With the executive council leading the way, everyone filed out of the meeting chamber and through the building to a lovely shaded courtyard where the splash of fountains cooled the air and tables laden with food waited to be piled on plates and eaten. Too bad Kallista hadn't known about the standing-up-to-end-speeches thing far, far sooner.
Obed and Torchay took turn about at eating so that one of them was always hands-free to guard while Kallista chatted with the various Kameri who presented themselves before her. All the chatting made it difficult to eat much of the excellent food. Having to watch every word against a slip of the tongue made it nearly impossible. She could eat back at the embassy afterward.
But the woman she most wanted to talk with never came close. Now and again, Kallista could see the Head of Habadra Line across the courtyard. Occasionally, Habadra Khori would meet Kallista's gaze, always without smiling but without challenge either. Whenever Kallista tried to work her way through the crowd to the place where the Habadra stood, a half-dozen Kameri, mostly of the lesser Lines, would appear and request introduction.
With Namida Ambassador at her elbow, Kallista couldn't be rude and shove past them, though she wanted to, badly. Especially when she realized the interruptions were orchestrated by Shakiri Shathina. Kallista was beginning to dislike Obed's aunt. Still, it was early days yet. Time enough for rudeness and head-bashing later. The reception couldn't last forever.
* * * *
Padrey edged nearer the front of the crowd, pulling his hood forward to shade his face. It was more a guard against notice than protection from the sun, but it served as both. His hair tended to bleach in the sun like cheap cloth, acquiring streaks of gold no respectable Daryathi would ever sport, and his skin would never brown dark as theirs. Even tanned, he would burn. No wonder he'd become a thief. Night was more comfortable for his northern hide. Which was why he'd missed this morning's parade. He'd been busy till late, and overslept.
Adara,
the warrior-queen Leyja had said. These were the visiting Adarans. Padrey wanted another look at them, to see whether he actually wished to deal. He would try to spot this Leyja in the ranks for whatever he could learn.
The double row of champions marched by, faces impassive under their varied tattoos as they tossed handfuls of coppers into the crowd. Padrey snatched a few from the air, but let the rest scatter on the street for the children and the desperate to gather. He'd had a good night. And he still had the necklace.
Behind the champions, Adaran soldiers rode on compact, heavy-muscled horses. The soldiers wore gray, sleeveless jackets with squared-off tails that came down over their thighs and buttoned up the front in a flash of brass buttons. Their hair, all colors from white blond to sable brown and even shades of red, was tied back into short, braided queues. The sight of them brought a stab of homesickness so strong that Padrey almost staggered. He should have been one of them. Too old now.
More soldiers rode behind the men in gray, these dressed in black trimmed with bands of red at the neck and hem. Padrey shivered a little when he saw them. These weren't mere soldiers. They were more. More deadly for certain.
Some of those in black wore more elaborate uniforms, decorated with gold braid and jewels. There,
she
had to be Adara's Reinine—the one in the center, in the scarlet tunic stiff with crimson and gold and glittering stones. More braid and jewels twisted up the crimson trousers to her knees.
She wore her darkest brown hair in a military queue like the soldiers, though its greater length, well below her shoulders, and the hair that had escaped around her face softened the look. High cheekbones and a slim straight nose gave her an aristocratic appearance, while the square jaw indicated strength. The wide generous mouth—Someone spoke to her and she smiled, transforming an austere, handsome face into beautiful.
Then she turned and seemed to look straight into Padrey's eyes, the smile lingering on her face. A word chimed through his mind, as if someone had spoken it directly into his thoughts.
Freedom.
His whole body shuddered with the echoing reverberation. He gasped. Then he gasped again.
The woman by the Reinine's side, tall and terrible in her elaborately decorated black uniform was the woman who had chased him through half of Mestada. Leyja.
Padrey tugged at the sleeve of the person next to him. “Who are they? The ones in black and red?"
The person he'd accosted shrugged him off, but someone else answered. “The personal bodyguards of the Reinine."
“Even the ones with all the decoration? All the braid and such? Are they just higher ranked?"
“Those are in her household."
“Don't be stupid.” Someone else, a woman, spoke up. “They're her lovers."
“You're both wrong,” came a third, self-important voice. Everyone shut up and listened. This speaker wore the tattoos and belt badge of an en-Kameral champion. He stood at the edge of the street, holding back the crowd. He would know. “They are the Godmarked of Adara."
“What does that mean?” Padrey had never heard of the title, though admittedly he'd been a child when he lived in Adara.
“I'm not sure,” the champion said. “I couldn't hear much, but from the way everyone acted, especially their Reinine, they're very important government officials. Very,
very
high up. Personal friends of the Reinine."
“See? Her lovers,” the sour-voiced woman said.
“They are not.” The man sounded as if he disagreed with her often. Likely her husband.
Padrey paid them no attention as he eased away. The people he'd come to see had passed. He had no need of the coppers coming at the end of the procession. He needed to think.
Dear Goddess, Leyja was one of these
Godmarked.
In the highest circles of Adaran government. Judging by the trim on her clothing, she certainly would be able to pay a nice ransom indeed for the necklace. She could also lose him in a dungeon so deep he'd never find his way out again.
Padrey rubbed his palm over his chest, trying to ease the hollow ache there. That word still resonated somewhere inside him, like the lingering vibration of a bell. Could he actually have it—freedom? Could he find it there? With the Reinine?
He shook himself. What was he thinking? He
already
had it. He had freed himself. Oh all right, he was a thief. He lived in an attic that leaked during the rains and roasted him in the dry. He skulked and lurked, trying to avoid notice, because if anyone noticed, he was dead.
But he did what he pleased—after a fashion. He was beholden to no one—if you didn't count Falon One-Eye who collected the protection money. Though the only protection he provided was from himself. Nor could you count his landlord. Or the owner of the Drunken Weevil. Or—All right, Padrey wasn't beholden to any more people than the average ordinary non-escaped-slave person. He was free. Mostly.
Padrey slowed his walking and looked around. Where in seven hells was he? He would sure as morning be dead if he didn't pay better attention to where he was going and who was around him. He turned, hunting landmarks—the dome of the Seat or the temple spires—and almost fell over someone.
“Sorry.” Padrey set him back on his feet, resisting the urge to pat him down for treasures. “Wasn't looking. Didn't mean—” He broke off when he got a good look at the young man.
He had no eyes. The man wasn't just blind, he had no eyes. Someone, sometime had brutally removed them, barely leaving enough behind to be sewn shut over the empty sockets. Padrey shuddered in horror and sympathy. Why didn't the man wear a scarf or—or
something
over his scars?
He was a foreigner, obviously. No Daryathi would let such a cripple run about in the streets of Mestada. Beside that, his hair was bright gold, the yellow of the sun, and his skin was a light golden brown. And he wasn't alone.
“
Naitan,
are you all right?” The words were Adaran, spoken by a soldier—a
bodyguard
in unrelieved black—who rushed up to the eyeless man. “I am sorry, I got too far ahead. Is this man accosting you?” The bodyguard turned suspicious eyes on Padrey.
“No, no.” The—the
naitan
laughed. He actually laughed. “I am fine, Kerry. Neither of us was watching where he was going—"
“B-but you
can't
.” Padrey didn't realize the words he blurted out were Adaran until he'd spoken them.
The naitan turned his uncanny no-eyes on Padrey, still smiling. “You speak Adaran.
Excellent
. And it's true. I can't see you” He made a regretful face. “I'm afraid you haven't any magic for me to see."
“'Sall right. I knew that.” Padrey shrugged.
“You're Adaran?” The bodyguard's wary stance didn't soften. He was older than his charge by a dozen or so years, his hair streaked with silver. “What are you doing in Daryath?"
“Parents were merchants. They died. I ... got stuck here.” Why was he telling them truth? Had the world gone crazy? Had he?
“Even better,” the young naitan said. “That means you know your way around. We're lost."
“We're not lost,” Kerry the bodyguard muttered. “We just have to retrace our steps, find where we went off."
“We're lost,” the naitan repeated. He held his hand out to Padrey. “I'm Gweric, by the way."
“Padrey.” Now he was giving his true name? Bemused, he took Gweric's hand and shook it.
“So, Padrey, how do we get to the Adaran embassy?"
The bodyguard grabbed a fold of Gweric's tunic and dragged him a few steps away. He didn't bother to soften his voice overmuch as he spoke. “We can't trust him. He could lead us straight into ambush. To a thieves’ den.
Anywhere
."
“We
can
trust him—"
Padrey had to work harder to hear Gweric's reply.
“Because there is a hole where he stands."
What?
Padrey looked around himself, trying to figure out what the man meant by that bizarre statement.
“Kerry, there is demonshadow and demonstink all over this whole, hell-kissed city.” Gweric's voice, his stance, his whole being was matter-of-fact, as if the existence of demons was established fact rather than religious superstition.
“It clings to people here, wafts through them. But it goes
around
Padrey. If it touches him, it doesn't stay. It doesn't like the taste of him. And anyone the demonshadow doesn't like, I do. We could be trying to find our way back to the embassy until we died of old age. He'll show us the way."
Padrey was suddenly glad he hadn't lifted the naitan's purse, even if it would have been dead easy to steal from a blind, crazy man. No one had trusted him since—well, since his parents died. It made him feel strange. He looked up again, hunting the landmarks he'd forgotten to find.
There
.
The temple spires speared into the white-hot sky, their onion-shaped domes blazing with color and pattern in the afternoon sun. And there was the dome of the Seat, beyond and to the left. So the Adaran embassy would be...?
“Padrey?
Can
you show us the way?"
The thief looked at the young naitan, then at the bodyguard, for once not evading any gaze. “Follow me."
* * * *
Back at the embassy after the reception's end, Kallista beckoned her ambassador into the family gathering room and sent a servant to collect Keldrey. She wanted the entire ilian present for the ambassador's debriefing. Kallista was the last to return from changing out of the elaborate court dress. Of course her clothing was the most elaborate. She felt more tired and irritable than she thought she should. But then, court functions could do that to to a person.
“Excellent. Food.” Kallista clapped her hands together and rubbed them before she fell on the meal Aisse had ordered. “All right, Namida Ambassador, begin. How bad was it?"
“You did well, overall, though by failing to partake of the feast prepared for you, the insult is great. You implied that you feared poison. That you do not trust them."
“I don't.” Kallista beckoned the ambassador into a chair at the table beside her, the ilian filling in the rest of the places. “Is poison likely?"
“It is a common weapon of assassination, yes.” Namida sat primly on the edge of the gilt chair. “But not likely at such a large gathering. And you should not trust them, but you should
appear
that you do. You should have eaten what they offered."
“I did, a bit.” Kallista made a face. “My iliasti ate the food. My nerves were on edge. I was afraid it might not agree with me. I didn't want to sick up on the flowers."
“Er—no, that likely would not have been beneficial.” Namida seemed flustered by Kallista's easy manner. “And it will have been noticed that your—that the Godmarked did partake."
Namida had been accompanied to Daryath by the three other members of her ilian. Its small size and two-and-two orientation allowed them to avoid unwanted notice, but they were still obviously careful not to even use the words.
The ambassador changed the subject. “Your patience in the assembly room and the number of speeches you heard will go far in making up for any missteps."
“Good. What else?"
Namida produced a sheaf of parchment cards, made beautiful with the flowing Daryathi calligraphy sprawled across them. “I received these invitations this afternoon, on your behalf."
“At the reception?” Kallista spread them across the table, appalled. Almost as many had been delivered to the embassy before she'd arrived in Mestada.
“Yes, my Reinine. You are already committed to Shakiri House tomorrow evening, with your Godmarked, and to each of the other councilors on successive evenings. They are the most important. If you like, I will consult with your chief of staff regarding the rest."
“Viyelle—” Kallista looked down the table and got the prinsipella's nod.
“I'll meet with you first thing tomorrow,” Viyelle said. “Ninth chime."
Namida stood, bowed and made her way out.
Kallista waited for the door to shut solidly behind her before looking up at her ilian. “So? What did you learn?"