Zanna, who had met both the Lady Aurian and Maya on several occasions when she had wheedled her father into taking her with him to the Garrison, admired both women tremendously. But the Mage, in particular, was everything that Zanna wished to be. Feeling overawed at finding herself in such exalted company, she explained about losing Dulsina, and found herself telling her syrqpa|hetic rescuers the whole story of her disastrous day. At the mention of Sara’s name, she saw the two women exchange a grimace. Aurian opened her mouth as if to comment, but, on catching Maya’s eye, closed it grimly again, with a slight shake of her head.
“Right,” Maya said briskly. “Let’s get you and your parcels back to your carriage—if Dulsina has any sense, that’s where she’ll be. I expect she’s in a rare panic by now!”
The Mage and Maya divided Zanna’s purchases between them, and escorted her out of the Arcade. The crowd seemed to melt away before the two grim-faced women in their fighting clothes, and Zanna was tremendously impressed. As Maya had predicted, they met the housekeeper in the great arched en-tranceway. Dulsina, frantic with worry, had been just about to go back inside to search for her missing charge, Zanna was embarrassed by her fussing, and grateful to Aurian for cutting her short.
The Mage herself helped Zanna into the carriage, and settled her packages around her. Vannor’s daughter looked back wistfully as the carriage drove away, calling out her thanks again to the two women, who were already turning away to walk along the street. The sound of their conversation floated back to her on the still evening air,
“Gods, Maya,” she heard the Mage say, “That wife of Vannor’s is such a bitch!”
“You’re telling me! If it were up to me, I’d drop her in the river—in a sack! Do you fancy a beer now?”
Zanna smiled to hersejf. Somehow, it helped a lot to know that she was not alone in her opinion of her stepmother.
The errands had taken longer than Zanna had expected, and dusk was falling as they clattered across the Academy bridge and turned to climb the wooded hill that led to home. It looked as though it might snow again. The hazy sky above Nexis was suffused with an unearthly copper glow, etched by lines of smoke that rose straight as penstrokes in the still air. Zanna snuggled into the thick fur of the carriage rug, fidgeting with the discomfort of frozen fingers and aching feet. She sighed wistfully at the thought of the cookfires glowing in the city’s different homes, the scents of citrus and spices and roasting meats, and the bright, excited faces of children. She knew that she would be going home to a very different scene. Hebba never worked well when she was flustered, and after today’s upheavals, this year’s Solstice celebrations at Vannor’s house were likely to be a disaster.
The lamplighters were at work, and as the carriage labored up the steep, snowy hill, a string of golden globes burst into life one by one, to mark the road ahead.
The snow had been raked from the curving sweep that led to the mansion, and the coachman, relieved at getting up the slippery hill without injuring Vannor’s priceless black horses, finished the journey in style, rattling up to the door in a spatter of gravel. Zanna had meant to accompany him to the back door, to help unload the precious packages, but Dulsina was having none of it,
“No you don’t, my girl!” she said. “Get inside and I’ll fetch you a nice hot drink. Put your feet up for a while. It’s bad enough you had to traipse round the market like a serving wench—your poor mother, bless her, would turn in her grave . , .”
Zanna let her rattle on as they went inside, knowing that the housekeeper’s indignation was really on behalf of them both. Dulsina bore her years well; her skin was clear and un-lined, and her dark hair without a trace of gray. She had been very close to Zanna’s mother, and it was that friendship, so kitchen gossip said, that had kept her feelings hidden frpm Vannor after his wife’s death. The servants, however, had looked upon her eventual marriage to the merchant as a certainty— until Sara had come along.
As Dulsina bustled off down the kitchen stairs, Zanna paused in the spacious hall to unwrap the cloaks and shawls in which the zealous housekeeper had swathed her. She sighed. Dulsina meant well, but she was tired of being coddled like a child! Inevitably, her thoughts turned to the Lady Aurian. Mage and warrior, she could ride and fight like a man, and you wouldn’t find anyone wrapping her in half a shipment of wool! I wish I could be like her, Zanna thought. She was unwrapping her scarf from around her ears when she heard a resounding screech of rage, Gods! Not another disaster today! Zanna ran. She was halfway upstairs when she heard the howls of her little brother.
The noise came»fe>m Sara’s room—and in other circumstances, Zanna might have laughed. Antor, now a mobile and mischievous three-year-old, had escaped his nursemaid, and found his way to Sara’s open door. Unfortunately, she had been out at the time, but the collection of jars on the mirrored night table had proved an irresistible temptation to the child.
The reek of spilled perfume hit Zanna as she entered. She took in the whole scene at a glance—the powder spilled across the carpet; the upended jars and bottles, their lotions pooling on the table; a frieze of greasy, colored handprints that tracked across the wall, the furnishings, and even the counterpane. And Sara, her face contorted and flushed with rage, was hitting Antor over and over again.
Zanna never stopped to think—her resentment of Sara and her fierce protectiveness toward little Antor fused in a flash of rage. “Leave him alone, you bitch!” She flew across the room and dragged the child away. She had never meant for things to get out of hand—this was her stepmother, after all—but when Sara slapped her, Zanna lost all sense of restraint. She got in one good hard blow before Sara started hitting back, and then they were on the floor, biting, scratching, pulling each other’s hair and screaming like wildcats, with Antor, in the background, adding his own shrill wails to the commotion.
Neither of them heard Vannor enter. The first that they knew of his presence was when he waded into the fray and flung his daughter and wife apart. One look at his face, and the fire of Zanna’s rage turned to ashen horror. Antor’s howls were the only sound that broke the silence—until a chuckle came from the direction of the door. “On my oath, Vannor—you’ve a pair of hellions here! I had no idea your home life was so interesting.”
To Zanna’s horror, a stranger stood in the doorway, witness to the disgraceful brawl. Despite her acute embarrassment, she felt her heart turn over at the sight of the handsome young man. Vannor scowled, looking angrier than ever, then he turned to the visitor and forced a smile.
“Why don’t you go downstairs, Yanis, while I sort this out,” he said. “You know where the drink’s kept!”
The interruption had given Sara time to gather her wits. As soon as the stranger had gone, she seized her husband’s arm.
“Vannor, she attacked me! And look what that wretched brat has done! I insist that you punish them, or—”
“Or what? You’ll go back to the poverty I took you from?” Vannor’s face was bleak as stone. Sara turned white at his words, and shut her mouth abruptly. Zanna sighed with relief. Her dad was so entranced by his new wife that she had feared he would take Sara’s part—but her relief was short-lived when Vannor turned to look at her. With a sinking heart, Zanna realized that Sara was not the only one who was in trouble. “Get to your room,” Vannor growled. “I’ll deal with you later!”