“There's more going on here than a girl being murdered,” Scratha said, frowning. “Talk to her again after dinner. And don't believe everything she says. She gave you that information without any prompting; I never trust people who do that.”
“She seemed honest. I can read people pretty well.”
Scratha shot him an amused glance. “I think your judgment may get a bit skewed when it comes to attractive young ladies.”
“Was she? I didn't even notice how she looked.”
Scratha arched an eyebrow and observed, “You're better at lying when your heart's in it.”
The inn, like the rest of the town, proved considerably cleaner than Kybeach's dingy offering. Wide, low-silled windows with shutters flung wide let the last rays of sunlight into western-facing rooms and brought the first glimmer of dawn into the eastern ones. Low beds of colorful southern flowers and herbs edged every side of the building, and the occasional gust of wind kicked up a cloud of aroma that reminded Idisio of his walk through the King's Gate gardens.
This wouldn't be a cheap inn. The owner, or perhaps the whole village, obviously knew it had a good position here, just where travelers out of Bright Bay wanted to rest a bit, and travelers from the north wanted to tidy up before arriving at the king's city. If Kybeach ever cleaned itself up, it could suck business away from this town, being closer; but nothing could ever take care of that marshland stench at low tide.
The sign brought an odd expression to Scratha's face. Idisio struggled to decipher the lettering on the sign while his master stood staring at the door, and finally worked out that it read “Cida's Haven.” Scratha shrugged in response to Idisio's puzzled stare and led the way inside.
A plump woman at the desk greeted them cheerfully, wide, dark eyes surveying them critically while her mouth grinned.
“Good eve to you, travelers,” she said. “Two rooms?”
“One,” Scratha said.
“We've one east and one west left,” she said. “Busy road lately, it's been, since the change in kings. They're both the same price, five silver for the night and another silver for room service.” She winked.
Idisio felt his face crimson.
“Just the room,” Scratha said. “East, please.”
She gave them another appraising glance, her eyes lingering on Idisio's bruised face, and nodded. “Sunrise room it is. Five silver bits, please . . . thank you.” She slid a key across the counter. “Down the right hallway, fourth door on the right. You'll need to be out by noon.”
Scratha started to turn away, then swung back abruptly. “Are you called Cida?”
The woman's expression became opaque, like a window on a misty day. “That's the name of the inn.”
“But is it yours?” Scratha asked.
“The inn was here before I was born, s'e,” she said. “My name is Alre.”
Scratha smiled and turned away again, seeming satisfied.
“Good eve, s'a,” he said over his shoulder as they left the main room.
“What was that about?” Idisio asked when they were out of the woman's hearing range.
“Nothing important,” Scratha said, still smiling.
“You lie better when your heart's in it.”
“So does everyone.”
The tavern attached to the inn boasted well-dressed, quiet, and refined patrons who had no objection to paying outrageous prices for the food and wine. And no fear of northern priests, apparently: a dice game rattled in one corner, a card game shuffled at another table, and aesa smoke twisted and faded in the breeze coming through several wide windows. The smell of cloves, ginger, and other exotic spices from past the Horn drifted in the room, and the dishes carried past on large silver platters steamed richly with their own unfamiliar aromas.
No corner tables were open, which obviously would have been Scratha's first pick; finally the man settled for a table against the wall, near the dice game. A serving girl arrived at their table seconds after they sat down. Her clothing hovered just on the edge of propriety and drew attention to places Idisio didn't think he should stare at. He dropped his gaze to the table.
“Southern white wine,” Scratha said to the serving girl. “And for you?” she asked, shifting a little as she looked at Idisio. The move put her round hip entirely too close; she smelled of sweetened ginger. Idisio shut his eyes.
“Get him the same,” Scratha said. “And a platter of whatever that dark-haired girl just brought by, enough for both of us.”
“Yes, s'e,” the girl said.
Idisio kept his eyes shut until Scratha said, voice matter-of-fact, “She's gone. You're safe.”
Idisio risked a glance; the girl had left. Scratha seemed thoughtful rather than amused.
“My eyes are tired, that's all,” the boy said, knowing it sounded lame.
Scratha left it alone. “Have you ever heard of aqeyva?”
Idisio blinked. “Ack what?”
“I didn't think so,” Scratha said. “It's an old discipline; not many people still know it.”
“Fighting?” Idisio said.
“Not entirely. It's a discipline, and I can see you need that badly.”
“What makes you say—”
“Pretty girls,” Scratha said succinctly, his mouth twitching in clear amusement. Idisio bit his lip and looked away, deeply embarrassed. “I'll start teaching you tonight, after you talk to the girl at the stables.”
“I don't even know her name,” Idisio protested, suddenly not wanting to talk to or even look at another female form tonight. “Or where to find her.”
“Go back to the stables,” Scratha said. “She likely sleeps there.”
Idisio sighed. “Yes, Master.”
Further conversation ended with the arrival of their meal: two enormous, glazed earthenware bowls each containing a generous portion of meat, tender, dark, and rich with spices; a pile of noodles; long strips of steamed root vegetables; snap peas still in the shell; and black beans in a tart sauce.
Scratha had only finished half of his meal when Idisio scraped the last of the meat juices from his bowl and let out a satisfied belch. Scratha raised an amused eyebrow; Idisio shrugged, sat back and said, briefly, “Stables.” He received an equally short nod in response, stood, and left the room.
Stars glittered high and distant overhead; the half moon still lurked low in the sky. Just enough light from torch and moon filtered over the gravel path to let him make his way to the stable without fear of stumbling. Idisio paced his step to a casual amble. He didn't want to look like he was rushing to see the girl again, or hurrying to the stable for whatever reason. Moving fast drew attention.
A sudden cold fear rose in his gut; would this girl, too, be murdered when he arrived? He put the thought aside, scolding himself for being foolish, and forced his quickened step to slow again.
He found her sitting on a bench set against the wall to one side of the stable doors, staring at the stars with an expression of weary contentment. She watched him come up the path without comment, and moved over to make room for him to sit beside her.
He hesitated, then sat, feeling awkward and stupid again.
“I didn't get your name,” he said. “I'm Idisio.”
“Riss,” she said, and leaned back against the side of the stable, drawing her feet up to rest on the edge of the bench. The move put her face behind him; he scooted back, balancing his own heels on the edge.
She smiled, her gaze on the stars above, and said without looking at him, “Did you decide if you want your horse back yet?”
“My master hasn't decided,” Idisio said.
Riss turned her head to stare at him. Torch-cast shadow dappled her face. Nearby, a long, leafy branch swayed in the light breeze, shifting dark lines erratically across her pale hair. “You didn't come here just to get my name. What do you want?”
Idisio knew when he could dance around a topic and when a straight answer was the only way to go. “Karic and Baylor.”
“Karic's t
he Kybeach runner,” she said. The darkness made her expression hard to read. “Anytime there's news, he brings it, stays for a day or two, and goes back.”
Idisio waited, and after a few moments she added, “Baylor was runner for a couple of weeks when Karic was sick.”
The boy stared at his feet, frowning. “Why did they both run from us in Kybeach?”
“You think I know?” the girl said with a shrug.
“Yes,” Idisio said. “You care about the horses too much to just give over without a good reason.”
He didn't look up, but he could feel the girl studying him critically.
“You're smarter than you look,” she said.
“Thanks.”
She ignored the heavy edge in his voice. “You're welcome. What do I get for telling you?”
Idisio had an offer ready. “A gold round.”
“No, thanks.”
He looked at her, astonished. Nobody turned down money. Especially not that much money. “Two rounds?” he said, tentative, hoping Scratha wouldn't be angry at the amount.
“I don't want money,” she said. “I want you to take me with you when you leave.”
He stared at her, speechless.
“I'm not offering to pay my way with my body,” she said sharply, “so you can just stop looking at me like that.”
“No!” Idisio said, feeling color rush to his face instantly. “That's not what I—”
“I'm tired of being here, that's all,” she said, cutting him off. “I'm tired of being a woman in a small village, where everything's going to be the same for the rest of my life. I'm tired of seeing people ride in, talking about wonderful places far away, and then leave for more adventures while I sit here mucking out stalls and currying horses.”
He shook his head against the torrent of words, at a loss for a response.
“If you won't take me,” she said with fierce intensity, “I won't say another word.” She rose and stormed into the barn.
Idisio stared up at the stars, shaking his head wordlessly for some time, mouth opening and closing like a landed fish.
Eventually he sighed and followed her into the barn.
“No,” Scratha said. “ No. Absolutely not.”
“I gave my word,” Idisio said.
“Your word means nothing in this.”
Idisio shrugged. “As you like. I'll tell her she's not going after all.” He started to turn.
“Wait,” Scratha said.
Idisio looked back, keeping his gaze guileless and inquiring. “That was too easy.” Scratha studied him for a moment, his dark face drawing into a fierce, intimidating scowl. “She did tell you something, and you're not going to tell me, are you?”
“I made a promise,” Idisio said. “If she doesn't go, she didn't tell me anything.”
“Mmph.” After a long moment, his master nodded. “All right. What did the girl say?”
Idisio relaxed a little. “Karic's the town runner for Kybeach. A couple times, he couldn't make it, and Baylor came instead. The town runner before Karic was a man named Gessen; he ran the news for fifteen years before disappearing one day. Riss said it was odd, that Gessen disappeared just when he did, but she wouldn't tell me why. That's part of what she's going to finish telling us once we're on the road.”
Scratha sighed and pressed the bridge of his nose with his fingertips.
“Worthless,” he said. “Is there anything else that might be of value?”
“She wouldn't say anything else,” Idisio said. “Not until we're on the road and she's sure of us, she said.”
Scratha barked humorless laughter. “Sure of us? What of our safety around her?”
“She's not. . . .” Idisio started, then fell silent.
“Anyone that manipulative isn't one I'll sleep easy around,” Scratha said. “Keep your eyes off her chest and on her eyes, Idisio. I'm starting to get used to having a servant now; I don't want to lose you.”
Idisio nodded glumly.
“For my part,” Scratha said, “while you were out, I managed some information-gathering myself.” He looked smug now. “Somewhat more valuable than your own.”
“From the innkeeper?” Idisio said.
Scratha's gaze sharpened again. “How did you know?”
“You were practically drooling over her.” Idisio flinched as the words came out of his mouth, unable to believe he'd been so cheeky; but Scratha shook his head, unoffended.
“There's a free room she holds aside for runners,” he said, “but Karic and Baylor always stayed at a house near the edge of town, a place with a bad reputation. She'd like to see the people there run out of town, but they've got too much influence with the new village elder; another man she doesn't think highly of. She says he stepped up to lead a little over a year ago. The last elder died childless, so the village gathered to choose a new one. This new man surprised everyone; nobody seems to admit choosing him, but he landed the post.”
“She likes gossip, or did you tickle her toes for that much?” Idisio said.
Scratha smiled, looking like a well-fed cat.
“Neither,” he said. “We're related.”
Idisio stared, mouth hanging open. “What?”
“In the Great Hall of Scratha Fortress,” Scratha said, “hangs a huge tapestry tracing our ancestry to before the Split. Every desert Family has one. I've spent a fair amount of time looking at it over the last few years; for one thing, I had to add in the death dates.” He cleared his throat and looked away for a moment, expression bleak. “One name I wasn't sure of: a girl who ran away from an arranged betrothal. I heard the story many times, and the tapestry had no death date for her. I always wondered, and I always hoped, but I was too afraid to go looking and find out.”
“Cida,” Idisio guessed.
Scratha nodded. “Cida,” he said. “The innkeeper's s'e-natan—her father's mother. Cida apparently ran away with a stableboy she'd fallen in love with; that was never mentioned in the story I heard, but I'd guess that's because it was too shameful to admit. She walked out on an important political betrothal, after all.” He smiled. “Cida had four children, two boys and two girls, and each of those had children. Alre—which is an old family name, by the way—is the only one who stayed in the area. The rest have scattered throughout the kingdom; doing very well, from what she says, and none have the least idea that they're related to Scratha. She's the only one who knows the full story; she chose not to pass it on to any of her children.”
Idisio shook his head, impressed. “Lucky you came this way after all, then,” he ventured.
But Scratha's gaze had turned distant; he frowned, seeming not to hear Idisio's comment. “It should have been passed down,” he murmured, as if to himself. “I have some searching to do.”
“Why?”
“Because my family is matrilineal,” Scratha said, focusing on Idisio again. “If there's a straight female line remaining, I want them back in the fortress where they belong. From what she says, the female line is north of the Forest, probably in Isata.”
“What if they—or she—isn't interested in going south?”
Scratha shook his head. “I won't have the fortress empty any longer than I have to,” he said. “It's a tremendous relief to know that my line hasn't ended with me after all. Although I'm sure my s'e-natan would have been horrified to hear of the Scratha line being mixed with northern blood, I'll take it with gratitude.”
Idisio decided not to press the question of reluctant relatives. Something in his master's expression warned that it was time to shift the subject. “So what's the innkeeper's relation to you?”
“S'e-natan-kait. I think you'd call it mother's-side cousin, twice removed; but that's a cold, short way to say it,” Scratha said, visibly relaxing. “I don't care much for your northern tongue sometimes. S'e-natankait covers that it's not a straight matrilineal relationship, and there's status involved . . . it would take too long to explain.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and kicked off
his boots. “We leave at first light. Tell your girl to be ready.”
“She's not my—” Idisio started.
“Don't be so literal. Go.”
Idisio stomped out, feeling thoroughly aggrieved and not quite sure why.
The back of his neck was wet. His shoulders were wet. His hair was wet. His feet were soaked. And seeing his master riding in comfort, whistling to himself quietly, only worsened Idisio's temper. It was, of course, his own fault. He'd let himself fall prey to Riss's intent, thoughtful stare, and wound up offering to let her ride. Moments later he'd been trudging sullenly beside the horse, because somehow riding with her behind him, or before him, seemed like too much invitation to embarrassment.
Secrets of the Sands Page 17
