Whispers of Heaven

by Krista Rose

  “A pleasure,” I echoed, and shook his hand before leaving.

  The sunshine seemed incredibly bright after the dimness of the shop, and I stood still for a moment, blinded.

  Kryssa took my arm. Are you sure you want to work there, dear heart? That place is so…dirty.

  Then I won’t get bored, will I?

  She sighed and shook her head, but said nothing else as we climbed back into the wagon.

  Brannyn stared at me with a pensive frown, his brows drawing together. “So? What happened?”

  I grinned. “I got a job.” I laughed as his jaw dropped.

  “And we may have found somewhere to live,” Kryssa added. “We have to go to the incense shop.”

  “That was a lot to accomplish in one trip,” he managed.

  Kryssa muttered something I couldn’t hear, and maneuvered the wagon back into the street.

  The incense shop was much, much cleaner than the apothecary, and filled with a mix of exotic scents that left me feeling sleepy and pliant. I stared around at the neat displays, the dust-free shelves and swept corners, and sighed happily.

  Eloise was a mousy, timid young woman with a kind heart and an unfortunate mess of dirty blonde hair that she left hanging before her face, and I worried that we were taking horrible advantage of her. As we had with the apothecary, only two of us came into the shop, the others waiting in the wagon. Unfortunately, it was Brannyn who had walked me inside this time, and Eloise couldn’t take her eyes from him, staring at him from beneath her hair as we asked about the rooms.

  “Of course,” she murmured, her brown eyes filling with something like awe as she stared at my brother.

  A minute stretched out, awkwardly, and I coughed. “Miss?”

  “Oh! It’s- um- it’s upstairs.” She wrung her hands, flustered, and stared at Brannyn helplessly.

  “How much is the rent?” I gently pulled her attention to me, subtly encouraging her to be less timid.

  Her shoulders straightened a little as she named a reasonable price. “There is no maid,” she continued, “and you must keep it clean. You’re expected to provide your own meals.” She glanced at Brannyn again, and trailed off, uncertain.

  I cleared my throat. “Can we see them?”

  “What? Oh. Yes.” She shook her head, and motioned to us as she started toward the back of the shop. “This way.”

  She led us through a cramped back room and up a narrow flight of stairs. The apartment was small; only two bedrooms and a tiny kitchen and dining area, but it was more than large enough for us. There was even a set of stairs that led out the back into an alley, so that we would not be forced to traipse through the shop every time we wished to go outside.

  Eloise twisted her apron nervously. “It’s not much,” she admitted, and I thought she might shake apart in fear of disappointing us. “I’m certain you must be used to better, but-”

  “It’s perfect.” Brannyn smiled at Eloise, his face surprisingly gentle despite his discomfort. “We’ll take it.”

  LANYA

  7 Driel 578A.F.

  I paid Eloise for a month’s rent, and she scurried back down the stairs to her shop, eyes wide with shock. Brannyn sighed in relief once she’d left.

  Kryssa brought the wagon around behind the shop, and we trekked down the stairs to gather our belongings. A dilapidated stable sat beneath the stairs, obviously unused for years, and Alyxen was muttering about wood rot. There was no straw or hay, and only two stalls; it was obvious we would either have to spend our hidden gold to improve the stable, or sell the horses.

  Kylee argued against selling them, insisting that the horses didn’t want to be separated. She clung to Nightking, as if afraid we would wrench the stallion from her grasp and drag him to market.

  “What if we sell the wagon horses, and the wagon?” Reyce suggested. “It should give us enough money to repair the stable for Nightking, and we can board him at the inn while we fix it.”

  “I don’t want to sell them,” Kylee repeated.

  “We don’t need three horses, Kylee.” He made a face at her, frustrated. “We barely need one in a town this size.”

  “Enough.” Kryssa held up her hands, stopping the argument. “Kylee, if you want to keep Nightking, we must have a stable for him. Which means we have to sell the other horses.”

  She muttered, but acquiesced, and she and Brannyn led the horses and the empty wagon back toward the market to see if they could find a buyer as the rest of us finished putting our things inside.

  The bedrooms only held a single, narrow cot each. Kryssa sighed, and said she would make do with a pallet on the floor until we could buy more beds. We pushed the chest filled with gold beneath one cot, and I began composing a list of the things we needed to buy.

  Kryssa glanced over my shoulder as I worked on it, seated in one of the three wooden chairs around the tiny table. “Surely we don’t need all of that.”

  “We’re starting over. It takes a bit to get us back to where we were.”

  Alyxen peered at the list, and frowned. “What do we need curtains for?”

  I sighed. “Because all of our windows look into other windows, and I assumed we all wanted privacy when we get dressed.”

  “Ah.” He nodded, and walked away.

  It took perhaps a quarter of an hour before Brannyn and Kylee returned. The horses and wagon had been sold easily, and the gold they had brought easily made up for our rent, and more to spare for my growing list of necessities. Kylee still looked unhappy, but she always looked miserable in places crowded with people. I made a mental note to see if there were any jobs for her outside of town, perhaps on one of the farms, and then focused on to our next important requirement: baths.

  There was no tub in our rooms, and so I returned downstairs to the shop to question Eloise about where we could clean up.

  “Oh, it’s the bathhouse you want,” she replied, more at ease with my brother out of the room. “It’s right across the street- the white building with the pillars.”

  “What’s a bathhouse?” I asked, curious.

  “It’s a public place to bathe. It’s been all the fashion in Val Estus for the last hundred years.”

  “Do men and women…?” I let the question linger.

  Her eyes widened, and she blushed. “No, of course not! It’s completely separate and civilized.”

  I sighed in relief. I had no desire to see my brothers naked. “Does it cost?”

  “Not for the baths themselves, no. The attendants can be tipped if they assist you well, and you have to pay for the additional services, like massages or acupuncture.”

  “Acupuncture?” I repeated. “What is that?”

  “A type of healing brought here from Erasto. It’s all about releasing negative energy.”

  “That sounds amazing.” I smiled, wondering if it would help with my nightmares. “Have you ever tried it?”

  “Oh Gods, no.” She shuddered. “I can’t bring myself to let anyone stick that many needles into me.”

  “Needles? What on earth do they stick needles into you for?”

  She gave me a wry smile. “To release the negative energy, of course.”

  I swallowed. “Perhaps I’ll pass, after all. Thank you for telling me of the baths, though.”

  She dropped her gaze to the floor, suddenly shy. “You’re welcome.”

  I returned upstairs, and we left through the rear of the shop, cutting through the alley between Eloise’s shop and a bakery to reach the market. The bathhouse only grew more impressive as we walked toward it, the massive pillars rising above us, monolithic and near blinding white in the late afternoon sunlight.

  Attendants lingered in the shade the pillars provided, boys and girls dressed in simple linen robes and the metal collars of slaves. We hesitated, our months at the Camp making us hesitant to approach, certain that all slaves were poorly treated and tortured. But they smiled at us and waved until we relaxed, and led us separately into the baths, my brothers through
the right-hand set of double doors, my sisters and I through the left.

  The interior was enormous, much larger than I had been expecting. Three huge pools were sunk into the floor, taking up much of the room, and from the high, vaulted ceilings hung massive iron chandeliers to illuminate the space. A second floor balcony wrapped the length of the room, and I could see spiraling staircases leading up to it every dozen feet or so.

  More slave girls came to attend to us, taking us from the care of the one who had led us inside. My attendant was a bright-eyed, gangly girl of about fourteen, who smiled at me without a hint of fear as her collar jangled about her neck. Though slavery was still abhorrent to me, I had to admit that she looked healthy and well-fed, obviously not being tormented by her owner; certainly she looked better cared for than we did.

  I allowed her to take my clothes, and she wrinkled her nose at their smell before guiding me to the first tub, a steaming vat of hot water she called the hettana. She skipped away with my belongings, followed more sedately by my sisters’ attendants.

  We stepped into the waist-deep water, gasping at the stinging heat as the attendants returned with long, stiff brushes, using them to remove the more stubborn dirt of our travels. Kylee only sighed, resigned, but Kryssa seemed nervous, and I caught a brush of her thoughts, filled with embarrassment over others seeing her scars.

  I studied my sister’s back as we bathed. Her skin was as pale as porcelain, and the scars stood out vividly, jagged scratches crisscrossing down her spine. I was certain that when they were fully healed they would be nearly invisible against her skin, though they would remain raised and puckered, forever a testament to the beating that had nearly taken her life.

  I sighed, and let down my hair to wash it, trying to think only of the bliss of being clean after a week spent in a wagon.

  Once scrubbed, our attendants moved us to the heccan, the warm water tub, which was pleasant rather than scalding. More slave girls appeared, wearing short, sleeveless dresses, and asked us if we were interested in their services.

  Curious, I asked what they provided, and was given a surprisingly long list: foot scrubbing, hair braiding, oils and waxes and every type of massage known to men had to have been available.

  We opted to stay simple, and agreed to have our hair braided for a few coppers each. The girls sat on the edge of the tub, their legs dangling into the water as we reclined on the steps and let them work. I closed my eyes, enjoying the sensation of the knots being brushed from my hair as I soaked, and slowly relaxed. The girls gossiped freely, filling our ears with the scandals and secrets of Fallor.

  “Did you hear Kerrell got caught with the butcher’s wife last night? Chased him out into the street with a cleaver, and Kerrell in nothing but his boots. Took three guards to get the cleaver away from him.”

  “Serves Kerrell right. What was he thinking? She’s old enough to be his mother.”

  “Well, I waited on Madame Brienne this morning, and she said Kerrell’s been hanging around with Farius.”

  “The atheist? The one who screams obscenities on the steps of the Temple every Starsday? Why would Kerrell want to be near him?”

  “That’s what I said. But it explains some things, right? No good comes from spending time with heretics.”

  “Gods’ truth.”

  At last, our attendants returned to lead us to the cullhana, the cold water bath. The water was freezing after so long spent soaking in warm water, but it was bracing, and we emerged moments later, shivering and shaking but more alert than we’d felt since the Temple of Vanae.

  Our attendants handed us towels, and asked if we would enjoy any of the bathhouse’s primary services: massages, cleansings, or- and I shuddered as she said it- acupuncture. We declined, and they fetched our freshly-cleaned clothes, allowing us to dress before returning us to the front doors, where our brothers lingered against the pillars, waiting for us.

  Brannyn grinned when he saw us. The contentment radiating from my siblings made me feel almost sluggish, and I stretched lazily as Kryssa tipped our attendants several copper dhabis and one silver for our hair, before we turned away in search of food.

  The market was slowly emptying of vendors as the sun set, orange and gold and pink, over the tops of the houses. I took a deep breath of the cooling night air, staring up in bemusement at the thin sliver of moon already visible, and wondered what Melore was doing. Would she be at evening prayers, or would she be standing outside by the Syrethra, looking up at the same moon and thinking of me?

  “Lanya? Lanya!”

  Brannyn shook me by my shoulder, and I blinked at him. “What?”

  “I was trying to tell you there’s a tavern nearby, where we can get our dinner if you’re interested.” He pointed down the street. “Or we can get something here from the vendors, before they close up for the night.”

  “Tavern,” I replied immediately. “They might have news of work.”

  “Don’t you already have a job?”

  I smiled sweetly at him. “You don’t.”

  We started walking, and I stared around at the shops, trying to take in all the displays of clothes and jewelry and toys and foods- it seemed as if, had I desired something, I would have found it within Fallor, and I wondered how it was possible for Val Estus to offer more.

  We slowly left the market behind, and I heard the rising, familiar ring of steel on steel, and flinched. The memories of the Camp and the Prince rose before me like wraiths, until Brannyn put his hand on my shoulder, pulling me back from the memory so that I could see it was only soldiers, practicing in a dirt yard far up the street.

  “Town guard,” Brannyn murmured as he started to lead me toward the door of the large, plain building we stood in front of. I could sense the yearning in him as he looked back over his shoulder at the men, but I could not determine the cause of it.

  A swinging sign above the door read The Last Hope Tavern, and I wondered briefly about the name before we pushed our way inside, into crush of several dozens of people, all talking and yelling and laughing at once, the smells of unwashed bodies and stew mixing unpleasantly.

  Kylee took one look around and bolted back out the door, letting us know in thoughts that she would find something to eat from a vendor, and check on Nightking at the inn’s stables before returning to the apartment. I swallowed, half-wishing I could follow her as Brannyn began pushing his way through the crowd, searching for a table we could all fit at.

  We finally found one, sharing it with a sullen, grey-bearded man, who glared at us before returning to his ale. A serving woman appeared, winding her way through the crowd, stopping in front of our table with a harried look on her worn face. Her stringy brown hair was escaping in wisps from her braid, and the plain dress she wore was covered by a dirty apron. She eyed us with a suspicious stare. “What can I get for ye?”

  “The stew, please,” Kryssa replied. “And a pitcher of water.”

  “Ye want water, get outside t’ the well.” She fisted her hands on her hips and glowered. “We got ale, wine, and whiskey.”

  “What kind of wine?”

  She shrugged. “Valorian red, what else?”

  “A bottle of that, then.” Kryssa’s eyes were very green as she stared. “And if you could be troubled to bring us a pitcher of water anyway, we would appreciate it.”

  Grown men, hardened to battle, would have quailed beneath Kryssa’s gaze; the serving woman never had a chance. She swallowed repeatedly, then stammered, “Y-yes, miss, right away. I’ll be back in a moment.” She scuttled away.

  Brannyn grinned. “Damn, I wish I could do that.”

  Kryssa raised a brow. “Do what?”

  “That.” He gestured toward the retreating serving woman. “Just look at people, and terrify them.”

  “You do that, too,” Alyxen pointed out.

  “True.” He glanced at the man sitting at our table and lowered his voice. “I usually have to be on fire, though.” He sighed and propped his elbows on the table
, folding his hands under his chin. “So. We made it to Fallor.”

  “Finally,” Reyce muttered.

  “Finally.” Brannyn nodded. “The question is, what do we do next?”

  We all stared at him blankly.

  “What do you mean?” Alyxen asked at last. “We just got here. Aren’t we going to stay?”

  “I always thought Fallor was more like a stopover. To get our feet under us again.” He shrugged at our incredulous stares. “Well, I did. Once we recover, I thought we’d move on.”

  I raised my brow. “We have family here. Why wouldn’t we stay?”

  “We have family we have never met here,” he corrected, his amber eyes intense. “Family that has never tried to contact us, not once, not even to send us so much as a letter. You really think they’re going to accept us with open arms? Besides, our parents eloped. They ran away from here. If they didn’t want to stay, why would we?”

  “Our parents are not good examples of what to do with our lives,” Kryssa muttered.

  “We can build a life here,” I argued, ignoring her. “You truly want to spend the rest of our lives homeless, wandering through the world like gypsies?”

  “Of course not.” He dropped his gaze. “I just thought-”

  The serving woman returned, refusing to meet Kryssa’s eyes as she placed a pitcher of water and a bottle of wine on our table before vanishing back into the crowd. I watched her go, wondering if I should try to ease some of the misery that clung to her like a shroud.

  “Where would we even go?” Kryssa asked, drawing me back to our conversation. “Or should I ask where you want to go?”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged again, his shoulders hunching defensively beneath our stares. He muttered something we couldn’t hear.

  “What?”

  “Mejares. Maybe. It was a thought.” His eyes were pleading. “I heard it’s really beautiful there. And less rain.”

  I stared at him. “You want to travel over a thousand miles, to a country we’ve only ever heard of, because of the weather?”