The Four Forges (54 page)

The taller, older one whose face carried a perpetual worried look like Adeena’s held herself back after a half smiling nod.

Goodie nibbled on a fingertip as Lily took the rolled-up cloth and opened it. Neat stitching of all kinds presented themselves in a small workpiece that gave her name and lineage, and embroidery decorated it with fanciful flowers and birds, the sampler a reflection of the girl even better than a mirror. Lily found herself smiling at it. “This is wonderful. I’m sure you’ll work out fine, Goodie.”

The dimple flashed broadly as Lily handed her back the piece, and she bobbed again. Adeena took her by the elbow so that Shyna could approach with her samplers.

These were several layers done, and she thumbed through them. The work, again, was very good, and she knew she could use both women without reservation. But something about Shyna’s demeanor bothered her a bit. She hid her reluctance and handed the samplers back, saying, “Excellent workmanship. I’d be pleased to hire both of you.”

Adeena stepped forward. “Shyna requires an early afternoon, Mistress Farbranch. Off a mark before supper-time, if that’s all right with you. Goodie can stay until regular marks.”

An odd request, but losing a candlemark of work time was hardly extraordinary. Adeena stared at her brightly as if trying to communicate something beyond words. Lily continued to smile. “That would be fine. I do pay by the candlemark, so if either of you wish certain hours, just arrange them with Adeena so that I can schedule your tasks.” She smoothed her apron down. “Please settle them in, and get them started? I have a pattern to lay out and cut.”

Relief ran through Adeena as she turned her relatives aside and began to show them the layout of the shop, work rooms, fitting rooms, and storerooms as Lily retreated, certain that Shyna’s story would be filling her ears in a short time.

She seated herself at her desk and found the glasses that had come with the shop and helped to enlarge the stitching. The lenses were scratched with use and she supposed that they were little better than no help at all, but such things were expensive and she was embarrassed that she needed to use them. She unfolded Robin Greathouse’s packet which included a small, sealed note to her as well as a letter of introduction to the trader and collector Simon and a small note to Tolby giving her advice on the situation. Robin wrote in her neat but elaborate script that the Farbranch holdings had been occupied but now lay fallow, as the raids continued and the lands were dangerous. Lily frowned at that. She had striven for many days to replace her memories of blackened, smoldering remains with the home she’d help build and had seen flourish. Perhaps it would again. Seasons, she thought. Sometimes seasons had to come and go.

A second folded note fell out, unsealed. She opened it curiously, for its paper stock seemed quite different from the other sheets. And, indeed, it did not belong with the others. The handwriting was stiff, stark, and marched boldly across the paper. Galdarkan, unless she was mistaken, although it was neither signed nor carried any identification. She had gotten used to Galdarkan script when helping Tolby to fill harvest orders. The written language was a common one, but there were peculiarities from one province to another, and one race to another, despite that. She stared at the flowing words inked blackly on the paper.

 
Lily dropped the sheet into her lap in shock. Had this belonged to Robin and she included it by mistake? Or to Trader Simon? She could not question it lightly. Greathouse involved in the trade of warfare? No, she could not think it. But if not belonging to Robin, if slipped unaware into her letters, it belonged to someone who might be quite upset at the letter going where it wasn’t intended.

Lily gathered it up, folded it back into place, and stuck it into a small, hidden drawer in the desk. As dangerous as it was to have it at all, it seemed to her far more dangerous to try to find out where it had come from, and for whom it was meant. When matters settled with Tolby, she would show it to him. Not before. Even the best of Dwellers could only carry so many burdens at a time.

 
 
“Will he make it?”

“You did,” Lariel returned quietly, as she tiptoed from the nursing room and joined both Sevryn and Jeredon. “He wasn’t meant to, but he might. He’s far more muscle than he looks, and the upward thrust into his rib cage was deflected by that, as well as by a bone that he’d broken when young and that healed at a bit of an angle.”

“The blade is poisoned.”

“We thought it might have been. You have it, then?”

Sevryn nodded as he produced it. He laid it carefully on the table between them.

“That’s something I’d hoped never to handle again.” Jeredon tapped the ornate K carved into the haft of the dagger.

“We knew he had a target in the city besides myself. I can only hope that Azel was the only one.” Lariel tilted her head toward Sevryn. “How could you not see him?”

Sevryn shook his head. “I don’t know. I absolutely don’t know. The lightning flashed, the thunder broke right overhead, the whole building rattled as if it would come down, I blinked . . . and it was done. I saw nothing. Not the first strike or the second.” He sighed. “How could I have missed it?”

“The Kobrir is legendary for his swiftness.”

Sevryn made a noise of disgust. “Preparation, not luck.

Agility, perhaps, and timing. The storm opened with violence, people milled about in surprise. I saw it, but I saw nothing out of the ordinary until too late.” He paced across the floor. “When is the turning point expected?”

Lariel lifted a shoulder and dropped it in a graceful shrug. “I can’t tell you, nor can the healer. How he’s holding on now, we can’t begin to understand, but he is. A man of iron will.”

“He had matters he wished to discuss with you, and what we talked about, he did not finish.”

“But he did say something?”

“A little. He said you’d understand the implication more than I, and Gilgarran would box my ears for not understanding the intrigue. Azel wanted to build a few more libraries throughout the regions. Train and hire staff for them.”

Lariel took a chair and pulled it close to her brother. “Not unreasonable. He won’t have an easy time of it, but if he can raise the funding, the Conference would probably back him. I don’t see the problem with it.”

“He wants to have them open to everyone who can read and make use of them. All records would be available.”

Jeredon glanced at Lariel. Her eyes of blues and gold and silvery streaks held an unreadable depth within them as she thought. She took an exceedingly long time to tuck a stray curl of hair behind her ear, and the silence lengthened.

Sevryn broke it by adding, “He said it was time to accept your position as being part of Kerith.”

“A radical thought that has some backers, but not without dissent. We don’t wish our histories laid open. That could be difficult,” she conceded. “Although I don’t think it would make him a target for assassination. Was that the last he spoke?”

“No. He told me he has some things which he could only discuss with you privately. I think he was waiting for the time.”

“I’ve always been available for Azel.”

Jeredon moved. “Sister, he knew the Kobrir was stalking. Perhaps he was waiting for a safer, more opportune time, not wanting to expose either of you unnecessarily.”

“Perhaps.” She sighed. “His recovery, if he makes one, will be extended. We may never know, or we may know too late. He did not mention Diort to you, so that isn’t what was on his mind.”

“It could be he meant that for you. He did say that, by quiet observance of who came to his library and what they researched, one could learn much. I don’t see any link between the traders’ message and d’Ferstanthe, myself, and I wasn’t given the time to find one.”

“More questions and precious little answers.”

Sevryn held himself quiet, waiting for her to ask yet again if there was anything else, for if she did, he would tell her about the child’s game. But if she did not, he would keep that close to him as long as he could, until he found his answers. The thought nagged at him that he dare not wait as Azel did and lose time altogether.

Lariel rubbed one eye wearily. “What do we do now?”

“We,” said Jeredon firmly, “watch your back day and night.”

She let loose a pungent curse. Sevryn did not move. Finally, she sighed and said, “I have a fitting this afternoon, and the Conference opens this evening.”

“A shop filled with lissome women? I doubt either of us will find that a hardship!” Jeredon stifled a groan as she stood swiftly and moved past him to the corridor, managing to plant a firm step on the middle of his booted foot as she did so. He limped after her in exaggerated pain, crying out, “M’lady, how can I guard you if you leave me behind in your wake?”

Sevryn followed as Lariel laughed and dropped back to let Jeredon flank her. After his failure of the morning, he knew that it might very well not help her at all to have either of them with her.
He hadn’t seen the strike.
He did not want to consider what it would mean to lose her as well. The Kobrir liked the rib shot, to the heart, with poison to ensure the hit. He’d have to persuade Lariel to wear a warrior’s corset under her gowns. It might not be so difficult to get her to acquiesce. Knowing her, she might even wear it brazenly
over
her dresses, as a reminder of what sort of Vaelinar queen she was, in times when many doubted her ability to carry out her title.

 
He shouldn’t have worried about presenting that to her, he realized as they entered the small tailoring shop, carrying the knapsack with two well-armored corsets in it, as functional as they were decorative. Their weight alone told him that. Jeredon sent him a hunter’s whistle as he took his sister in first, letting him know that all was clear. He checked behind as he stepped in, and the sight of her, the willowy one with the cool river eyes, was like a blow to his stomach, sending the breath from him.

Sevryn bowed. “Afternoon, aderro.”

Rivergrace swung around from a sewing dummy as she fitted it with a dress and pins, her long hair cascading about her shoulders in dark chestnut waves, highlighted with reds and golds even without the sunlight to bring them forth. Her gaze lit as it fell upon his face, eyes of gray-blue and green-blue and pure deep-sea blue. “Greetings, my lord. Do you accompany Queen Lariel or are you here on another’s behalf?”

“We,” said Jeredon dryly, “are but dust specks in the wake of her brilliance.” He winked at Nutmeg as she put her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing.

Lariel said to Nutmeg, “Have you brothers?”

“Three.”

“Then you know what torture I suffer.”

“Oh, indeed! Although,” she eyed Jeredon. “I think we can even the tally. You, sir, must hold the silvered glass for me, so I can fit her from all angles. You are now at my mercy. And mind you, don’t drop it or let it shake!” Nutmeg gave a menacing frown.

Sevryn put his knapsack into Rivergrace’s slender hands as Jeredon let out a mock groan and Lariel chuckled. They touched, briefly, and he felt again that soothing, cooling wash of sensation from her. Could she be a healer and not know it? She had the eyes, after all . . . but no. It felt like nothing he had ever felt from any healer. Something else, something profoundly different. It stirred him even as it took the kedant fever from him, replacing it with a heat altogether different. Did she feel it, too? He thought she must as she looked up at him, a slight confusion on her face, quickly hidden as she turned aside to put the knapsack on the counter and open it, taking out the battle gear.

“What is this?”

“Those,” Lariel told her, “are my new accessories. I hate to do this to the lines of such a beautiful gown, but I’ll be wearing them under, or over, however you think it best. But wear them I will.”

Nutmeg blinked. “Both at once?” She tapped the mail corset and the chain.

Jeredon coughed as Lariel said, “Well, no . . . not at once. That might be a little excessive.”

“Then I don’t see a problem!” Nutmeg trotted off to fetch her little ladder and the silvered glass, and the soft murmurs of Lily questioning Nutmeg in the back delayed her return only briefly. She came back out with her ladder over her shoulder and set it up, even as she pressed the silvered glass into Jeredon’s grip.

“These are armor.” Rivergrace stroked a finger over the tastefully bejeweled corsets.

“Yes, aderro, they are. Our queen thinks it wise not to let people think she’s gone soft albeit she does have the loveliest of curves.” Sevryn ignored the sharp look sent his way, although the corner of his mouth twitched a little.

“What does that mean, ‘aderro’?”

“You don’t know? It comes from the Dweller greeting, derro . . . the little people. We use it to mean ‘little one.’ It’s an endearment,” Jeredon answered in Sevryn’s place, as he inspected the silvered glass in his hands, turning it about to examine the workmanship.

“I see,” said Rivergrace faintly.

The collar of Sevryn’s shift seemed a little tight and overly warm. He rolled his shoulders to ease it.

“You there,” Nutmeg said smartly. “Pay attention. I need the glass here,” and she pointed, “to look at the fit of the gown there.” And she dropped the half-finished garment over Lariel’s head, the two of them tugging it into place. The supple fabric fell into exquisite lines, and Lariel gasped at the glimpse of herself in the corner of the mirror facing her.

“Now. Before I finish the torso, I can gusset it ever so slightly to allow for the armor underneath. If we do that, it will be hidden, although . . . I can leave this seam open here and here, and bring the neckline down here,” Nutmeg frowned in thought as she spoke, “plunging, as it were, but revealing the corset. Or, we can leave the lines as designed, and simply strap the corset over, and I would eliminate this drape here, at the waistline, since you will be cinched in. Your choice, Highness.”