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Before she'd finished, there were people standing before her wares, silently admiring them, no doubt trying to decide what to offer her, so that they might go away with a bargain, as well as a fine basket. They didn't know just how eager she was to sell them. They didn't know that if she'd had to give them away in order to get these ensorcelled baskets into their hands and their homes, she would have. Nor could she give them any reason to guess at this. She'd drive a hard bargain. She'd leave the Neck with gold heavy in her purse, and the need for vengeance resting just a bit lighter on her shoulders.

Yellow eyes. White hair. Narrow, bony, pale faces. Did they really think they were so different from the Qirsi who lived south of here? Did they really believe that there was virtue to be found in denying who and what they were?

"You made these yourself?" one man asked, eyeing her shrewdly. "Yes, sir, I did."

"Where do you come from?" he asked.

"East of here. A small village near the lakes. I'm sure you wouldn't know it."

"You're Mettai, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am."

"And the colors in these baskets?"

She knew what he was getting at. She'd have to answer the same question throughout the morning, as buyers tried to determine the value of her work. Dyed baskets were worth far more than those colored with magic.

"Dyed by hand, sir. I assure you. Pick one up. Examine each osier if you must. Each strand of grass." Hold it close. Breathe deeply of its scent. Rub your hands over it, as if in a caress. And die well. "I do good work, but you'll see that the color isn't uniform."

He stooped and picked up one of the more colorful baskets. He eyed it closely for several moments before returning it to the blanket.

"That can be feigned. You can use magic to make it look like that."

She smiled, hating him. "Yes, I can. But I didn't. You don't have to believe me, of course. An eye as discerning as yours should have no trouble seeing the truth. And if you think there are better baskets here in this marketplace, you should buy them." Lici looked past him to another man, who'd also paused to admire her weaving. "Can I help you, good sir?"

"Wait now," the first man said, glancing over his shoulder before facing Lici again. "I didn't say I was going to look elsewhere. I just wanted to be certain that you weren't trying to sell ensorcelled baskets in an Y'Qatt city."

"I'd never do such a thing, sir. I'm quite aware of where I am and what sort of people live in your fine city."

He stared down at the basket for several moments, his eyes narrowed. He was tall and lean, like so many Qirsi, with eyes the color of pinewood, and short-cropped hair. Eventually he met her gaze again.

"How much?"

"Three sovereigns."

He laughed and shook his head. "Too much." But he didn't walk away. She'd get two. She could get more, but she didn't want the price going too high.

"I'd go as high as one sovereign, two silvers."

"The price is three."

"Come now, madame," he said. "You can't expect to get three sovereigns for a single basket."

"It's early," she said. "Look how your friends gather around my wares." There were at least ten people standing in front of her blankets now. Seeing this, the man frowned.

She was tempted now to get two and a half sovereigns, not only because she didn't like this man, but also because with so many watching, this first sale would set the price for the rest. Some baskets would go for more, of course. Others would sell for less. But all would be measured against this first one. She had to remind herself that she wanted them to sell quickly, that before the day was through, she wanted her baskets spread throughout the city. And she herself wished to be on her way out of the Neck by midday.

"Two then," he said.

She couldn't appear to give in too easily. "Two is low," she said. "But I'll let this one go for two if you'll buy a second at the same price."

"I have no need of two."

"None?" she asked coyly. "Your wife wouldn't find a use for a second basket of this quality?"

He frowned again and rubbed a hand over his face. "Four for the pair."

Lici nodded.

"Very well." He quickly chose a second and paid her the four sovereigns, before hurrying away, as if afraid that she might enchant him into buying more.

After that, she did a brisk trade, selling nearly a dozen baskets in the first hour of the morning. As the day progressed, however, business slowed, so that as midday approached she'd only sold two more, and still had ten left. She'd watched from afar as the other villages succumbed to her curse, but she had no desire to be anywhere near C'Bijor's Neck when her magic began to take effect. The city was too large; too many people would be sickened. Not that she didn't want to see, but she feared the outpouring of so much magic. Magic, the likes of which would bleed a Mettai to death. Magic that would leave this entire city in ruins.

"Slow day."

She turned at the sound of the man's voice. He was Qirsi, his white hair tied back from his face, his skin nearly as dark as her own. Fal'Borna. He was an old man for one of their kind. His hair had grown thin, so that she could see his golden scalp between strands of white, and he wore a fine, pale beard that made him appear gaunt as a mountain goat.

"Yes," she said.

"I thought you'd sell everything you brought in the first hour." "I'd hoped to."

"You did all right. Better than most of us."

"I suppose." She eyed him, an idea blossoming in her mind, like a small flame. "Is it usually like this?"

He shook his head. "Usually better. Most days it's as busy as this morning all the way through to dusk. But this weather has people scared. They think it'll be a hard winter, so they're saving their coin, in case the crops aren't enough to see them through."

"You live here," she said. Fal'Borna by birth, but now Y'Qatt.

He nodded and stepped over to her, extending a hand. "Y'Farl. You are?"

"Licaldi."

"Nice to meet you, Licaldi. I'm surprised we haven't met before. Baskets that fine would have attracted the notice of every peddler between here and the Ofirean."

"I'd stopped selling them long ago. I only began again recently."

"Why would you have stopped?"

She shrugged, looking away. This had to be done carefully. "My husband died, and it was all I could do to keep our crops going. But they're mostly in now, and my boys are doing the rest."

"So he died recently?"

She nodded, but said nothing.

"I'm sorry."

Lici shrugged and made herself smile, knowing it would look forced. He'd expect that. Then she knelt and began to pack up her baskets, gathering them together, and placing them slowly and carefully into the larger baskets she used to carry the others.

"You're leaving?" Y'Farl asked.

"I haven't any choice. I have to sell these, but I also need to get back before nightfall, and it's a walk of several hours."

"There are inns here. You could sell the rest tomorrow. You've made enough gold this morning…" Seeing her shake her head, he trailed off.

"No," she said. "I need to get home, and I can't spare even a bit of the gold I have, particularly if the rest of these baskets don't sell."

He watched her pack away the baskets for a few moments longer before walking back to his cart. He said nothing, and for just an instant Lici feared that she had miscalculated. Still, she continued to gather her baskets, and soon he had wandered back her way.

"How much for the lot?" he asked.

She looked up at him and frowned, as if not understanding. "I'm sorry?"