The man and the room and the entire business disgusted Taul. He pulled at his itchy clothes.
Kandah held up a deep red cherry. “Something like this would sell for a hundred silver far south. Not that it would last. It won’t grow anywhere but here.” He pointed at Taul and said, “With you to drive its growth.”
He plopped the cherry in his mouth and savored it, the pale skin around his eyes crinkling at the sour taste.
“Well then,” Kandah said, pouting.
The high matron had warned Taul not to spar with the man.
“I will ask Sinnin to set up another room to solve this problem,” Kandah said. “The two rooms will work together. They must, neh?”
Taul nodded to Balniss, and they stood to depart.
“One more thing,” Kandah said.
Taul encouraged Balniss to exit and then returned to Kandah’s worktable.
“This one marked Sol Lor’Vamtrin,” Kandah said, showing him a silver-gray hair tied with a white thread, “is particularly good. Excellent on both counts. It is of Hosmyr’s ancient trunk.” He held up a slate-gray hair tied with a gray thread. “This one I know well. Your new son.”
Taul stiffened.
“I would get him tutors,” Kandah said. “Let him practice the art of contracts and bookkeeping. Let him master other work.”
Before the man could offer twisted sympathies, Taul rushed out. Only outside the strange man’s chamber could he breathe. Balniss stared at him.
It didn’t surprise Taul that Pemzen had no tending gift. His heart ached for not having a son like himself, his power bound to the trees and fields, to the life flowing there. No matter, he’d bind Toshtolin to Vamtrin, to bring that sweet gift, as Kandah called it, into his house. As master tender, he’d have more sons than any man could wish for.
“Ruthless,” Balniss said with a hiss. “What manner of creature…”
“No, brother. Just nature,” Taul said, surprising himself. “Just vanalo, favored to find another way forward.”
That was the lesson of his people, the seer’s, the orchards with their black bark and fruit.
Balniss’s eyes were wide, amazed. “I wouldn’t trust him.”
“Agreed,” Taul said. “We’ll use him as he uses us.”
Taul led them out into the scriptorium, where diviners bowed to him, and Balniss followed.
EPILOGUE
Fourteen years later
Gishna strolled down an east valley path between two groves. Strong, youthful legs carried her down a gentle slope into a field of blooming lavender. Dense, damp air, the crush of growing things, pressed on her. A swarm of bees bounced over the flowers.
She relished it all and sucked in a honey-laced breeze.
Bells rang gently, a low throb of metal breaking the stillness. Intoxicated by the beauty, she turned about in that sweet, sun-drenched place, searching for the sanctuary.
“Mother,” said a distant, unwanted voice.
Let me stay in this lovely place, she wanted to say. Again, the voice called to her, and the twang and thud of the bells sounded louder, out of place.
Those were not valley bells. They were citadel bells. Her citadel!
Gishna’s eyes popped open.
“What?” she croaked. “Am I dead?”
Her heart throbbed with excitement. Had the Yatani been right all along and there was an afterlife?
She turned her head and choked on a bit of spittle.
“No, mother, you’re not dead.”
It was Julissa. Her daughter propped her up with pillows and wiped her mouth, a slight disgust on her quivering lips.
A rush of servants entered the high matron’s chamber and started working to make their mistress comfortable. She spent quiet time in her chamber while Julissa sat the throne in her place.
“Are you sure?” Gishna asked loudly, hoping to dispel them.
Julissa sat on the seat beside her bed. Her face was unusually grim, and she offered no smile or pleasure at seeing her mother still alive. She wanted the seat of power. She craved it now, but it didn’t cause resentment. Gishna had felt the same about her own mother.
“I’m still alive!” Gishna screeched, battling the servants.
When she’d quieted, Julissa said, “Mother, there is important news.”
“I am leaving soon,” Gishna said. “I can feel it in my bones. You must be ready, my girl. I must tell you so much more.”
