"According to S'Plaed, the merchant's name is Torgan Plye and among the wares he was selling that day were Mettai baskets of uncommon quality. This man has been named an enemy of all Fal'Borna people, and is to be killed on sight."
"Did you ask about the woman?" Jynna asked, drawing stares from all around the table. "There was a Mettai woman! She made the baskets!"
S'Doryn feared that U'Selle might be angered by the interruption, but the a'laq just shook her head.
"He said nothing about a woman, or about any Mettai for that matter."
Jynna started to say more, but U'Selle silenced her with a raised hand.
"The baskets are enough, child. I believe what you told us about the woman, and as soon as I heard that he was selling Mettai baskets, it occurred to me that she and the merchant are partners in some dark scheme. I don't know how or why she came to be working with this Torgan Plye, but clearly there are Eandi abroad on the plain who seek to destroy all Qirsi people, be they Fal'Borna or Y'Qatt."
"How long ago did this happen, A'Laq?" T'Noth asked.
"Not long. A matter of days. You should also know," she said, "that most of those who survived were children, just as with the outbreak in Tivston."
"It has to be the magic," S'Doryn said. "That's the only way to explain it."
"The only way?" asked one of the council members.
"I believe so. This is a disease that kills Qirsi adults but spares their
children, and the Eandi who spread it. How else could that be possible?"
"Then it must be the Mettai," said another member of the council.
"A curse of some sort. The Eandi couldn't do such a thing on their own."
"I told you this would lead to war."
S'Doryn looked at T'Noth, who was eyeing him closely, his expression grim.
"I told S'Plaed about Jynna," U'Selle was saying to them all, quieting the rising din in the room. "I also told him about the Mettai woman. It seems our people are under attack, though in a way that none of us has seen before, or even considered. Well, fine then. Our foes will find that the strength of the Fal'Borna hasn't slackened at all in the years since the last Blood Wars. Others will be watching now for the Mettai witch who struck at our friends in Tivston, just as we are, just as we will also be watching for this demon merchant, this Torgan Plye. If they're on the plain, they won't live long." A dark smile touched her face and was gone. "Enemies of the Fal'Borna never do."
Chapter 18
Grinsa and Cresenne's first days among the Fal'Borna weren't quite as difficult as Grinsa had feared they might be. Yes, they were captives; there could be no denying that. Had their welcome from E'Menua, the sept's a'laq, been friendlier, had they been given the option of staying with the sept or moving on as they saw fit, Grinsa and Cresenne might very well have chosen to remain, at least for a time. From all they had heard from R'Shev, D'Chul, and the other merchants, it seemed the Fal'Borna were a hard, uncompromising people, and certainly their captivity seemed further evidence of this. But the Fal'Borna could also be friendly, open, and generous.
As the a'laq had promised, their shelter was up and ready for them before nightfall on that first day they reached the sept. They were given food and wine, including roasted rilda, which might have been the most delicious meat Grinsa had ever tasted. And over the course of those first few days family after family came to welcome them to the village. The women cooed at Bryntelle and spoke to Cresenne of their own children and all they had learned over their years of caring for infants. The men ignored both Cresenne and Bryntelle, instead vying with one another for Grinsa's attention. There could be little doubt that all the attention they received, perhaps even the kindnesses shown to Cresenne, whom all thought of as merely Grinsa's concubine, was due to the fact that he was a Weaver. It was unclear whether the Fal'Borna hoped to convince him to remain with the sept of his own accord, or merely assumed that he would remain and were seeking to curry favor with their newest Weaver.
In the end, the Fal'Borna's motivations mattered little. Knowing that they were not permitted to leave made Grinsa and Cresenne think of leaving nearly all the time. The courtesies shown them by the men and women of the sept were particularly hollow for Cresenne, who knew that had Grinsa not been a Weaver, they would have ignored her completely. Indeed, even as they complimented her on how beautiful Bryntelle was, and how healthy the babe appeared to be, some of the younger women also cast looks at Grinsa, as if hoping that they might find a way into his bed as well. This at least is what she told him their second night in the village, as they lay alone in their shelter, listening to Bryntelle's steady breathing and the distant howling of a wolf.
Under other circumstances, he might have thought that she was imagining this. But one of the men who had been speaking to him earlier in the night had as much as offered Grinsa his daughter.
"Many of our Weavers have taken two, even three concubines," the man told him, explaining the offer as he might have explained the Harvest weather or the rising and falling of the price of grain in the marketplace. "A Fal'Borna Weaver spreads his seed as he pleases. For the good of our people, of course."
"Of course," Grinsa had said, smiling pleasantly. "But Cresenne isn't my concubine. She's my wife."
The man's eyes widened. "Oh! Forgive me! I didn't know she was a Weaver as well. I thought… Well, I was mistaken."
Grinsa should have let it go at that, but regardless of whether they were to remain, he didn't want to have any of them thinking him a liar.
"She's not a Weaver," he told the man. "Where we come from, Weavers are free to be joined to whomever they choose."
"Well," the man said, smiling in return, "you're here now."
It was much the same thing E'Menua had said to them the day before.
"I have you," Grinsa told Cresenne that night, kissing her brow. "Why would I need another concubine?"
She laughed, though she also kicked him under the blanket.
"You're finding all of this far too amusing," she said, and while she was still smiling, he could hear the tightness in her voice.
"I'm sorry. Really. This can't be easy for you."
"Half the time, it's like I'm not even here. They talk about finding a wife for you from one of the other septs, about how your arrival here means so much to them all."
"It seems that some of the women have been kind to you."
She nodded. "Some of them have. But I'm starting to suspect that the ones who are nicest are the ones who have been concubines themselves. And they're kind to me right up until I insist that I'm not just your concubine. As soon as I say anything to that effect, they grow cold, distant." A bitter smile touched her lips. "It seems like I'm better off playing along. Maybe I should help them find you a wife."
"I have a wife."
She looked at him. "No, Grinsa, you don't. I know that you love me, and I love you, too. But the fact is we were never joined. With all that happened in the turns before we left the Forelands, we never found the time. And even if we had, I'm not certain that it would count for much here."
He felt a tightness in his throat. "What are you saying?" he asked.
She smiled at what she saw on his face, and kissed him softly on the lips. "Nothing terrible. I may not be a Weaver, but I'll fight with every bit of strength and magic I have if they try to take you away from me. I'm just saying that we're going to have to tread carefully here. We might even have to play along for a time, let them think that you're open to being joined."