… do not ever attempt to convince another about anything by the use of facts or logic. A stupid man will not be swayed by facts. An intelligent man already knows those facts, and if he does not agree with you, he either has more accurate information than you do or his personal beliefs prevent him from accepting what you know to be true. In either case, insisting on pressing facts and logic on him will only strengthen his beliefs that he is correct and you are not. A gentle question, politely framed, can help determine the basis for his firmness and what course of action may be required of a ruler. If you believe he is indeed in error, first question yourself and whether through your own desires you are seeing what you wish to believe …
Beltur lowered the book, thinking. From what he had observed, most of those in power would not have even entertained what Heldry had set forth. But how can you honestly determine how much your desires affect the way you see matters?
He was still thinking about it when he left the house just after first glass, carrying a covered basket with all that Meldryn had sent. While the sky was clear, the air felt colder than it had on sevenday, and he was more than glad for the coat, gloves, and scarf that Meldryn had given him.
When he reached Grenara’s house, Jessyla opened the door almost instantly. She was smiling warmly. “I knew it had to be you.”
Beltur noticed immediately that she wore the green shimmersilk scarf, but replied, “Because no one else would be trudging through the snow and cold?” He lifted the basket. “And bringing good things?”
“You and Meldryn shouldn’t have.” She stepped back to let Beltur enter before quickly closing the door.
“The scarf looks good on you.”
“I like it, and I did think you might be coming.”
Beltur thought Jessyla might have blushed.
“That’s a warm coat,” observed Margrena from where she stood in the doorway between the parlor and the kitchen.
“It came from Athaal’s family. Athaal never wore it because it was too big for him. I’m fortunate no one else in Athaal’s family wanted it.”
“They pretty much ignored him, and it was their loss. People can be cruel when there’s no good reason at all.” Margrena shook her head.
Beltur stepped forward and handed her the basket. “I’ll need to take the basket back, but everything in it is for the three of you.”
In turn, Margrena extended the basket to Jessyla. “If you’d take it to the kitchen. You and Grenara can put everything away.”
As she took the basket, Jessyla offered a smile Beltur could only have described as wicked. “I’ll take care of that, Mother.” She turned and hurried into the kitchen.
Even before Beltur had his coat off and had hung it on the wall peg by the door, he could hear Jessyla’s cheerful words.
“Auntie! Look at everything that Beltur brought!”
Margrena smiled, but the smile faded immediately. “I also need a word with you. On sixday, Waensyn stopped by the Council Healing House. He was coolly polite. He didn’t even pretend. Not much. He expressed his desire to consort Jessyla, and he told me that her life with him would be far better than with a mongrel mage like you.”
“He used those words?”
Margrena nodded. “Then on sevenday, Cohndar came by the Council Healing House and suggested that Waensyn would be an excellent consort for Jessyla. He also said that a good daughter in Elparta abided by her mother’s wishes and looked beyond mere infatuation.”
Doesn’t Jessyla get a say? Not in Elparta, it was beginning to appear to Beltur, and from what he recalled of Fenard, most families there at least tried to take a daughter’s wishes into consideration. Then again, the nefarious duo might just have been overstating Elpartan customs.
“That sounds like they’re overstating things.”
“Not totally, I fear. Klarisia mentioned something about the importance of a ‘prosperous match’ for a healer because we don’t get paid what we’re worth.”
“Did you tell Jessyla?”
“No. What good would that have done, except to make her furious? I did tell her that she’s attractive and talented, and that it wouldn’t be long before there would likely be some blacks, besides you, who would be making advances. She told me that you were the only one she was interested in.”
“She’s the only one—”
“That’s obvious, for both of you. You two need more time with each other, but I wanted you to know what that pair is up to. You should talk things over with Meldryn. He’s got a good head on his shoulders.”
“Who does?” asked Jessyla, returning from the kitchen, still smiling.
“Meldryn,” replied Margrena.
“That sounds like more problems.” Jessyla looked to Beltur.
“Cohndar and Waensyn are talking about creating a council of mages here in Spidlar,” said Beltur. “I have the feeling they might want to head it.”
“Of course,” replied Jessyla.
“I’ll leave you two for a bit,” said Margrena. “Grenara and I will look over what you brought, Beltur, and I’ll fix some hot cider.”
“Thank you, Mother.”
Once Margrena had left the front room, Beltur murmured, “You were wicked.”
“I liked every moment of it. She deserved it.” Jessyla gestured toward the bench closest to the two-sided hearth. “We could sit down.”
“We could,” admitted Beltur, putting his arms around her. “In a moment.”
In fact, it was several moments before Jessyla released him, and the two did sit next to each other.
“Did you have to patrol yesterday?”
“I did.” Beltur then told about the two older women, ending with, “I had no idea what would happen when I stopped them. Laevoyt and the duty patroller weren’t happy, either, but Laevoyt pointed out that we had to do something because, otherwise, the vendors, who aren’t well-off, either, would suffer.”
“That’s terrible.”
Beltur nodded. “What would you have done?”
Jessyla did not answer for several moments. “I don’t know. You have a duty to protect the sellers. Especially an older woman who is only making coppers, and not silvers.” After a pause, she added, “I suppose I’d do what you did. I wouldn’t like it. You didn’t, either, I can tell.”
“No. I didn’t. I also thought about what your mother said about the poor women who sneak into the Council Healing House just to get warm.”
“I think Klarisia sometimes feeds them, but only when there’s extra food and not when anyone is around.”
“Meldryn told me that Klarisia doesn’t get enough golds from the Council, and that’s why she can’t pay healers all that much.”
“She’s said that there would never be enough golds to help all those who need it.”
“She could be right about that.”
“Could be? How can you—” Jessyla broke off her words. “I’m sorry. It’s just that when you see so many who are hurt and hungry…”
“I never denied that there are scores and scores who need food and shelter,” replied Beltur. “I was thinking about how much the traders have and…” He shook his head.
“Oh … you think they could spare more golds for the poor.”
“I don’t have any doubts of that. I just don’t know whether it would be enough.”
“You’re being more practical than I am.”
Beltur couldn’t help but think that, if he’d been that practical, he never would have given her the scarf.
“You don’t think of yourself as practical?” asked Jessyla.
“Sometimes, I try to be practical, and sometimes I’m not so sure.”
“That shows that you’re honest.”
“I try at that, too.”
“Oh … don’t be so insufferably modest. Accept a compliment.”
Beltur found himself flushing.
Jessyla smiled broadly, then leaned forward and brushed his cheek with her lips, but only for a moment.
Beltur
wished the moment had lasted quite a bit longer, but, with her mother and aunt in the next room … He tried to come up with something to say. “Do you go to the healing house every day except eightday?”
Jessyla shook her head. “Just four days out of eight.”
“And you each get half a silver a day?”
She nodded. “It’s enough.”
Barely … if they’re fortunate. “You’d think that some of the traders would need healers.”
“The larger trading houses do have healers. Right now, Mother says, none of them need another healer.”
“You have some doubts about that?”
“We’re outlanders, just as you are. Even Auntie is considered an outlander, although she’s lived here for over thirty years.”
“Why did she come here?”
“She fell in love with a black mage. He traveled to Fenard often. I think he did the same sort of thing that Athaal did, traveling and trading for the Council. He was much older, and widowed, but they consorted. He died before I was born. He didn’t have any children, either by his first consort or by Auntie. He left her the house and a few golds. She’s been very careful.”
Beltur nodded. “She’s had to be.”
“You’ve never said that much about your father, except that he was a scrivener. What was he like? What did he look like?”
“I was only nine … but he had brown hair, and Uncle said his eyes were hazel and he was broad-shouldered for a scrivener. He also had a big nose.”
“Your nose definitely isn’t large. You must have gotten it from your mother.”
“Not from him, thank order.”
“What else can you tell me about him? Did he read to you a lot? Since he was a scrivener…”
“He did, sometimes…”
Beltur kept answering Jessyla’s questions for some time, possibly a glass, until Margrena appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. “Since you’re here, Beltur, and since you brought enough for supper,” she said with a smile, “we thought we’d fix it a little earlier so that you could enjoy it with us.”
Beltur sensed a certain dismay from Jessyla. Because that means you’ll have to leave earlier? Or that we get less time together? Both? He managed a warm smile. “Thank you. I appreciate the thoughtfulness, but you really didn’t have to go to all that trouble.”
“How could we not, when you’ve been so generous?”
Those words, Beltur felt, were completely honest. He stood, trying not to seem reluctant.
Jessyla rose from the bench, definitely reluctantly.
Margrena looked hard at Jessyla.
“Yes, Mother.”
Beltur followed the two into the kitchen. On the table, in addition to the bread and one of the meat pies that Beltur had brought, there was a dish that held what looked to be a turnip and potato cheese casserole, as well as four mugs of hot cider.
“Please sit down.” Grenara turned to Beltur. “I have to say that you do try to make yourself welcome and never a burden, and that’s an excellent trait.”
“Thank you. I do try.” Beltur was definitely surprised, since those words were among the warmest he’d ever received from Jessyla’s aunt. He waited until the others were seated before he did the same.
Once he was seated, he was careful to take only a modest serving of the meat pie, since he really wanted most of it to go to Jessyla and Margrena … and even Grenara, even if there were two others that he’d brought. He wasn’t certain about the casserole, but he took enough of a serving, just enough, so that Margrena didn’t think he was avoiding it, and he began with a mouthful of it, thinking that, if it tasted terrible, he could space it out between bites of bread and meat pie, and sips of the cider. That wasn’t necessary, as the casserole was pleasant, if rather bland.
“Did you have City Patrol duty yesterday?” asked Margrena. “Even with all the snow?”
“The square was clear. They pay the young men in the workhouses to clear it.”
“A good use of the Council’s coppers,” said Grenara. “Unlike some.”
“What were you thinking of?” asked Margrena.
“The golds they spent to refurbish the quarters the other councilors use when they come to Elparta. They’re only here a few eightdays out of the year.”
“When did that happen?” Jessyla asked.
“Last year. And before that, they increased what they paid the tariff inspectors. They said it was so they wouldn’t take bribes. I’d wager they do anyway.”
“We can’t do much about either,” observed Margrena. “We might as well talk about something else.”
“I can do that,” said Grenara, her tone not quite casual, as she looked to Beltur. “I heard that you used a cupridium knife on fiveday. How could a poor mage like you ever afford something like that?”
Beltur could sense Jessyla’s reaction, but he just smiled. “I couldn’t. Jorhan forged it especially for me. I just thought it was one of several we’d done for a Lydian trader. I almost never see what we cast after Jorhan does the finish work. That’s because he does that when I’m not there.” He stood and eased the knife out of its sheath, then handed it to the oldest healer before reseating himself. “He even forged the nameplate to insert into the grip. It’s a little darker bronze because he did that out of bronze and not cupridium so that it would be a surprise.”
Grenara couldn’t quite conceal her dismay. “Why would he do all that?”
“Because he couldn’t pay me what he’d agreed when we were forging blades for the Council and because the cupridium candelabra, mirrors, platters, and blades we forged allowed him to pay off his debts to various traders.”
“You worked for a time for less pay, then?” asked Margrena.
“Neither of us would be making coins, otherwise.” Beltur reclaimed the knife from Grenara before handing it to Margrena.
Margrena studied the blade for a time. “It’s beautiful. Any healer would love to have a knife like that.” She returned it with a smile.
“I was completely surprised.” Beltur slipped the knife back into its sheath. “And I’m well aware that I’m fortunate to have it.”
“You earned it,” said Jessyla firmly.
“Yes, you did,” agreed Margrena. “What do you think about the weather here in Elparta?”
“It’s cold, much colder than in Fenard.” Beltur understood that the rest of the conversation was going to be about pleasantries.
Almost a glass later, Margrena said, “Given how cold it’s getting, we’d best not keep you.”
Beltur understood. “That’s true, but I did enjoy the dinner and the company, and I appreciate your including me.” He stood and stepped back from the table, surreptitiously easing two silvers from his wallet into his hand.
“You can see Beltur out, Jessyla. We’ll clean up.”
“Thank you.” Jessyla offered a smile she didn’t feel and stood, moving toward the front room.
“And don’t forget Meldryn’s basket.”
Jessyla immediately turned and picked up the basket, her movements swift and not quite angry.
Beltur followed her, and once they stood near the front door, Jessyla set the basket on the floor, slipped her arms around him, and murmured, “She’s not being fair. We don’t get to see each other that often.”
“It’s as fair as she feels she can be,” replied Beltur, his voice low. “It is Grenara’s house.”
“I know. I don’t have to like it.”
For a time, they held each other. Then, as they separated, he slipped the silvers into her hand.
“Beltur…” Her voice was low.
“I can do this,” he murmured. “I won’t have you and your mother not having enough food.” He managed a smile. “Especially when I end up eating too much of what I brought.”
“You didn’t eat that much.”
“I ate enough.” He stepped back and took his coat off the wall peg, putting it on and then wrapping the scarf around his neck. “I did enjoy the aftern
oon. With you, I always do.”
“I enjoy any time with you. I still wish you could stay longer.”
“So do I.” But I’m not about to displease your mother and aunt, not when both of us need their goodwill … or at least not their opposition. He smiled. “If Jorhan can’t use me later in the eightday, I may come and spend some more time healing.”
“That means you won’t be making coins.”
“If I’m not earning, at least I’ll be learning.” Beltur pulled on his gloves.
“Rhymes, yet.” Jessyla shook her head.
He grinned, then put his arms around her again. “Sometimes … words have to do.”
At that, she turned her head and kissed him, on the lips, for a long moment, before saying, “Sometimes … words aren’t enough.”
Finally, Jessyla handed him the basket and opened the door. “Please be careful.”
“I will. You, too.”
Chill air swept past the two as Beltur stepped out into the gusty wind. After a last look back at Jessyla as she closed the door, Beltur turned and began to walk toward Bakers Lane, the wind at his back.
By the time he reached home, his ears were nearly frozen, and he was more than glad for the warmth that greeted him once he stood in the small front hall and set down the basket before taking off his coat, scarf, and gloves.
“Have you eaten?” asked Meldryn from the front parlor.
“I have,” replied Beltur, standing in the archway. “They insisted on having an early supper with some of what you sent.”
The older mage smiled. “I thought that might happen. I ate just a while ago. Did you have an enjoyable afternoon?”
“For the most part, I did.”
“Grenara was her usual charming self, then?” Meldryn’s mild, but deep and mellow, voice bore only the slightest trace of the sardonic.
“Grenara wasn’t that bad. Margrena told me that both Waensyn and Cohndar have been suggesting that it would be best for Jessyla to consort Waensyn.”
“Best for Waensyn, no doubt.”
“But even Klarisia was hinting it might be a good idea.”
“That’s because she needs Cohndar’s backing to keep the Council’s support of the healing house. She barely gets enough from the Council as it is. If she only hinted, she doesn’t like the idea at all, but she feels that she has to be able to tell Cohndar she pushed the idea to Margrena.”
Outcasts of Order Page 8
