Jeweled by Anya Bast Page B

course, and she ended up having to suck on the end of it, then gnaw on it when it was soft enough to bite.
    Evangeline let her eat for a while, though her feet were growing numb in the snow. “How many nights have you spent on your own?”
    “I don’t know. Many. I can’t remember now.” The girl spoke between bites. “My parents were taken by some of the rioters. I hid under the bed when they came. Once the men were gone, I snuck out.”
    “That was smart. The men probably went back to ransack your house. They would have found you there.” And there was no telling what would have happened to the child then. Not all the young girls were fortunate enough to simply be turned out as penniless orphans into the street. Not when ransacking men found them. Females always seemed to have to endure the most violence.
    Of course, there was no telling what would happen to her now, either. Nothing good, if she stayed out here on the streets. She couldn’t leave her. Evangeline could only think of one place to take the girl, though it was hardly ideal.
    She stood. “Come with me. I know a place where you can get warm and have a meal that’s much better than that old bread.”
    The girl stared up at her with dark mistrust in her eyes. Ah, they learned so quickly. That was good—it was a credit to the child. In this brave new world mistrust would serve her well.
    Evangeline smiled and tasted the air for an emotion that wasn’t suspicion. “What’s your name?”
    The child blinked. “Marta.”
    Evangeline found a thread of calm from a patron of a local cookshop and traded a little bit of it for the girl’s mistrust. The patron would be confused for a moment, but he would live. It was important the girl trust her enough to come with her. The manipulation was for her own good. “Marta, I promise I won’t hurt you. You’re lost and I know what it is to be lost. I only want to help.” She stretched her hand out.
    Marta hesitated a moment, then, clutching the bread in one hand, she took Evangeline’s hand and stood. “I trust you.”
    “Good. Now come with me. It’s a long walk to where we need to go.”

Seven

    They trudged through the treacherous streets, dodging mounds of snow and trying not to slip on the slick parts. Finally they reached the Temple of Dreams and she showed Marta inside. The interior was warm and smelled of spice. Immediately both she and Marta relaxed, taking deep breaths of air and allowing the comfort to seep past their clothes and into their bones. They stood shivering in the foyer and looking very out of place. Soft music played from one of the inner rooms. The large living room spread before them was thankfully empty of people.
    Evangeline took in the furnishings with the eye of someone who had once known quality. The divans, chairs, tables, and fainting couches all smacked of money and good taste. She could not have decorated the room better herself.
    A tall, thin woman with long, unbound black hair passed them, did a double take, and then approached. “This is no place for a child,” the woman chided Evangeline.
    “Yes, I know that, but the streets are worse. Is Lilya here?”
    The black-haired woman gave Evangeline a look up and down, taking in her dirty, threadbare clothes and the food basket. “Lilya is busy right now.”
    The woman wore pride just as well as her lovely silk gown, but Evangeline wore her pride even better. Her jaw locked, she stepped forward and stared in challenge at the woman. “Get me Lilya. Now .”
    The woman took a step backward, doubt flashing through her amber eyes.
    Just then Lilya passed through the entryway on the far side of the richly decorated room. “Dora, it’s all right. I know her.”
    Dora gave Evangeline a puzzled look and drifted away.
    Lilya approached with a smile on her face and warmly embraced her. Evangeline had a moment of wistfulness so strong her knees almost buckled. The material of Lilya’s dress was a sturdy, expensive gray brocade.