Well, Dorrien is determined to stay until Tylia is in the University, so I have six months and more to find out what Alina is so bothered by – be it past romances or black magic – and to assure her she has no reason to worry.
The carriage slowed, then turned into the hospice entrance. Sonea hurried out of the carriage and into the building, greeting Healers and hospice helpers. Healer Nikea, the leader of the Healers who had helped Sonea catch Lorandra, led Sonea into the storeroom.
“Staying here or going out?” Nikea asked.
“Out,” Sonea replied. “But no disguise,” she added as the young woman headed toward the box containing Sonea’s hospice worker garb. “Just something plain to put on top.”
Nikea nodded and disappeared down the dim back of the room. She came back carrying a garment with sleeves.
“Here,” she said. “Cloaks are regarded as being a bit old-fashioned on the streets. These are more popular.”
It was a coat of surprisingly light material. Sonea shrugged into it. Though tailored like an ordinary coat to just below the bust, it flared out from there. The hem brushed the floor. “It’s a bit long for me.”
“That’s how they wear them. It only buttons to the thigh, so the fronts open up when you step. People will see your robes, but they’ll assume it’s a skirt.”
Sonea shrugged. “I don’t want them to recognise me until I’m right in front of them.”
“Then this will do just fine.” Nikea smiled, then checked that the corridor was clear of anyone but Healers before waving Sonea through the door.
Soon Sonea was walking through Northside. She slowed her pace. The Pachi Tree was not far away and she did not want to arrive too early. A block away from the bolhouse, one of Cery’s trusted workers stepped out of a doorway and shoved a basket in front of her.
“Signal is for the screen in the top right window to slide open,” the man said, drawing out a brilliant-yellow glass bottle and holding it up to her nose. A sickly sweet smell assaulted her senses.
“And then?” she asked, waving the perfume away.
“Go in. Straight up the left-hand stairs to the third floor. Last door on the right.” He stoppered the bottle and quickly lifted another one, this time a pale purple. The scent was overpoweringly musky. She winced.
“Left stairs. Third floor. Last on right,” she repeated.
“Good. My wife sells these. Some she makes herself; some she buys at the markets.”
The third bottle was black. The contents smelled of bark and earth, which was surprisingly pleasant.
“You like that one,” he said, his eyebrows rising.
“Yes, but I can’t imagine wearing it.”
“You wear perfume often?”
“Actually … not at all.”
“Well, try this one – it’s new.”
The next bottle was squat and a deep blue. The scent was a crisp, light one that reminded her of a sea breeze – but not in a fishy or rotten weed way – or the fresh smell of the air after a storm.
“That’s … interesting.”
“You don’t have to wear it,” he told her. “You can just put a few drops on a cloth and let it scent a room.”
She found herself reaching for her money bag. “How much?”
He named a price. She didn’t bother to haggle, as a movement in the corner of her eye drew her attention to the window he’d pointed out, and the screen was sliding open.
He handed her the bottle, smiling and bobbing in a display of gratitude as he backed away. She nodded to him once, then strode on to the bolhouse, slipping the stoppered bottle into one of the inside pockets of the voluminous coat.
Several patrons looked around as she entered, and it was obvious that they’d noted she wasn’t the usual sort of visitor. She headed for a narrow wooden stair built against the left wall of the room. It was steep, and soon she had reached the third floor. Two men stood in the corridor. They eyed her suspiciously. The door to the last room on the right was open, and she could hear voices. One was Cery’s. Raised in anger.
Whatever confrontation Cery and Anyi had arranged, it was taking place now.
The two men stepped forward to block her path. She pushed them away with magic. As soon as they comprehended that the force they’d encountered was magical, they backed away from her hastily. One shouted out a warning.
A man peered out of the doorway of the last room and saw her. A heartbeat later, three people ran out of the room and bolted down the stairs at the end of the corridor. One was Anyi, she saw. Realising she had arrived too late to prevent the attack on Cery, she hurried to the doorway and looked inside the room.
Cery and Gol stood at the far side of the small room, knives in hands, but smiling and unharmed. She sighed with relief.
“Looks like I arrived just in time,” she said, stepping inside and closing the door.
Cery smiled. “It was perfect timing,” he said. “Thanks.”
“The least I could do,” she replied. “So, do you want to stay here or make yourself scarce?”
He glanced at Gol, who was looking a little pale and very relieved. “I think we had better move on. Would you like to come with us?”
“Would I?” she asked in reply.
Cery grinned. “Don’t worry. I won’t take you any place you won’t want anyone to see you in.” He tapped a foot and a trapdoor sprang up from the floor beside him.
Of course he’d have an escape route handy, though I doubt he’d have had a chance to use it if I hadn’t turned up.
Cery took a step toward the trapdoor, then paused and looked back at her appraisingly. “By the way,” he said. “Nice coat.”
CHAPTER 10
SECRETS SHARED
Something was gripping Lorkin’s shoulder and shaking him. His eyes flew open and he found himself staring at a grinning Evar.
“What?” he asked, pushing away a heavy, cloying tiredness. “What’s happened?”
“Nothing,” Evar assured him. “But if you don’t get up soon you’ll be late.”
Lorkin sat up and blinked at the empty beds around him. If most of the men were up and gone, he was already late. He groaned and rubbed his face, then got up.
“I wish you Traitors had time pieces,” he complained. “How am I supposed to wake up on time when you don’t have alarm gongs?”
“Some of the women have them. But here … what would we set them to?” Evar said, shrugging. “We all sleep and get up at different times.”
Lorkin sighed and started changing out of his bedclothes and into the simple trousers and shirt he liked best of all the Traitor styles of garb. Evar brought over a plate of bread covered with a layer of sweet fruit paste so thick that it must have broken the rules of winter rationing. Lorkin ate quickly, telling himself it was only so he could get to the Care Room faster, not to hide the evidence of Evar’s excess.
“Leota spoke to me last night,” Evar said between bites.
Lorkin paused and regarded his friend. The man’s expression was wistful.
“She said she enjoyed our evening together,” Evar continued, smiling faintly.
Chewing and then swallowing quickly, Lorkin fixed his friend with a stern stare.
“I’m sure she did.”
Evar looked at Lorkin and shrugged, his smile gone. “Oh, I know it’s more likely she means she enjoyed reaping the magical and political rewards, but there is a chance she wasn’t faking the other kind of enjoyment.”