“This is nice,” he said, leaning over to kiss Sarea’s neck.
“Um hmm,” she replied, pushing him playfully away.
“I’m not on duty tonight,” he whispered, watching her.
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “I know.”
He looked at the baby, Calin, and said, “She’s three phases today. Is that long enough?”
Sarea smiled and glanced at him again. “Oh, I think we can manage.”
Dien grinned and kissed his wife’s neck as she giggled.
“You are both disgusting. Do you know that?”
Dien sighed and looked at his daughter. “What did Kia do this time?”
Fyn threw her arms in the air. “It’s not Kia! What happened to all the pages? Gilby—”
Dien leaned forward. “How many times do I have to tell you to stay away from that frigging Gilby?”
Fyn rolled her eyes. “He just shows me stuff. It’s no big thing, Daddy.”
Dien sighed. “It’s a big thing if I say it is. Stay away from Gilby.”
“Yeah, yeah. All right. But where are they? All the pages? I went to see Gliassia and maybe borrow a hat since all mine got burnt and she said you sent them all away.”
Kia stomped up, her silk dress rustling. “Is that true? I was supposed to take a walk with Moergan as soon as I got back.”
Dien sighed and frowned at Sarea. “Don’t drag me into this,” she said, snipping her thread. “This one’s all yours.”
Dien turned back to his daughters. “I sent some of the pages on an errand. The rest are around here somewhere, avoiding work like that frigging Gilby.”
Kia tapped her foot. “Which ones did you send away?”
Fyn crossed her arms over her narrow chest. “And when will they get back?”
“Lars, Otlee, Trumble, Moergan, and Serian,” Dien snapped. “They should be back in a few days, a phase at most.”
Both girls gave him scathing looks then turned and ran away, wailing. They slammed the bedroom door behind them.
“At least they’re not fighting with each other,” Sarea said, picking a pair of his trousers from the mending pile.
Dien grunted and lay his head back on the settee. Women are frigging insane.
From the window, Jesscea said, “They will be all right, won’t they, Dad?”
He rolled his head to look at her. “They’ll be fine, pet. They’re just chasing down some stolen items. Be back before you know it.”
Jess nodded and returned to her book.
Village of Caria, Dusk
Belendin lay on the hard-packed floor of the shed, staring at the ceiling and trying not to notice the stink of his own urine. After a desperate and fruitless struggle to hold it until his mother freed him, he succumbed to necessity and dampened one corner. It would mean a whipping for sure, but he’d decided it was better to wet the corner than his pants. His stomach grumbled with a vengeance and the lump of dirty cheese looked better and better as the shadows in the shed lengthened and grew. He really wanted a drink though, even more than something to eat. His saliva was beginning to feel slimy, like scum on a rock in a stagnant pool.
While staring at the cheese and trying not to think about a big mug of cider, he heard a chirping, chittering sound. He sat up and peeked through the cracks in the wall, his heart thudding in his chest.
Silence. Nothing but his breathing and the wind.
“Ma?” he called, but heard no answer. Morning had given way to afternoon and no one had come to check on him or let him out. Perdi and Dyna had not come outside to gather the wash from the drying lines, nor had Ma pulled any turnips from the cellar for supper. Evening approached and he did not want to spend another night in the shed. Blime, he wanted a drink and something to eat.
He heard the chittering again, and a woman’s scream on the wind, from the east.
“Ma! Perdi!”
The house stood silent, as if it were dead.
Belendin shoved at the boards of the shed, scraping his shoulder and hands until they ached. Panting, trying not to cry, he squinted through the crack again then squealed a tiny scream.
Something big lumbered through town, Mister and Missus Orcus slung over its lumpy shoulders. It was black and shiny, bigger than a mule, and Mister Dorjan, the undertaker, flicked a whip across its back. The thing trudged on two legs and the sight of it dried all the scum in Belendin’s mouth.
He scuttled back, gasping, his eyes wide, and pressed himself against the back wall of the shed, no longer noticing the stink of his urine.
“Blime! Oh, Blime!” he whispered and he nearly screamed when he heard chittering again.
4
Darkness
Village of Durrel, province of Haenpar
Otlee bounced with excitement. “I’ve never spent the night in an inn before.”
Lars pushed open the door to the inn and frowned. The place was crowded with grumbling, ale-guzzling farmers and lumber workers. Smelled like pipe smoke and greasy meat. He hoped they could find a table.
“It ain’t no big deal, diddy boy,” Serian said, spitting on the floor. “A bed’s a bed.”
“That’s not entirely true,” Moergan said with a wink. He pushed past the others and worked his way to the bar.
Lars sighed. All he needed was for his men to get drunk. Better to stop the trouble before it started. “Moergan!” he called, but when most of the patrons turned to look, he paled and his voice squeaked. There were just too many of them, too many strangers. All staring. He wondered briefly how he could run a Council with little more than butterflies in his stomach, but a few dozen half-drunk farmers scared him bad enough to dry his throat.
“Moergan, get your ass back over here!” Serian bellowed, knocking Lars out of his freeze.
“Otlee, Trumble, find us a table,” Lars muttered. “Serian, you come with me.”
Serian bowed slightly. “As you wish, Milord Squire.”
Moergan stood in the midst of the common room, watching them with a confused look on his face. “I’m old enough for an ale.”
“It’s not that,” Lars said. “I have to pay for it, and I’m not about to let you and Serian drink up all our money.” He glanced at Serian and said softly, “We’re also representatives of Faldorrah. Try to keep that in mind.”
A serving lass slipped past them, her tray piled high with empty mugs and tankards. Moergan followed her with his gaze until Lars grabbed his arm. “I mean it. Best damned behavior. I don’t want any girls knocking on Dubric’s door late next fall claiming you started something they have to take care of.”
Moergan rolled his eyes and threw his hands into the air. Muttering, he walked toward the bar.
“All right, you told off loverboy. What the peg do you want with me?” Serian asked, hacking up a wad of snot and phlegm and spitting it on the filthy floor.
“Same thing as Moergan. I want you on your best behavior.”
“What have I done? Not a dad-ratted thing. Just because you got a temporary promotion—”
Lars leaned forward, nose-to-nose with Serian, even though he had to stretch to do it. “It’s not temporary. You’d have made squire a couple of summers ago if you could control your mouth and your odious habits. While you’re on my watch you’ll corral your cursing and stop spitting on the floor! We’re in public, for Goddess sake.”