“Her cousin Sindra, thank you very much. I’m poor but respectable, and I’m grateful for every gift and kind word my rich relations bestow upon me.”
“I hate the gentry,” Justin remarked.
“There’s a bit of news for us,” she retorted.
“Do you have to change your face for these people?” Cammon asked.
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t think so. No one will be paying attention to me. I’ll just wear an expression of hopeful degradation, and they’ll all stare right past me.”
Donnal snorted and then started laughing. “I’ve seen these people,” he said to the others. “That’s exactly the way they look.”
“Existing without any pride,” Tayse said. “What a terrible way to live.”
“There are worse ways,” she said quietly. She sipped at her wine and refused to let herself think of those ways.
SHE spent most of the rest of the afternoon wandering through Forten City, shopping. To her surprise, Tayse insisted on accompanying her, though he let the other men go off on their own pursuits. She didn’t actually mind knowing he was two paces behind her as she walked through the crowded streets. Forten City was a curious mix of the aristocratic and the wretched, with rows of fashionable shops only two streets over from grim little shacks that housed alehouses, prostitute quarters, and families of the very poor. Sailors strutted up and down the streets, looking for love or trouble, and the whole parade of life went by in the central district: noblemen, merchants, farmers, soldiers, laundresses, cooks, whores. No young woman walked out unaccompanied.
Though I am hardly a young woman, Senneth thought and tried not to smile.
She had decided she would buy a length of handmade lace to give to the Dormer bride; Katlin could lay it across her table or hang it from a window or ball it up and put it in the back of her closet. Senneth didn’t care. But it was a reasonable gift, and it didn’t have to match anything in the bride’s trousseau.
Still, she went first to sweet shops and shoe shops and dress shops, just to see if she could overhear any useful conversation. For most of the day, no. Everyone seemed concerned with the weather, which was frigid, the new taxes, which were unreasonable, and the wedding, which was apparently going to be the highlight of the social season.
“Though she’s not a very pretty girl, you know,” one matron observed to another as they picked through silks in the fabric shop. “I’m surprised she’s done as well as Edwin Seiles.”
“I’m surprised anyone would take her at all!” the second woman exclaimed. “After those things that were being said about her last year—”
“No, you’re confused, that was her sister,” the first woman interrupted. “This one isn’t a mystic. She’s perfectly normal.”
Senneth pulled out another bolt of lace and examined its pattern against the sample she already had in her hand.
“Oh! Well, then! Because I kept wondering—I mean, how could they marry off a girl like that? But if this one’s not tainted, it’s just fine then. Oh, I like that blue.”
“But it’s too thin, don’t you think? For this cold weather?”
“Keep it for spring, that’s my advice. What happened to her? That other girl?”
“The mystic? I don’t know. I haven’t heard a word about her in—I guess it’s six or seven months now. Probably shipped off to relatives in Helven or Kianlever. You know how these things go.”
“I know how they should go,” the second woman said with emphasis. “People are too soft, that’s what I say.”
“Their own daughter,” the first woman said gently. “You can’t expect them to—I wouldn’t, I know. I’d find a way to keep her safe.”
The second woman leaned closer as if to whisper, though the pitch of her voice scarcely changed. “Mystics are born to those who consort with mystics,” she said. “Those who have a magical child—well, they’d best look to their own
“I hate the gentry,” Justin remarked.
“There’s a bit of news for us,” she retorted.
“Do you have to change your face for these people?” Cammon asked.
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t think so. No one will be paying attention to me. I’ll just wear an expression of hopeful degradation, and they’ll all stare right past me.”
Donnal snorted and then started laughing. “I’ve seen these people,” he said to the others. “That’s exactly the way they look.”
“Existing without any pride,” Tayse said. “What a terrible way to live.”
“There are worse ways,” she said quietly. She sipped at her wine and refused to let herself think of those ways.
SHE spent most of the rest of the afternoon wandering through Forten City, shopping. To her surprise, Tayse insisted on accompanying her, though he let the other men go off on their own pursuits. She didn’t actually mind knowing he was two paces behind her as she walked through the crowded streets. Forten City was a curious mix of the aristocratic and the wretched, with rows of fashionable shops only two streets over from grim little shacks that housed alehouses, prostitute quarters, and families of the very poor. Sailors strutted up and down the streets, looking for love or trouble, and the whole parade of life went by in the central district: noblemen, merchants, farmers, soldiers, laundresses, cooks, whores. No young woman walked out unaccompanied.
Though I am hardly a young woman, Senneth thought and tried not to smile.
She had decided she would buy a length of handmade lace to give to the Dormer bride; Katlin could lay it across her table or hang it from a window or ball it up and put it in the back of her closet. Senneth didn’t care. But it was a reasonable gift, and it didn’t have to match anything in the bride’s trousseau.
Still, she went first to sweet shops and shoe shops and dress shops, just to see if she could overhear any useful conversation. For most of the day, no. Everyone seemed concerned with the weather, which was frigid, the new taxes, which were unreasonable, and the wedding, which was apparently going to be the highlight of the social season.
“Though she’s not a very pretty girl, you know,” one matron observed to another as they picked through silks in the fabric shop. “I’m surprised she’s done as well as Edwin Seiles.”
“I’m surprised anyone would take her at all!” the second woman exclaimed. “After those things that were being said about her last year—”
“No, you’re confused, that was her sister,” the first woman interrupted. “This one isn’t a mystic. She’s perfectly normal.”
Senneth pulled out another bolt of lace and examined its pattern against the sample she already had in her hand.
“Oh! Well, then! Because I kept wondering—I mean, how could they marry off a girl like that? But if this one’s not tainted, it’s just fine then. Oh, I like that blue.”
“But it’s too thin, don’t you think? For this cold weather?”
“Keep it for spring, that’s my advice. What happened to her? That other girl?”
“The mystic? I don’t know. I haven’t heard a word about her in—I guess it’s six or seven months now. Probably shipped off to relatives in Helven or Kianlever. You know how these things go.”
“I know how they should go,” the second woman said with emphasis. “People are too soft, that’s what I say.”
“Their own daughter,” the first woman said gently. “You can’t expect them to—I wouldn’t, I know. I’d find a way to keep her safe.”
The second woman leaned closer as if to whisper, though the pitch of her voice scarcely changed. “Mystics are born to those who consort with mystics,” she said. “Those who have a magical child—well, they’d best look to their own
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