Path of Fate by Diana Pharaoh Francis Page B

Kallas. Too expensive for her to just give away.
    Reisil turned the pendant over in her hand. The back was as finely worked as the front. That Nurema meant the pendant as a reinforcement of her message, Reisil did not doubt. But she was no more inclined to be pushed into becoming ahalad-kaaslane by the old woman than by Saljane. She’d return the thing in the morning and that would be the end of it.
    To keep it safe until then Reisil slipped the talisman onto the ribbon about her neck and retied it so that the cold metal fell between her breasts, hidden from sight.
    She passed through the gates with an absent wave at the gatekeeper and made her way to Raim’s kohv-house. The pendant lay chill and heavy against her breast, its rough edges chafing her tender skin. It never seemed to warm with the heat of her skin, but remained a cold reminder of Nurema’s admonishment.
     
    Raim greeted her with a cheery wave as she entered his kohv-house, hardly glancing up from his sheaf of lists.
    “Bright morning! Sit down. Have some breakfast. You’re going to need a good meal for what I’ve in mind for you. Something better than porridge and dried fruit.” A boy brought her a plate of eggs, smoked fish, crisp buttercakes and grilled squash, and a cup of creamy hot kohv with a dash of nussa spice. As Reisil began her meal, Raim glanced up, noticing her at last.
    “Ah! What beautiful color!” He clapped his hands together in his extravagant way. “My Roheline will be envious. You will get no rest until she has some of this wonderful purple.”
    Reisil smiled at him, sipping at the hot brew.
    “I will gladly give her some of my dye, and hope she takes pity on my poor cottage. It’s so dark and dreary.”
    Raim chuckled.
    “It is no hard bargain,” he said. “You could charge much more and she would pay. But now I must return to my kitchen. The Dure Vadonis will arrive today and all must be ready. Varitsema is like a nervous mother. He will not forgive me if the food is undone.” He pushed through the swinging doors, calling over his shoulder, “When you are through, let me know and I will set you to work.”
    So busy did Raim keep her that Reisil missed the arrival of the Dure Vadonis and his entourage. So busy did he keep her that she almost could forget Nurema’s message and the talisman around her neck.
    Almost.
    She began her morning overseeing the arrangement of the tables and seating arrangements. Roheline, who was making lavish decorations with candles, blown-glass lamps, cartloads of flowers, ribbons, banners, silvertoned chimes and gleaming metal ornaments, went into raptures over her outfit. Reisil promised her some of the dye, for which Roheline pledged to come begin painting in the cottage as soon as she was able.
    She stroked the sleeve of Reisil’s tunic with covetous fingers. “Don’t give out the formula too quickly,” she cautioned Reisil after a moment. “It will make anyone’s fortune.”
    “I am here to serve Kallas, not make a profit,” Reisil protested.
    “As is correct for any tark. But trust in me, there are those who will see nothing but profit in your dye. Rikutud, for instance. He’s a wily one, and eats and breathes money. He will not wish to share with all of Kallas. But all could benefit from the dye if you arrange it so.”
    Reisil grinned wickedly.
    “All right. I’ll give you the formulas for the dye and the mordant, and you can handle the rest.”
    “Me! Oh, no! I have much too much to do,” Roheline exclaimed. “I could not do such a thing.” But her eyes sparkled.
    “But it’s your idea. And I know just the woman who could help you.” During this season of spring cleaning and sprucing up, Reisil had been able to find odd jobs for Shorin, the starving mother who’d accosted her in the street. But those jobs would dry up quickly now. A dye works would set her up permanently. Though the ahalad-kaaslane had already begun moving the squatters to a new village along the river