished her treat and tucked the cheesecloth into her pocket. “Nothing important. There’s a ceremony in a few days, and she wanted a little Vidari lapdog at her side to draw attention.” Seri was unable to keep the disgust out of her voice. “Offered me three dru for the sevenday, too.”
“A sevenday?” Rilen glanced over at Timmar. “And you’d live in the castle?”
“I assume.” Seri eyed him uneasily, moving toward her mule as a subtle hint that they should leave. She’d thought Rilen would have been furious at the thought of her debasing herself for a few coins. Instead, he was stroking his chin, regarding her in the same speculative fashion that Lady Mila had.
“Think, Seri,” he began. “If you’re inside the inner walls of the palace, serving a noblewoman, you’ll have access to everything that goes on inside. Everything that we can only wonder about.” His voice grew excited, and Timmar nodded eagerly.
“I would be a plaything for one of their spoiled ladies. A mockery of our people dressed up for their enjoyment.”
He threw up his arms. “Let them laugh! You can find out who the prince marries and what he intends to do here. We can use this knowledge.” He lowered his voice and leaned in. “You could spy for us. For the rebellion. Think of the things we could learn.”
“But my father and my sister,” she protested, weakening in the sight of his excitement. Humiliation or no, it would be three dru . . . and she cared more about the money than about being a hero.
Rilen shook his head at her. “I’ll visit them every day and make sure that they’re well. It’s only for a sevenday, and think of how you’ll help our cause. When we discover the Athonites’ intentions, we can find out the best time to strike! Soon we will bring the castle down and the land will belong to the Vidari once more.”
“Rilen, I don’t know.” The thought of spending a week inside the enormous stone walls of the palace, alone and friendless and an object of scorn, terrified her. What if more of the soldiers came upon her? Would they stop at mocking her? Or would they take it one step further? But then she thought of the Athonite healer refusing to save her father, just because he was Vidari. Of the new taxes Grimald told her about, and of how she would have to work her fingers to the bone to keep her farm afloat.
Rilen clasped her cheeks and forced Seri to look into his eyes. “I love you, Seri. Won’t you do it for me? For us? So our children won’t have to grow up under Athonite rule?”
He leaned in and kissed her fiercely, and just like that, it was decided.
“No, Seri, please. You can’t go!” Josdi cried.
“Rilen will come to see after you,” Seri said, hardening her heart against her sister’s distress. “It’s only a sevenday. I’ll be back before you realize it, and I’ll return with my pockets full of coin. Think, Josdi. Three dru! Imagine all that we can buy.” She pulled out her best shawl and began to tuck her things into it: a threadbare nightgown, a clean work dress, and the four symbols from her personal altar.
“But Seri, it’s so dangerous.” Josdi moved to the bed and reached for Seri. “And Father’s so ill . . .”
“I know,” Seri said softly. “Rilen will tend to the geese and the chickens. I made extra bread, and the soup should last a few more days. Just eat it cold if you must. Ask Rilen to tend the fire when he’s here. Make sure he brings more kindling.” Oh Gods, the list of chores that needed to b
e done grew longer every moment. She kissed the symbol of Kasla for luck, then tucked it into her shawl. “I know it’s difficult, but it’s something that I must do.”
“What if Father gets worse?” Josdi’s whisper cut through the air.
Seri swallowed and forced a cheerful note into her voice. “Then I’ll actually have money for the proper medicine.” She knotted her shawl and tucked the small bundle under her arm. “Now, come give me a kiss and see me out.”
Josdi sobbed and flung her arms around Seri.
She hugged her sister tightly, then moved to her father’s room. He was asleep in the early hour, and she leaned in to kiss his warm brow before swiftly exiting the room. I won’t say good-bye, she thought to herself.
Good-bye implied she would not return.
* * *
Hours later, Seri arrived at Vidara Castle, alone and out of breath. She had dressed in her cleanest and least-worn dress, but the guards still snickered at the sight of her. To them she was a poor goosegirl with bare legs and loose hair, waiting patiently on her betters. She passed through the outer portcullis beneath the body of Kasmar, though this time she didn’t look up.
All the tents from the night market were gone, and the courtyard was filled with horses and soldiers practicing drills. It had rained last night, and her feet squished through the mud as she walked toward two guards who stood on either side of the small portcullis that led into the castle.
One of the guards regarded her as she approached, fingering his sword and eyeing her with a lascivious gaze. “Well, well, what have we here? A bit of fine wild deer to come and whet our appetites?”
Seri stiffened, resisting the urge to retreat and forget the matter entirely. “I am here to see Lady Mila.” When he didn’t move, she added, “She asked me to be her servant.”
“Has she now?” He elbowed the guard next to him. “I didn’t realize that Lady Mila was in the habit of hiring the local savages.”
“She asked to see me,” Seri repeated, straightening her shoulders. “Please let her know I am here.”
