22nd of Thira

I came awake slowly, aware of light on my face. I was cold, but I had been warm. Blissfully warm. My first thought was that someone had dragged all the covers off. I was about to object until I opened my eyes, and reality came crashing in. I was curled up against the side of a dew-soaked haystack. The only creature that I could raise my objections with was a big white cow, eyeing me askance from the other side of a nearby fence. I wasn't in the rowboat anymore. The rowboat was long gone. We had run aground on a spur of rocks when we crossed the Tetton border, then climbed out on the Tetton side of the river and shoved the boat off for someone to find downstream. But how had I wound up asleep in a hayfield?

With a deep 'gnooo' the cow shook her head, ears flapping in firm disapproval, as if she were giving her opinion on the matter.

With a groan, I sat up, aware of every last bruise and scrape from the night before. Then I straightened, panic darting through my middle. A large, royal blue uniform jacket was draped over me. Arramy. Where was Arramy?

I bit my lip and eased forward, peering around the edge of the haystack, scanning what I could see of the field – cautiously, in case the owner of said field happened to be about his chores already.

"Good morning."

Arramy's voice had me whipping around, startled, my nerves strung tight.

He quirked a little grin and went down on one knee in front of me, holding out a small bundle of fabric. "Here. Put these on."

He hadn't gone to find the Coventry. I let out a short breath, then took the offered bundle and unfurled it, revealing a plain, lightweight fieldworker's dress of unbleached linen, a long red headscarf, a pair of knee-high field boots, and a brand-new blue and green gathering apron.

"You'll stand out like a pickle on a pudding in that party dress," he said, getting to his feet.

I gave him a little nod of thanks and waited until his footsteps had retreated back around the side of the haystack before clambering to my feet and stripping down to my special-made silk underthings as fast as I could. Then I wriggled into the harvest smock while giving the cow a squinty-eyed glare, and a muttered, "What are you looking at?"

The smock was new, and so large it swung from my shoulders like a tent, but it was clean, which was a blessed difference from dried blood and river silt. I pleated the front a few times like a tirna and cinched it as tight as I could with the wide belt of the apron. My dancing heels were the next to go, replaced by the boots, which fit surprisingly well for off-the-shelf.

I checked to make sure I had gotten all of Pretty Pendar off the night before, and no costume glue was still clinging to my hairline, then I took a moment to remove all the black opal jewelry Braeton had bought for the party, knotting it into a corner of the headscarf along with Arramy's little wooden box. A few minutes' worth of unpinning, braiding, and tying my hair up in the headscarf later, and I was done.

Then I stood looking down at the Midnight Goddess.

It lay there, limp and dull against the pale gold of the hay, all of its luster gone. The blue satin lining was blotchy rust-brown, revealing just how much of Henmyrre's blood had soaked into it. The hems were bedraggled, damp from several hours spent sleeping on the ground, the train torn from when I had climbed into the smuggler's rowboat when we reached the river caves beneath the manor. A hundred thousand lyr ruined in a single night. Fitting, really; an apt representation of the last three months of my life.

I pursed my lips.

Maybe I could burn it. Or bury it. I could tear it up first, then burn it. Then bury it. Then dig it up and burn it some more —

Arramy came to stand next to me. He handed me a packet wrapped in wax-cloth that smelled tantalizingly like Lodesian sticky bread. Then, without a word, he bent and scooped up the pile of bloodstained silk, grabbed the blue manor guard jacket and my dancing shoes, wadded them all together, and stuffed them into the guts of the haystack. Dusting off his hands, he started walking, heading for the wagon road at the far end of the field.

"Come on, kid. We need to put some distance behind us if we're going to get to Vreis before noon."

For a moment I stood where he had left me, watching him go, sticky bread paused halfway to my mouth. The morning sun was being kind, flashing through his hair, gilding his shoulders, sparkling in the dewy grass around him. He had tossed the ill-fitting uniform trousers when we reached the river caves beneath the manor, and was back to his grey denims, cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up, studded leather vest, and leather gauntlets. He looked like he belonged in this place: strong, rugged and confident.

How long could this last, him calling me 'kid,' expecting me to follow wherever he went? I couldn't trail after him like a lost puppy forever, and he didn't have any reason to keep me around. He didn't owe me anything. It was only by convenient accident that he had decided to head in the direction I needed to go, and doubt still kept me from telling him about Braeton's safe-house. He may very well have taken sides and lost both his brother and his mother, but a cruel, cold little voice kept popping up to whisper, You can't know for sure he's not lying, all you have is his word. There's no proof.

No matter how I looked at it, when we got to Vreis, it would be best if we went our separate ways. He could continue on up Odynne's Necklace to Altyr and disappear into the mountain mist. I would have to figure out a way to get to Braeton's Innkeeper.

With a sigh I took a bite of sticky bread and started after the Captain, not liking how hollow and colorless that thought had made everything seem.

~~~

We smelled the city of Vreis before we saw it – a pungent combination of smoke from the ironworks smelting fires, the earthy reek of livestock and poor sanitation, and the cloying rotten-meat undertone of a tanning factory.

The sight of it wasn't much better. The farm wagon rumbled up and over the crest of the last ridge overlooking what should have been the beginning of Odynne's Necklace, but below us stretched a valley full of nothing but ugly grey-brown haze. The only sign that there was a city under it were the occasional smokestack or spire poking up out of the fog. There wasn't even a hint of water, even though the mighty Pannevys flowed all the way down the valley and split into the North Fork and South Fork around Vreis Island before emptying into First Pearl Lake.

Arramy had been right. The Travel Bureau was stretched thin. Not enough agents, too much traffic, and a city more interested in commerce and free cross-border trade than in policing its streets. There was no checkpoint on the Tetton side, and Farmer Orris and his load of fresh garlic rolled right on through the East Gate without being stopped by the city guard.

Orris wasn't delivering to the Island, though. He turned down a side street before we reached the ferry and brought his horses to a stop at the gates to a produce wholesale depot. "Well, folks, this is as far as I can take ya," he called, grinning at us from the driver's seat.

Arramy grunted, reached over the tailgate and opened it, then slid down to the ground and disappeared up front to pay the man.

Happy to leave Orris' mountain of fresh garlic behind, I hopped out and closed the tailgate, slapping the side of the wagon when I was done.

Arramy came to stand next to me, hands on his hips as Orris clucked to the horses and started forward. "We need to get to Southside. I have a friend there who does forgeries."

I tried to remember maps I had seen of Vreis. We were on Northfork, the chunk of Vreis on the northern Tetton shore of the Pannevys river. Southside was another chunk built on a peninsula that jutted into the First Pearl, nearly pinching the lake in half south of the island. The safe-house was between them on Vreis Island. Which meant I would have to figure out how to get away from Arramy before we got to the ferry station.

I shot him a sideways glance. "You think it'll be safe? Won't they be looking for us?"

"It's possible." His nodded, his eyes crinkling into a squint. "Vreis isn't well organized when it comes to passing information over the border. It may be another day before anything catches up with us on this side of the river... Or it may not, if the Coventry moves quickly. Either way, we don't have any choice. We need travel papers."

I crossed my arms over my chest and started walking, keeping to the edge of the street to stay clear of the steady traffic of delivery lorries and horseless drays. "You have money for this forger friend of yours?"

"Better than that," Arramy fell into step beside me. "He owes me a favor."

My nod was only for appearances. He kept using the word 'we.' Maybe I could try to get away when we reached the land-side auction by the docks. Orris had mentioned that it would be crowded, with lots of sellers coming in with the start of harvest. It would be easier to get lost in the hustle and noise.

Or maybe I should just tell him we needed to separate instead of sneaking off like a truant trying to get out of lessons.

But if he knew I was leaving, he might follow me and then find out where the safe-house was. I bit my lip. I doubted I would be able to tell if he was after me if he wanted to stay hidden. I'd lead him right to it. Or, he might refuse to let me out of his sight, in which case I wouldn't be able to get to the safe-house at all.

No. The only way I could possibly get a lead on him would be if he didn't know I was going.

I brought my head up and looked around. The street we were on intersected the larger road that went down to the docks and the auctions, and we were nearly to the corner. The bawling of the auctioneers was unmistakable. There were only minutes left before I would have to disappear.

My gaze wandered to his profile. He was frowning, his attention on something near the docks as we turned onto Market Street and joined a small crowd of people heading for the auction.

Vendors of all sorts had set up their stands and grills across from the auction stalls, their colorful awnings providing plenty of cover. I wasn't going to get a better opportunity. I took a breath, stepped into an empty space near a patchy-clothes seller, and went still, something unraveling in my middle as Arramy kept going without me.

"Would-ee like jacket, Miss? Maybe new pair shoe?"

"Howabout a brand new apron for that grey shawl?" I asked without looking away from Arramy. It was easy to follow his bright head through the crowd. Too easy. He stood out like a silver giant among all the short, sturdy, dark-haired Lowlander Tettians.

"Let us get winker," the rag woman commanded, leaning over the front of her counter, holding out knobby, arthritic fingers, hemming and hawing as I untied my apron and gave it to her. "T'isn't of bad make... stitching decent... dye's nowt bled. Right, I'll give-ee shawl, an'ta belt fer middle besides."

"Thank you," I said, absently taking the shawl off the peg she had it displayed on, still tracking Arramy's progress through the crowd. I saw him glance down to his left just as I settled the shawl over my head, hiding the red scarf he had bought. I tied the narrow hemp knot-work belt low around my hips, then pulled the top of the smock up so it drooped over the belt. With any luck, it would change my shape enough to fool the eye. "Is there a way down to the Island-bound ferry?" 

"Yus." The woman hooked a wizened thumb back up the hill. "Follow that'ere road up corner, take right, then down right again a'next. Island ferry be yer front."

I told myself to just go, but something kept me there. "And the nearest jeweler?" I asked, frowning slightly. Arramy was turning in a slow circle, scanning the crowd around him. The look on his face was difficult to read.

"Same street," the rag woman said brusquely, hanging my apron from the peg the shawl had been on.

"Thank you," I whispered. I needed to leave, and there I was, hesitating just a little longer. He hadn't found me yet, but it would only be a matter of seconds before he started retracing our steps. Looking at him like that brought back the memory of watching him limp down a different road beneath towering tropical trees, stave in hand, using himself as bait so I could escape.

I swallowed.

Then I made myself move.

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