"Of course. Don't I look all right?"
"That's not what I mean, and you know it. You may be able to convince Sirj that there's nothing unusual about you going off in the middle of the night to read Sy1pa's daybook, but I know you too well. Now, what's this about?"
He opened his mouth to put her off, but then remembered the promise he'd made to himself the night before. He hadn't lied to Ojan; it didn't seem right to tell his own daughter anything less than the truth.
"It's about Lici," he said.
She huffed impatiently and looked away. "I know that."
"No, you don't. All my life I've felt that Lici and I are… are linked in some way. She came to Kirayde the same year I was born. As a child I was fascinated by her, and even now, years later, I find myself being pulled into her life. Everyone in the village is so anxious to get at her riches, and for some reason, I'm the only person arguing on her behalf. The others on the council assumed that I should be the one to search her house. And while I was reluctant, I also know that I would have felt wronged if another had been chosen for the task." He broke off, shaking his head, knowing that he wasn't explaining this well.
Elica was looking at him with an expression that was equal parts puzzlement and disgust. "Do you love her?" she finally asked.
Besh actually laughed aloud. "Hardly."
"Then I don't understand."
The old man nodded wearily. He would need a nap before this day was through. What a fool he'd been. "Truth be told, neither do I. It's enough to say that her disappearance… troubles me. And until I know why, I won't be able to rest."
"Do you fear for her?"
"I fear everything having to do with her."
Elica nodded at that, appearing to shudder as she did. "Well, the next time you feel the need to leave the house in the dark of night, I hope you'll at least have the decency to wake me, so I know where you're going."
"Agreed. I'm sorry to have frightened you."
She gave another nod and then started to leave the house.
"Elica," he said, stopping her. When she turned to look at him, he grinned. "What would you have done if I'd said I did love her?"
She frowned so deeply that he had to laugh again. "I don't even care to think about it," she said.
Besh finished eating his buttered bread, took a small drink of water, and made his way to Pyav's home.
The eldest was at his forge, his face even ruddier than usual, his brow dripping with sweat. He saw Besh enter and acknowledged him with a raised chin, but he didn't pause in his work. After a few moments he pulled something out of the fire with a long pair of tongs, swung it around to the anvil, and began to hammer at it, the smithy ringing with the clear sound of metal pounding on metal. Besh could see now that he was making a horseshoe, the curved iron still glowing red. At last Pyav took hold of the shoe with his tongs once more and thrust it into a barrel of water, sending a burst of swirling steam up into the rafters.
Only then did he step away from the anvil and cross to where Besh stood waiting.
"Morning, Besh," he said, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. "What can I do for you?"
"Have you spoken to Ojan today?"
Pyav frowned. "Ojan? Did something happen at Lici's last night?" "In a manner of speaking, yes. I showed up, and I thought he might have mentioned it to you."
"I don't follow. What were you doing there?"
"I wanted to have a look at Sylpa's journal. I thought it would shed some light on how Lici first came here."
"It might at that." He looked at Besh a moment longer, as if expecting the old man to say more. "Is that all?" he finally asked.
"I thought you should know that I was reading the daybook. It's not mine, and I probably have no business looking at it at all."
Pyav chuckled. "Is that why you've come? To have my permission to look at the journal of a woman who's been dead almost half a century?" "Well, yes. I-"
"It's all right, my friend." He placed a hand on Besh's shoulder. "You're a good man. To be perfectly honest with you, you've been far more scrupulous about all of this than I would have been. And I admire you for it," he added quickly. "Thanks to you, I believe the council is giving Lici the consideration that is her due. But given all that, I can't imagine you doing anything that would need my approval. In this matter, I trust you more than I do myself."
"Thank you, Eldest."
"Let me say this as your friend, and not as your eldest," he went on, his broad hand still resting on Besh's shoulder. "Learn what you can of the woman, but take care that you don't place too much faith in Lici's willingness to return your consideration. Whatever you do, do for yourself and not for her. I know that we have no right to take her gold or allow others to ransack her home, but the woman is a demon. She has been all her life."
Besh offered no response except to thank the eldest for his concern. But as he walked back home, intending to sleep for a short while, he couldn't help thinking that the eldest had to be wrong. No child was born a demon. And that begged the question: What had happened to turn Lici into one?
Chapter 6
DREAMING MOON WANING
Rois Dungar had been captaining merchant ships for thirty years ow, almost since the day of his Fating, when the white-hairs in the tent at Bohdan's Revel, with their strange pale eyes and their magical stone, had shown him at the wheel of a vessel. He'd been barely more than a boy then, just a few days past sixteen, and still enchanted by the festival, by the Qirsi fire conjurers and the tumblers and musicians. It hadn't occurred to him then to care that his fate was shown to him by a Qirsi, that somehow through their gleanings at the Revel, the white- hairs had made themselves the arbiters of everyone's future. And by the time it did, he no longer cared.
Thirty years. Long ago he'd made enough gold to quit, had that been his desire. He could have bought a piece of pastureland near Rennach up in the Forelands and raised sheep as his father had done, and his father's father before that. But even before white-hair magic touched his life, Rois had heard the call of the sea. He started his life as a captain by running the short trade routes along the northern coast of the Forelands, learning his craft by navigating the waters around the Wethy Crown and along the Sanbiri coastline. Later, he'd begun to sail the Sea of Stars farther south, past the cities of Sanbira and the lofty peaks of the Border Range to the crimson cliffs of the Aelean shoreline and the prosperous port cities in Tordjanne and Qosantia. There weren't many of his kind-captains who carried trade between the Forelands and the Southlands-but those who were willing to brave the long voyages and the stormy waters of the south were rewarded with riches beyond the imaginings of most common merchants.
Some of those who traded between the two lands stuck strictly to the western waters, just as Rois stuck to the east. They traded with the Braedony empire in the north and with the Qirsi clans of the Southlands. None of that for Rois. No white-hair trade if he could help it. The eastern realms of the Southlands were held by the Eandi, and they would remain in Eandi hands. That suited him fine.
There'd been a good deal of trouble with the Qirsi in the Forelands in recent turns. There'd been talk of rebellion and war, of a Weaver, one of those white-hairs with all different sorts of Qirsi magic, who was intent on destroying the Eandi courts. Word now was that the war had been fought and won, that this renegade Weaver was dead. But that didn't change much as far as Rois was concerned. There'd be more where this one came from, and there'd be more trouble. They went together, white-hairs and trouble did, just like east winds and rain.
All of which made somewhat curious the fact that he had agreed to give transport to three Qirsi on this run to Aelea. The short answer he gave to any among his crew with nerve enough to ask was that gold was gold, and these white-hairs were paying plenty for the privilege of sailing on the Fortune Seeker. The truth might have been harder to explain.