Page 62

“What?” she asks, confusion naked on her half-smiling face. “Of…what, Councilman? Of course she’s a woman?”

“Mind your mouth around your betters.” There’s a sharp intake of breath from the surrounding groups, the sudden change attracting the attention of my people, and now everyone seated around the long table looks toward us as silence falls.

Clearly realizing his mistake, he clears his throat and tries to soften his voice.

“It’s not a matter for you. The actions of the Keeper are not yours to discuss,” he offers in a semi-placating tone, but he can’t strip the tension from it altogether, and she leans forward on the table now, looking down toward the curled-in woman in front of me.

“What funny tales you are telling, Councilman Nickolas,” she offers, a sickeningly sweet smile plastered on her face, furrowed brow belying her expression.

The man beside her groans under his breath, and she hushes him with a hand on his leg.

“Is it a game with the Traders? I love games.” Looking at me briefly, her smile softens into something real.

“Of course she is a woman, Trader. Such a strange thing to say. Every Keeper has been one of our people — most have had a wife, sometimes children. But they all have had the same choices as the rest of us. She is shy. More quiet than many of us. Prefers her own company. But she is a woman. And has all the rights of one, even if she exercises hers by being alone.”

Across from me, Wren inhales raggedly without looking up.

No one else around the table notices the sound other than me and the small woman down the table, who suddenly looks incredibly concerned, as though something has occurred to her, some uncomfortable truth escaping, loosed by the dark drink and the darkening night.

“Keeper?” she asks quietly, and, almost despite herself, Wren turns her head toward the hesitant sound. “Are you… do you like being alone?”

The question catches the attention of everyone, everyone near us. Wren is a carved piece of marble, no emotion showing on her smooth face, chest barely rising and falling as we all wait for the answer. It feels like a year before she responds, very, very quietly .

“I am used to being alone.”

Most of the men relax minutely at her answer, as though they have been proven correct, but the women exchange a long look across the table, and some unheard conversation passes between them.

In one movement, both stand, and glide down the few feet until they are next to us, and though they are clearly uncomfortable, the more talkative woman sits directly beside Wren, the other next to me.

“I’ve met you of course, Keeper, but to remind you, I’m Bri.

Married to Davvy there — he’s a blacksmith in the village.

This is Grace. She’s the most talented seamstress in the village.

Has a little shop in the Second Ring.” Wren nods awkwardly, and Bri and Grace look at each other again.

“I’ve never thought to ask, didn’t want to bother you, but the trade and the mead are making me bold —” she is trying to put laughter in her voice to mask her unease, but her breath is shallow, and she’s unable to hide the worry completely.

“We’ve never seen you at the sewing circles, or at the women’s pool.

We all assumed it’s because you…did you not want to come?

It’s of course fine to prefer your own company, Keeper.

Not everyone is made for my non-stop chatter.

” She cloaks her concern in self-deprecating humor, her friend joining in with a forced sort of laugh.

“She’s a lot to listen to on her best day, Keeper. Some are for silence, and there is no shame in wanting to be alone.”

“I…I am never truly alone,” Wren replies, staring down at the table. “I am used to endless conversations.” She tries to smile at the women, but it’s barely an expression.

“But…” Bri darts a quick look around her, at the men pretending to ignore the conversation, at the eyes which flicker over their bent heads, and she lowers her voice again, so even I have to strain to hear her. “Are you…I’m sorry, Keeper, if I’m overstepping. But are you lonely?”

“Is there a difference between being lonely and being alone?” Wren asks with a sad sort of shrug, and Bri reaches out and grabs her hands, holding on even as Wren flinches back slightly at the contact.

“Yes. Yes, Keeper. There is quite a difference between the two. There is a world of difference between the two, actually. ”

“Then I suppose I am one and not the other.” The words sound torn from her stomach, but are hollow, a strange juxtaposition of aching fullness and terrible emptiness.

Nodding tightly, Bri’s jaw clenches at the words, though she tries to smooth her face.

Grace, beside me, also sounds tense when she speaks, though she tries to hide it, studiously ignoring the three Councilmen whose faces look like thunder.

With a sort of forced casualness, she smiles at Wren, saying, “Well. Now you’ve done it, I’m afraid.

We were under the impression that you didn’t join us because you…

we wanted to respect your wishes and…Well.

” She clears her throat and tries again.

“I forget that the women’s pool is far from the bone wall.

It would be a difficult road for you to travel on your own.

Bri and I will come get you in the morning, if you’re free?

Most of the women will meet there for a swim before the day begins.

If you are interested, of course. And not busy at the time.

” The last is said with a flickering smile toward me, and Bri nudges Wren’s side in a gentle sort of teasing motion.

“She can’t go,” Nickolas snaps, having watched the exchange like a raptor, talons sharp and bared.

“I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable, anyway,” Wren says gently, cutting Nickolas off, but the women are drunk and determined.

“You wouldn’t make anyone uncomfortable, BoneKeeper!”

BoneKeeper? Bone Keeper . The word echoes in my head. Keeper. BoneKeeper.

“She’d need a Protector with her in any case, and none are permitted at the women’s pool,” one of the men by Nickolas says by way of explanation, trying to diffuse some of the growing tension.

Nickolas nods imperiously, as though that settles the matter, face creasing in a cruel sneer, Wren’s clear discomfort bringing him some obvious satisfaction.

Grace, though, tilts her head and smiles, lips pressed in a thin line. “Why would she need a Protector, Councilman? She’d be with the women. Bri and I will keep her safe. If she wants to come, of course. ”

“Do you? Want to come, I mean, Keeper?” Bri turns back to Wren, and everyone waits on her answer.

“I…I think I would…” she says, surprise clear in her voice, and both women try to smile in response, though they look incredibly sad and not a little bit guilty.

“But is it safe for you, BoneKeeper?” The words burst from Tahrik unintentionally, earning an approving glance from Nickolas.

“I’m sorry, I…do you swim? What if something happens?

Is is wise?” He looks truely anxious, so lost to his own emotion that he fails to notice Wren’s jaw tightening and the odd look of hurt that flashes quickly across her face before she can catch it.

“Tahrik!” Grace says laughingly, his name lingering in a teasing, familiar sort of way. “What a question!” She and Bri roll their eyes in exasperation. “Men,” Grace huffs jokingly. “As though we can’t teach you to swim, if you want. Sun and earth.”

“Well then. That’s settled, no? And tonight you have the company of this fine Trader to enjoy, if that’s your choice , of course,” Bri says, putting heavy emphasis on the words.

Nickolas’ countenance is murderous, and he stares at Bri, fury clear in every line of his face. “Bri, is it? How kind you’ve been to our Keeper. Tell me. I like to get to know the people of our village. Are you married? Do you have children?”

I don’t know what poison is in the seemingly innocuous words, but a threat is clear.

She shivers, though she tries to mask it, and answers almost against her will. “I am. And I do.”

“Ah,” he whispers, thin tongue darting out to lick his now curling lips.

“Ah. I is for infant. It is hard to be a mother sometimes, is it not? I can only imagine.” There is a dripping, liquid sound of hunger in his sneering words; Bri’s eyes widen in alarm, but Wren, who has been a wilting flower to this point, suddenly sits upright, looking down toward Nickolas, hand on her throat, eyes narrowing.

The change in her is a lightning strike - in a sudden, blinding flare she has gone from shadow to scythe.

Voice is studiously casual, almost unconcerned, she locks her empty, unseeing gaze on Nickolas.

“Is it? Now? I wouldn’t think so, Bri. I really wouldn’t think so.

” She’s so calm it makes whatever menace he was trying to leverage seem overblown and dramatic, makes him seem like a petulant child, and he trembles with anger at it.

There are strange things at play here, and I’m missing all of them, but Bri hears something I don’t, face softening into a desperate hopefulness. “Our youngest was born on the Birthing Day, so…but we have an older child as well.”

Wren’s thin fingers are still resting on her collarbone, and I can see a vein pulse on the slender column of her neck.

She tilts her head curiously, then smiles at Bri.

“How fortunate. Children are a blessing from the Gods. I am certain yours will grow in health and safety.” Some kind of promise is in her words, some kind of vow, and I’m suddenly and desperately frustrated at the way these people speak in endless riddles and hidden meanings.

Nickolas is incandescent, anger pouring from him in waves, but Bri and Grace, and Bri’s husband, are focused on Wren like she is the moon and the sun in the sky.

“Thank you, Keeper,” Bri whispers, voice tremulous. Of all the things this evening, somehow those simple words are what shakes her apart, and she wipes her eyes surreptitiously. “We’ll….we’ll see you in the morning, shall we? Grace and I will come by to get you.”

“I look forward to it,” Wren replies, even as Nickolas surges to his feet at the exchange.

The women beside her startle back at the sudden movement, but the two Councilmen next to him grab his arms, faces alarmed, and rapidly pull him away, muttering frantically under their breath, shooting looks at the rest of the table, where Nickolas’s inexplicable fury is drawing unwanted attention.

“Not long left to the night!” one of the Councilmen calls out, faux jocularity ringing sourly in his words as he tries to smooth the weirdly escalating situation.

“Enjoy the dance and the mead while there’s still time!

” Again with a barely hidden warning, though most around us are drunk enough that it drifts across them like smoke before dissipating.

Bri and Grace hear it, though, and hurry to the two men, each taking one by the hands and pulling them away from the table.

Bri’s husband goes quickly and willingly, but Tahrik looks over his shoulder toward Wren, who almost seems to meet his gaze.

Their exchange is brief; and though I feel like I’m imagining it because her face is unmoving, some unsure hope seems hidden in its shadows.

It drains away when he flicks his eyes to the still arguing Councilmen, and then down at Grace, who is tugging entreatingly on his hand.

“Come, Tahrik!” She’s flirtatious, alluring, a warm earthiness in her voice. “The night is drawing to a close soon!” There’s an offer clear in her words.

Again he looks toward the Councilmen, and then once more at Wren, before smiling down at Grace next to him. “Well! If there’s only a short time of dancing remaining, we should go! Councilmen! Won’t you join us?”

The invitation hovers in the air, the three vultures pause their furious discussion, unsure of how to respond.

Two or three of my people, who have been uninvolved to this point, glance at me questioningly, and I jerk my head toward the Councilors surreptitiously.

Immediately they jump to their feet, bringing the women beside them with them, followed quickly by the rest of my people, and surround the councilmen in noisy encouragement.

“Lead the way!”

“To the music!”

“More drink! More drink!”

Their shouts and the press of their bodies push the Councilmen away from the table, away from the shadowed wall, and away from Wren and me, where we are suddenly left in a vacuum of sound.

The silence is heavy. Her face is still turned toward the departing crowd, and I can see her swallow hard, jaw flexing, eyes wide and empty in the flickering torchlight.

Sadness wraps around her shoulders like a cloak; I know nothing and less than nothing, but it is clear how hard her life has been for her, though I don’t understand why.

A strange sort of panic grips my heart as I realize how desperately I want to make things easier for her, as I realize how quickly time is passing here, as I realize I have two days left with her white eyes and moonlit face.

“Wren? ”

She turns to me, and all my carefully planned words are lost in the curve of her lips and the shadows like bruises beneath her eyes.

Instead, I pick up an empty glass and fill it from the flask of pure water from my side.

Putting it in front of her, I guide her hands toward it until they rest on its edges.

“My water is yours, if you want it.” It’s the best I can do, feels woefully inadequate for what I’m offering, for what I’m asking, but it’s the way of her people, and is heavy with meaning for her.

I said the simple words earlier without realizing what they invited; now I make it clear that they are intended, that I want her to drink from my cup.

Her fingers jump, just a tiny flick of movement, and then she is still for a long, long time.

Long enough that I become nervous, long enough that I’m sure I’ve misstepped again somehow, that I’ve grievously offended her or broken some unspoken rule.

But then. Then . Slowly, with heart-stopping care, her hands wrap around the cup in front of her, and lift it in agonizingly deliberateness to her mouth.

It hovers in front of her face for a second, or a minute, and she bites her pink lip in thought, staring down at the water.

Worlds die and are reborn in my soul when, raising her eyes to mine, she finally brings it to her mouth, and drinks.

“Thank you for the water, Kaden,” she whispers, face softening, blooming into an unsure sweetness unlike any I’ve ever seen or tasted, and my heart explodes inside my chest.

The trade has been accepted.