"Oh, have I now!" They were continuing to speak in Shin'a'in between themselves; it was better than a code. The likelihood of anyone knowing Tarma's tongue, here in a country where tales of Shin'a'in were obviously so outlandish that they feared the Swordsworn, was nil.
The common room went absolutely silent as they entered. Tarma stepped in first, looking around sharply, as if she expected enemies to emerge from beneath the tables. Finally she gave a quick nod as if to herself, stepped aside, and motioned Kethry to precede her. She kept a casual hand on the hilt of the larger of her daggers the entire time. She'd wanted to wear her sword, but Kethry had argued against the idea; now she was glad she'd won. If Tarma had worn anything larger than a dagger, she might well have caused a panicked exodus! As it was, the impression she left was a complicated one; that she was very dangerous and suspicious of everyone and everything, that she and Kethry were equal, but that she also considered herself in charge of Kethry's safety.
It was a masterful performance, carefully planned and choreographed to avoid a problem before it could come up. The people of the primary religious sect of Rethwellan took a dim view of same-sex lovers, and the partners were doing their best to make that notion, which was inevitably going to occur to someone, seem a total absurdity. This touch-me-not bodyguarding act Tarma was putting on was hopefully going to do just that -- among other things.
They took a table with seats for two in a far corner. Tarma motioned for Kethry to take the seat actually in the corner, then took the outer seat so that she would stand (or rather, sit) between Kethry and The Rest Of The World. Kethry signaled the waiter while her partner turned her own chair so that the back was up against the wall, and finally sat down. Tarma continued to watch the room from that vantage, broodingly, while Kethry placed orders for both of them. Conversation started back up again once they were seated, but Kethry noted that it was a trifle uneasy, and most of the diners kept one eye on Tarma at all times.
"They think you're going to start a holy war any second, she'enedra, Kethry said, finally.
"Good," her partner replied, folding her arms, leaning back against the wall beside their table, and continuing to watch the room with icy, hooded eyes. "I hope this act of mine gets us prompt service; I'm about to eat the candle."
"Now, now, I thought you were being princely."
"I am -- but I'm a hungry prince."
At just that moment, a serving wench, shaking in her shoes, brought their orders. Tarma looked at the cutlery, sniffed disdainfully, and drew the smaller of her daggers, cutting neat bits with it and eating them off the point. After a look of her own at the state of the implements they'd been given, Kethry rather wished the part she was playing allowed her to do the same.
They were nearly finished when the innkeeper himself, sidling carefully around Tarma, came to stand obsequiously at Kethry's elbow. She allowed him to wait a moment before deigning to notice his presence. This was in keeping with the rest of the parts they were playing --
For although they had arrived in dusty, well-wom traveling leathers -- Tarma's being all-too-plainly armor, Kethry's bearing no hint of her mage-status -- they were now dressed in silks. Kethry wore a knee-length robe, of an exotic cut and a deep green, and breeches of a deeper green; Tarma wore Shin'a'in-style wrapped jacket, shirt, and breeches -- in black. With them, she wore a black sweatband of matching silk confining her short-cropped hair, and a wrapped sash holding her two daggers of differing sizes, a black silk baldric for the sword that she had left in the room above, and black quilted silk boots. Her choice of outfitting had stirred uneasy feelings in Kethry, but Tarma had pointed out with irrefutable logic that if the Captain was to hear of two strangers in Petras, and have that outfit described to her, she would know who those strangers were. And she would know by the sable hue that Tarma was expecting her Captain to be in trouble -- possibly in need of avenging.
Their clothing was clearly the most costly (and certainly the most outre) in the room, and this was (dubious eating utensils notwithstanding) not an inexpensive inn. They wanted their presence to be known and commented on; they wanted word to spread. Ideally it would spread to Idra, wherever she was; if not, to the ear of the King.
"My lady," the innkeeper said, in tones both frightened and fawning, tones that made Kethry long for their old friend Hadell of the Broken Sword, or plain, genial Oskar of the Bottomless Barrel. "My lady, there is a gentleman who wishes to speak with you."
"So?" she raised an elegant eyebrow. "On what subject?"
"He did not confide in me, my lady, but -- he wears the livery of the King."
"Does he, then? Well, I'll hear him out -- if you have somewhere a bit more -- private -- than this."
"Of a certainty, if my lady would follow -- " He bowed, and groveled, and at length brought them to a small but comfortably appointed chamber, equipped with one table, four chairs, and a door chat shut quite firmly. He bowed himself out; wine appeared, in cleaner vessels than they had been favored with before this, and finally, the visitor himself.
Kethry chose to receive him seated; Tarma stood, leaning against the wall with her arms folded, in the shadows at her right hand. Their visitor gave the Shin'a'in a fairly nervous glance before accosting Kethry.
"My lady," he said, bowing over her hand. Kethry was having a hard time keeping from laughing herself sick. The right corner of Tarma's mouth kept twitching, sure sign that she was holding herself in only by the exertion of a formidable amount of willpower. This liveried fop was precisely the degree of lackey they had hoped to lure in; personal servant to the King, and probably a minor noble himself. He was languishing, and vapid, and quite thoroughly full of himself. His absurd court dress of pale yellow and green with the scarlet and gold badge of the King's Household on the right shoulder was exceedingly expensive as well as in appallingly bad taste. There was more than a little trace of a more careful toilette than Kethry ever bothered with in his appearance. His carefully pointed mouse-brown mustaches alone must have taken him an hour to tease into shape.
"My lord wishes to know the identity of two such -- fascinating -- strangers to our realm," he said, when he'd completed his oozing over Kethry's hand. "And what brings them here."
"I shall answer the second question first, my lord," Kethry replied, with just a hint of cool hauteur. "What brings us, is trade, purely and simply. But not just any trade, I do assure you; no, what we have are the mounts of princes, princes of the Shin'a'in -- and we intend them to grace the stables of the princes of other realms. The horses we have brought are princes and princesses themselves -- as I am certain you are aware."
"Word -- had reached my noble lord that your beasts were extraordinary -- "
"They are creatures whose like no one here has ever seen. It is only through my friendship with the noble Tarma shena Tale'sedrin, the Tale'sedrin of Tale'sedrin, that I was able to obtain them."
His glance lit again upon Tarma, who was still standing in the shadows behind Kethry. She moved forward into the light, inclined her head graciously at the sound of her name, and said in Shin'a'in, "I also happen to be the only Tale'sedrin other than you, but we won't go into that, will we?"
"My companion tells me she is pleased to make the acquaintance of so goodly a gentleman," Kethry said smoothly, as Tarma allowed the shadows to obscure her again. "As for myself, I am Kethryveris, scion of House Pheregul of Moumedealth, a House of ancient and honorable lineage."