by Hobb, Robin
The clothing was pushed helter-skelter onto the shelves, and every horizontal surface in the room was littered with small items. A handful of peculiar stones were stamped with images of flowers and trees.
Rapskal came over to glance at them, shrugged, and said, “Money is my guess. Useless. But look. He’s left me a comb and some funny little brushes. Two necklaces, wait, no, one is broken. This is just some old string, all rotted away. Empty little pots, perhaps for salve or ink or something. Whatever was in there has dried away to dust. Here’s a nice little knife, but the sheath is all rotted. What are these?”
“No idea.” The objects were made of metal, hinged together, and had catches to add more links. “A belt?”
Rapskal hefted the heavy metal items. “Not one I’d wear! Maybe something for a dragon.”
“Maybe,” Thymara agreed dubiously. Her stomach growled loudly. “I need food,” she observed and heard the irritability in her voice.
“Me, too. Let’s take the stuff we found and walk down to the river. Maybe we can find some edible plants to chew on or a fish or something.”
“Not likely,” she replied, but she had no better plan.
She felt like a thief as she used an Elderling gown for a sack and bundled the rest of their loot into it. She paused to pull on the leggings, and Rapskal chose a pair and did the same. All the others would be glad of any new garments, and she suspected that they’d be especially pleased with items as bright and sturdy as these. Dutifully, she gathered up her worn-out clothing and stuffed them in as well. All the keepers had learned not to throw anything away. Their resources were so few that any item that could be reused in any way was valued.
The dragon baths were empty of both dragons and water. The room remained warm and gently lit. It was a comfortable place. Thymara dreaded going back outside. But there was no help for it. They shouldered their burdens and walked out into the wintry day. The sky was clear and blue, the air cold on her face. The rest of her stayed warm. Light blessed them, and for a time they walked in silence. The Elderling shoes were like nothing she had ever worn. She looked down at them, wondering if she should have tried to put her old boots on over them. Her feet were warm and it was almost as if she were walking barefoot. She hoped she wouldn’t ruin them.
“It’s so good to have warm clothes,” Rapskal observed. Then he added pensively, “City feels different, doesn’t it? Awake.”
“It does,” she agreed and said no more because she could not precisely say what had changed. If she had not been so hungry, she would have wanted to do more exploring. But all she could think of right now was food, and their best opportunity for that was along the river’s edge.
“Things will be different for you now that Sintara can fly,” Rapskal offered.
She glanced at him in surprise and then followed his gaze. Blue wings in the distance over the foothills behind the city. Her dragon. In flight and hunting. She was silent, considering it, but Rapskal was not.
“She’ll be able to feed herself now, and that will get her growing, too. Heeby grew so much so fast when she could finally hunt all she wanted and eat all she wanted. And I think it was all the exercise, too. And now that they both know how to get to that hot water, well! She’s not going to be the same dragon at all. And you’re going to have a lot more time to do whatever you want to do.”
She tried to fit that idea into her mind. “It won’t be so different,” she suggested. “I’ll still hunt to help feed the other dragons and the keepers.”
“But Sintara’s not going to need you as much,” he pointed out. She glanced at him: How could such a casual observation seem so cruel?
“Probably,” she agreed morosely. Suddenly, it seemed an opportunity lost. The dragon had needed her, and Thymara had had months in which to win her over. Instead they had quarreled and chafed, ignored and snubbed and then insulted each other. And now Sintara had, in the space of one night, finally mastered flight and no longer needed her. They had never bonded, dragon and keeper, as some of the others had. And now they never would.
“Up! There goes Heeby. She’s diving on something. So she’ll kill it, eat it, and probably sleep for a bit before she comes back for us.”
Thymara watched the distant red silhouette dive, looked over her shoulder for Sintara’s blue wings, and saw nothing. So perhaps she had already killed and was eating. And she didn’t even have enough of a bond with her dragon to know.
They’d reached the riverside now. It could be a hazardous place. In its latest incarnation, the river had swung in close to the city, eating away at the old docks. Downstream, streets and buildings were undercut and eroding into the water. There were no shallows, and Thymara was leery of standing too close to the edge, for she could not tell what was sound and what was undercut. She followed Rapskal, and he led the way with comfortable familiarity. They reached a place where old pilings jutted out of the water. Here, the stone edge of the city had already collapsed into the icy water, creating a steep and rocky shore. “Wait here,” Rapskal instructed her, and she hunkered down to watch him. He clambered down and then moved carefully from outcropping to outcropping, sometimes pausing to gather something from the water’s edge into a sling of his sash. He glanced back at her once. “See if you can find some driftwood and build a fire,” he suggested.
She rose with a groan, doubting she’d have any luck. But by the time he came skipping back to shore, she’d piled up one decent log and an armload of twigs and branches. Rapskal had his fire-starting materials in his pouch around his neck and was only too happy to demonstrate his expertise. While he got the fire going, she poked through his catch. He’d gathered freshwater limpets and streamers of water weed and some bivalves she didn’t recognize. “Are you sure we can eat these?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I’ve eaten them before. I’m still alive.”
They steamed them on the heated paving stones right beside the fire and ate them as they opened. They were not delicious, but they were edible and that was all she required at this point. It was not a large meal, but it took the edge off her hunger. Afterward, they sat side by side next to the fire and watched the river. The Elderling gown kept her comfortably warm, and the sun sparkling on the water dazzled her eyes. Without quite meaning to, she was leaning up against Rapskal’s shoulder when he asked her, “What are you thinking about so quietly?”
And then the words popped out of her mouth. “What if I’m pregnant?”
He spoke confidently. “Girls don’t get pregnant the first time. Everyone knows that.”
“Girls DO get pregnant the first time, and only boys say that stupid thing about how it can’t happen the first time. Besides, what about the second, third, and fourth time last night?”
Despite the seriousness of her question, a smile threatened her face.
“Well.” He appeared to consider her words carefully. “If you are pregnant, then a fifth and a sixth time would do no harm. And if you aren’t, well, then you probably aren’t ripe right now, and a fifth and a sixth time wouldn’t get you with child.” He turned toward her, his eyes both merry and inviting.
She shook her head at him. How could he be so tempting and so annoying in the very same instant? “You can talk like that and make jokes about it,” she told him sourly. “You don’t have to wonder if something you did in a few minutes last night will change the entire course of your life. Change your whole world.”
When had he put his arm around her? He gathered her in tenderly, tucking her head under his chin. “No,” he said, in a voice more serious than she had ever heard him use. “I don’t have to wonder. I know that my whole world changed last night.” He pressed a kiss onto the top of her brow.
“I feel so useless.” Reyn sat down cross-legged on the deck beside Malta. Despite the darkness of his words and tone, he was smiling at her, captivated by the sight of his beautiful wife nursing his son.
She looked at him. “At least you can move about freely.”
“It’s s
afest for both of you if you stay here. And Leftrin doesn’t want me coming and going from the boat any more than is absolutely necessary. And he wants you and the baby to remain invisible.” He’d said the words before and he didn’t doubt that he’d say them again before they managed to depart. Logic did not always have a great deal of influence on Malta, especially when it did not agree with her preferences. “The other Chalcedean may very well be looking for you. And even if he isn’t, the word is out that a man was murdered in a bagnio last night. They are looking for his killer.”
“Do the reports say that he was a Chalcedean and here illegally?”
Reyn gave a small sigh. “I’ve done my best to feign great lack of interest in the tidings. Instead, I’ve been doing all I can to help Leftrin beg, borrow, and almost steal every sort of supply we can load on this ship. Tillamon insisted that we had to send a bird to my mother, to let her know what has happened so she will not worry about us. As if such tidings could make her not worry! We have begged her to do nothing until we are safely under way, but I do not know if she will listen to that advice.”
“Did you get extra messenger birds for us to take with us?”
“Oh, as if that were easy! Good messenger birds are highly prized and valuable. And the Guild is very fussy about who flies birds. I still managed to strike a bargain with the bird keeper here. He told me he cannot sell Guild birds, but he had some of his own that he said he was actually raising for meat. Evidently they grow very large and are not as swift on the wing. They looked like sad creatures to me, but he says they are just in a molt stage and will be very handsome when their new feathers grow. He sold me a few and said no matter where we release them, they will fly back here to him. He gave me message capsules also, and the scrolls that go in them, but swore me to absolute secrecy about all of it. So. When we arrive in Kelsingra, we can at least tell my mother that we are there, and she can pass the news on to Keffria and Ronica. And that, my dear, was the very best I could do about that.”
Malta nodded, then gave all her attention to their baby. He had fallen asleep at her breast. She wrapped him and set him in a little wooden biscuit box, well cushioned with a rough ship’s blanket. As she covered herself, she said, “I had packed a supply of things for him when we came here, just in case he arrived early. Can you . . .”
“Tillamon is taking care of all that. She has gone back to our rooms and will repack as much as she can into a couple of cargo boxes and then have them carried down to the boat.”
“Why is everything taking so long? I will not know a moment’s peace until we get him to a dragon that can help him.”
“He looks much better to me already. The ship is doing all he can.”
“I know.” She set her hand to the wooden deck and hoped Tarman could sense her gratitude and would not take her words amiss. “But I can feel what he is doing and it frightens me. Reyn, he reminds our baby to breathe. He listens to his heart beating.” She reached over and set her hand on her baby’s chest, as if to be certain for herself.
Reyn was silent, and then asked the question that he must. “And if Tarman did not remind him?”
“I think he would just stop,” Malta said.
Reyn slid across the deck to gather her into his arms. “It won’t be long now,” he told her and prayed he was not lying. “As soon as we are loaded, we’ll depart. Captain Leftrin promised us this.”
He sat still, listening to the busy sounds of freight coming aboard the ship. There was a bed in the tiny boxlike cabin that Leftrin had provided for him, and part of him longed to be there. But the baby needed to stay here on the foredeck where Tarman’s wizardwood was thickest in order to remain in contact with the liveship. Malta, he reminded himself, had been here all night. “Would you like to go to the cabin and sleep for a bit? I’ll stay here with our son.”
She shook her head. “Maybe once we are out on the water and I know we are on our way, maybe then I can relax. But not yet.” Then she smiled. “Our son. How strange and wonderful it sounds to say it aloud. But he needs a name of his own, Reyn.” She looked down at the sleeping infant. “Something strong. A tough name to carry him through.”
“Ephron,” Reyn suggested promptly.
Malta’s eyes widened. “Name him after my grandfather?”
“I always heard good things about him. And for a second name?”
“Bendir,” she suggested.
“My brother’s name? My elder brother, who has spent his entire life bossing me around, sitting on me when we were children, even mocking me for falling in love with you!”
“I like Bendir,” she admitted, grinning, and for the sake of that smile, so unexpected on her weary face, he nodded. “Ephron Bendir Khuprus. A large name for a small boy.”
“He will be Phron until he grows into it. It was what my father was called as a boy.”
“Phron Khuprus, then,” Reyn said and touched the sleeping child’s pate. “You have a big name to live up to, little one.”
Malta covered her husband’s hand with her own and smiled at her son’s small face. Then she gave a brief, choked laugh.
“What’s funny?” Reyn demanded.
“I was remembering Selden when he was a baby. He was the only one in the family younger than me, so he was the only baby I really knew.”
“Did you love him from the moment you saw him?”
Her smile grew wider as she shook her head. “No. Not at all. My mother was horrified the day I carried him into the kitchen and showed her that he would fit exactly in a baking dish.”
“NO!”
“Yes. I did it. At least, so I’ve been told repeatedly. I don’t remember it myself. I do remember when Wintrow was sent off to be a priest. Because I asked if Selden couldn’t go with him.”
Reyn shook his head. “A bit jealous, were you?”
“More than a bit,” Malta admitted. Her smile faded a little. “And now I would give anything to know where my little brother is. Or to at least know that he is safe.”
Reyn put his arm around her and pulled her closer. He kissed her forehead. “Selden is tough. He’s been through a lot. He was just a little boy when we watched Tintaglia hatch. Any other child would have been terrified and weeping at our dilemma. Selden just kept on trying to work out how we could get out of it. And now he’s a man. He can take care of himself, dear. I have a lot of faith in Selden.”
Lantern light woke him. Selden half opened his eyes. They were gummy, and the figure before him was a blur. He pulled one hand from under the coarse blanket to rub at his eyes. They stung. He coughed abruptly, and then coughed more. He leaned as far from his bedding as he could before spitting out the mouthful of phlegm. The person watching him made a disgusted sound.
Selden spoke hoarsely. “You don’t like what you see, go away. Or treat me decently so I have a chance to get better.”
“Told you he could talk.”
“That doesn’t mean he’s really human,” said another voice, and Selden realized there were two of them staring at him. Young voices. He pulled his legs tighter under his bedding, and the chain around his ankle rattled on the deck as he did so. The blanket had stuck to the oozing wound on his shoulder, the one that had won him this trip aboard a ship.
“I’m human,” he asserted hoarsely. “I’m human and I’m really sick.”
“He’s a dragon man. See that scaling. So I was right and you owe me the bet.”
“Do not! He says he’s human.”
“Boys!” Selden spoke sharply, trying to bring their attention back to him. “I’m sick. I need help. Hot food or at least something hot to drink. Another blanket. A chance to get up on deck and get some—”
“I’m getting out of here,” one of the boys announced. “We’re going to be in trouble if anyone finds out we were down here talking to that thing.”
“Please, don’t go!” Selden cried, but one of the boys had fled already, his bare feet pattering away into the darkness of the hold. Another coughing fit took Sel
den. He curled around the stabbing pain in his lungs. When it finally calmed and he wiped the tears away, he was surprised to see that one of the youngsters was still standing there. He rubbed his eyes, but the brightness of the lantern and the stickiness of the discharge made the boy’s form a blur still. “What’s your name?” he asked.
The boy cocked his head, his pale hair falling in a ragged sheaf across his eyes. “Uh . . . not telling you. You could be a demon. That’s what the other fellows said. You should never tell a demon your name.”
“I’m not a demon,” Selden said wearily. “I’m a human. Just like you. Look. Can you help me at all? Can you at least tell me where we are, where I’m being taken?”
“You’re on the Windgirl. And we’re making for Chalced. The city Chalced what’s the capital of Chalced. That’s where you get off. Your new owner paid a lot for us to head straight there, no stops on the way.”
“I’m not a slave. I don’t have an owner. I don’t believe in slavery.”
The boy made a skeptical noise. “But there you are, chained to a deck staple. Seems like what you believe doesn’t matter much.” He paused and thought about this for a moment, perhaps considering his own plight. Then, “Hey. Hey. If you’re a human, how come you look like you do? How come you got all those scales?”
Selden pulled his blanket in closer. He’d taken the cleanest straw from the floor and scraped it into a heap before he lay down on it and put the blanket over himself. For a time, it had cushioned his aching body from the rough timbers of the deck. But it had packed down and shifted under him in his restless sleep. He could feel the cold, splintery deck below him. A blanket over him was small use when the cold planks under him sucked away the warmth of his own blood. He needed the boy’s help. He spoke quietly. “A dragon made me her friend. Her name is Tintaglia. She changed me, as you see. To make me special to her.”
“If you got a dragon for a friend, how come you got taken to be a slave? Why didn’t your dragon save you?”
