by Kel Kade
The stranger did not answer but instead said, “Come. We go to the stables in the back.”
Ilanet was momentarily relieved. Perhaps he was retrieving a horse and they could leave. Her hopes were dashed when she discovered none were in the stables, only a few cats oddly cuddled together in a mound in the hay. The stranger appeared surprised as he stared at the cats and seemed to hesitate in his approach. It was an odd look on the man who had been completely in control since the moment she met him.
Rezkin stared at the mound of cats. He had seen cats sleep curled together before but never so many. Particularly odd, though, was that they were sleeping directly atop the hay stack he had used to cover his pack. He shook his head, deciding that most likely the little tortoiseshell cat had chosen that spot because it had smelled his scent on the pack. This led him to ponder whether it was to his advantage or disadvantage that the cats positioned themselves so in his absence. Would their presence deter others from inspecting the area, or would it attract attention? He decided that he did not understand the outworlders’ interactions with the animals well enough to make a determination.
He padded across the hay and shooed the cats away. The others scattered with hisses and yowls, but the little tortie just stretched languidly and then sat blinking up at him. He knelt and pushed her aside while he dug for his pack. The animal took the opportunity to climb onto his back and perform some strange kneading ritual.
“You have a strong bond with your cat,” Ilanet said. “I would not have expected that.”
Rezkin frowned at the small-woman. He was not certain if she was insulting him, but her face seemed earnest. “It is not my cat. I only just met it.”
“Oh!” she said. “It is an omen.”
“An omen?” he asked with skepticism.
She nodded vigorously and said, “Oh, yes. An instantaneous bond with a feral is considered to be a harbinger of change.”
Rezkin began removing his armor and more obvious weapons so that he could change into the drab traveler’s disguise.
“What kind of change?” he asked. He really did not care about omens, but this seemed to be a significant precept of Channerían culture.
“Well, it depends on how you met. For example, if it attacked you at first and then bonded with you, then you will soon find yourself in good fortune.” Her eyes sought the ceiling as she tapped at her bottom lip. “Um, if it ran across your path and then followed you home, it means someone you know will fall ill or die. Oh, I hope that was not it.”
“No, when I awoke, it was sleeping on my chest,” Rezkin said as he finished adjusting his clothes and pulled the floppy hat over his head.
Ilanet smiled brightly and said, “Oh, that is so sweet. But, I am not sure … um … if it was at your feet, it would mean you are going on a journey; if it was at your side, it would mean you are going to lose something dear or valuable; and if it was at your head, it would mean you are going to endure a challenge.” Rezkin could tell by the crinkle of her brow and the way she chewed at her lip that she was taking this very seriously. “I think … well, I think that sleeping on your chest would either mean that you will soon find love or you are about to die.”
Rezkin grunted. “I am fairly certain that the first would quickly lead to the second, so your anxiety over the appropriate interpretation is unnecessary.”
Ilanet huffed. “I should have expected an assassin to say such a thing. Have you never been in love?”
“No,” Rezkin said.
In truth, he did not know what love was supposed to feel like. If the dramatic plays and prose of poets were to be trusted, then he had never experienced the sensation.
She furrowed her brow. “Have you ever loved anyone?”
“No.”
“That is truly sad,” said the small-woman.
She had the soft doe eyes of a young girl dreaming of her prince. He had seen those eyes often enough on Frisha and now understood what it meant. Perhaps Ilanet was not dreaming of her prince, though, since she had run away from him. Maybe her dream was of a knight in shining armor. Rezkin pondered if he knew of any such men within a reasonable distance. It would be well enough if he could be rid of her quickly.
She was looking at him expectantly, so he said, “Love is an emotion that will divest you of reason and cause you to make mistakes and become self-destructive.”
“You are a heartless pessimist,” she said.
“Have you ever loved anyone?” Rezkin asked.
“Of course. I love my family.”
“The family who just tried to kill you?”
The princess paused and looked away. After a moment, she said, “Their treachery does not negate the value of my love. If I allow them to change me, to destroy that part of me that cares and feels for others, then they will have succeeded in killing me.”
Rezkin strode toward the door where she stood. He turned to her and said, “Let us hope, then, that your future path permits you such luxuries. Come. We will go to the house and see if we can find you somewhat better accommodations than the stable.”
Dainty fingers gripped his arm, and he turned back to the young woman and her pleading eyes.
She asked, “What about my father?”
Rezkin tilted his head as he attempted to surreptitiously pull his arm away. “What about him?”
“He will send the guard after us,” she said, dropping her hand.
“That is doubtful,” Rezkin replied.
Hesitantly, she asked, “Then he is dead? Is that what you had to do?”
“No, he was not dead when I left his chambers,” Rezkin said.
“Then someone else? One of my brothers?”
Rezkin frowned. “No, I did not kill anyone this night—unless you count the nursemaid, but I rather feel that was her own doing.”
Ilanet eyes were sad as she said, “Quite. I still cannot believe she is gone … or that I am here … with you. Who are you?”
He still had not decided how to introduce himself to the princess. The assassin had referred to him as the Riel’gesh but not the Raven. It was unlikely the princess knew of the Riel’gesh, so if she did not repeat the term to anyone who did, his identity could remain secret. Still, she had seen far more of that persona than anyone else he knew, so he would need to make his desire for anonymity clear.
“The women of this house call me Roy,” he said.
Her eyes roved over him in suspicious observation. “You have disguised yourself. That is not your real name.”
“No, but it is the one you may use for now. When we go in there, you will not speak of anything you have witnessed tonight. You will not tell them who you are. Are you capable of speaking like an uneducated commoner?” he asked.
“I do not know,” she said uncertainly. “I have never truly spoken to any.”
“Then we will tell them that you were a lady’s maid who was unfairly let go for theft but that you are innocent. You have interacted with ladies’ maids before?”
“Of course. They tend to titter about and pretend to be of higher station than they are. When you are young, they condescend to you only because they fail to realize that you will remember it when you grow older. When you become older, they pander and flatter you with unsolicited praise while their eyes speak of resentment.”
Rezkin raised a brow. “That is quite observant of you, Princess, and not at all what I expected of the romantic optimist I had judged you to be.”
Ilanet lifted her chin and said, “I do not consider myself to be an optimist. A romantic, yes, but also a realist.” She narrowed her eyes. “You are not from Channería, are you?” He looked at her questioningly. “By your speech, I would not have guessed it—you bear no foreign accent, but you lack certain knowledge that is distinctive of Channerían culture. The significance of an instantaneous bond with a feral cat, for example, and the omen it represents …”
“Superstition,” he interjected.
Without acknowledging the interruption, she said, �
�And my earlier comment about the value of love and staying true to myself were quite obviously references to the teachings of Collectiare Malalea, a woman who was one of the most influential collectiares in Temple history. You did not seem to make the connection.”
“You are much more intuitive than the typical outworlder child,” he said. He had to remind himself that outworlders were often confused when he called them small-women.
Ilanet protested. “I am not a child! I will be of age next year.”
“Which means that you are not yet an adult, but that was not the point.”
She crossed her arms and frowned at him. “My father and brothers underestimate me. Everyone does. To them I am nothing more than a possession to be auctioned to the highest bidder. I refuse to be so inconsequential! When I was eight, I decided that if I were to become some foreign monarch’s queen, as my father intends, then I would be a representative of my people. I would insist on participating in the governance, whether my future husband desired it or not.
“I told my father that I needed to learn if I was going to sound interesting to potential suitors. He said I did not need to be interesting, only pretty. By the time I was ten, he got tired of my incessant pestering, as he put it, and relented. I was able to retain the tutor long enough to learn my letters and numbers at least, and since then, I have taught myself as much as I could from the castle library.”
Rezkin stared at the young woman as the motives and methods for her unusual behavior became clear. The princess’s apparent privilege was a façade. While she had been decorated with frills and jewels, she had been denied much that even many commoners were encouraged to pursue.
He said, “Perhaps, through your pursuit of knowledge, you have developed faster than your years suggest by outworlder standards, but you are not yet grown.”
He glanced at the house that was still busy with patrons. Many would stay the night in the common room to avoid trouble with the guards for being out past curfew. He turned back to the princess.
“No, I am not Channerían. I am familiar with Collectiare Malalea, but I have read few of her teachings. Such concerns were not liable to arise in my circles. If I were to infiltrate a community in which the knowledge was pertinent, I would spend the required time learning them. My present mission has considerable time constraints, and had I not met you, Malalea’s teachings would have not have been an issue. None of this is important, though. Right now, we need to consider your cover. The women of the house will suspect we are hiding something.”
“Why would they?” Ilanet asked.
“Everyone in this district is hiding something, especially people seeking refuge in seedy brothels. These women are used to seeing all types, and they will peg you as a noble at the least. They will either accept that you are a highborn lady’s maid but believe that you are lying about your innocence in the theft, or they will think you a noble lady running away from her family, probably to escape an arranged marriage. They may not pry. As I said, everyone here has secrets. If they do question you, then adamantly deny the first but concede the second. They may kick you out if they think you might steal from them, but they will probably treat you with compassion for the latter.”
“Why are we going with the story that I got caught for stealing in the first place, then? Why not just tell them I am running away from a marriage, which is partially true?”
“Because if they care to expose your secret, then having another prepared for them to discover will deter them from learning the truth,” Rezkin said.
“That is absurd,” Ilanet exclaimed. “Why make it so complicated? I have been told that if you want to lie about something, then keep it simple.”
Rezkin shook his head. “The story is simple. Its execution is complicated. Once they discover the false secret, they will stop digging. They would never consider that you would contrive multiple layers of deceit.”
Ilanet narrowed her eyes again and said, “How many layers of deceit do you possess?”
Rezkin tilted his head in thought. Almost nothing he did was deceitful in and of itself. Since he had no sense of self or station of his own, every role he played was who he was in that moment. His only deceit was in keeping knowledge of each independent role from the people who associated him with one of the others.
“Quite plainly, Princess, I am everything I claim to be. At this moment,”—he gestured to his clothes—“I am a harmless traveler, a simpleton, who you convinced to escort you to wherever it is I am going next.”
“You—harmless? No one will believe that,” she said.
“I can be very convincing,” he replied.
He tugged her arm to guide her to the back of the house. The door was ajar to permit the cool night breeze, but Tiani and another woman were preparing a meal in the kitchen. Rezkin rapped on the doorframe to catch their attention without startling them.
He slouched and squinted at Tiani as he awkwardly shuffled his feet. “Um, ma’am, is Madam Grebella ’vailable?”
Tiani laughed and shook her mixing spoon at him as she said, “Oh, did ya hear that, Rella? Called her a right proper madam, he did. You come on in here, darlin’, and get some of this here stew. Suras—he’s the butcher—he came in fer a treat tonight. Brought us some chicken an’ pork trimmings.”
Rezkin shuffled his feet and looked anxiously behind him, earning the woman’s full attention.
“What ya got? You got someone back there?” she asked as she tried to peer over his shoulder into the dark.
He ducked his head and said, “I, ah, got a woman. I mean, no, I don’t got a woman. I mean she’s a woman, and I got ’er. No, I mean she’s ’ere with me, ya know. I mean she ain’t my woman …”
The two women cackled boisterously at his awkward explanation, and Tiani came forward. “Well, move outta the way, then. Let’s see what ya done dragged in. By the Maker, ya take in one stray an’ next thing ya know, ya got yerself a whole litter.”
“Ah, her name’s Arissa,” Rezkin said as he turned to the side so that Ilanet could enter. As she slid by, she looked up at him with surprise in her eyes. He ducked his head and forced a flush to his face for Tiani’s sake.
“Oh, look at this. She’s just a girl,” Tiani said as she took Ilanet’s hand and led her into the kitchen.
Ilanet bristled but thankfully held her tongue.
Rella smiled and paused in her kneading of the dough. “She’s a pretty thing. Could make a bag jus’ ta break ’er in.”
“No!” Rezkin blurted, shuffling his feet and wringing his hands frantically. He paused and ducked his head. “I mean, no ma’am. She ain’t lookin’ fer work. She’s got family waitin’ fer her. Gonna take ’er there when we leave ’ere. Jus’ was wonderin’ if’n maybe she could sleep in the ’ouse tonight. Ain’t right fer her ta stay in the stables with me, ya know?”
Tiani snickered and leaned in to whisper loudly in the Ilanet’s ear. “The boy’s sweet on ya, I see. I’m Tiani and that’s Rella. As far as ya stayin’, we’ll have ta see what Grebella’s got ta say. Between you an’ me, though, I think she’s kinda sweet on the boy ’erself.”
Ilanet was nearly overwhelmed by these people. Not only did they seem to speak a different language, but their inappropriate discussions, dress, and living conditions were appalling. She had heard stories, mostly told by her brothers, about these kinds of places. She was now discovering the truth of the adage that knowledge and experience were two very different things.
The woman named Tiani left her standing beside the counter where Rella was working to make … something. Ilanet had never spent more than a fleeting moment in the castle kitchens. It was not considered proper for the princess to spend time with, well, anyone not approved by her father. The bouncing of Rella’s almost completely exposed bosom was a distraction she preferred to avoid. She glanced back to the stranger by the door. Now that she had run away with him, she did not care to think of him as the stranger. She refused to think of him as Roy, though, since she knew
it was not his name. His speech and mannerisms were such that she would never have believed he was the same man who stole her away from the king. It seemed that this act was accepted by the people as truth, and they did not appear to suspect that anything was amiss where he was concerned.
Roy glanced up at her, and then his gaze quickly darted away as though he feared to be caught looking. Rella chuckled beside her, having apparently witnessed the silent exchange. What fascinated Ilanet the most was that those same eyes that earlier had flashed with intensity and intelligence now appeared dim and without thought or sense. She would have thought herself mad if it were not for the disturbing reality that surrounded her.
A few moments later, a middle-aged woman wearing naught but a blood-red skirt and black corset entered the kitchen. Her hair was pulled up to expose her neck, and dark ringlets fell over her shoulders. The woman’s face was painted to emphasize her large brown eyes and plump lips. Somehow this woman, by her mere existence, left Ilanet feeling both disgusted and deficient. The woman smiled like a cat in an open lauder. Her eyes traveled up and down Ilanet’s body as she sashayed through the room to stand next to the stranger. She reached up and stroked his face, which was hidden beneath a cloak of bashful innocence.
“Oh, Roy, what have you brought home?”
Rella chuckled again and said, “It’s hardly ’is home. He ain’t been ’ere but a day.”
The woman, whom Ilanet assumed was Grebella, shrugged and turned to inspect her again. “Hmm, those clothes don’t suit you, dear, and if ya try and tell me yer anythin’ but some rich, runaway youngin’, I ain’t buyin’ it.”
Ilanet’s gaze darted to the stranger, but he was playing the dimwit. He had all these grand plans, but suddenly she was on the spot. It made her want to slap him. Then she remembered the ice in his deadly gaze when he had captured her in the bedchamber, and any thoughts of reprisal slithered away.
