The Outcast, page 31
part #2 of A Knight's Journey Series
“Yes, yes. Another greenlander. Someone you can speak with about the troubles your country is experiencing. The man is an old acquaintance of Al’Rhun’s and has expressed interest in you. He arrived here only just this week, so fortune favors this time as a good one for celebration.”
“I have no interest in attending.”
“Then Al’Rhun will cease to have an interest in you. And that could prove dangerous.”
“Do not threaten the boy in my house, or ever,” Maude snapped.
“But of course. Al’Rhun was not threatening him. Just offering a reminder of other threats, to other people.”
The merchant’s meaning was clear—he offered some protection against the wrath of the Ishtar’s. Rowan knew that the High House wanted him punished, for it was no secret. But Al’Rhun was telling him that they were likely to come after Maude and her family.
“Fine. I will come to your party so that you can parade me about.”
“Do not sound so pained. This will be a good time and you will enjoy yourself. Perhaps you will even smile.”
Nel laughed at that, which made Al’Rhun smile. But it was disingenuous , like all of his smiles. Rowan saw through the man’s false faces.
“This is good, very good. Al’Rhun worried that you would not agree, even after all of the effort he has made. But all has worked itself out.”
The merchant pushed himself to his feet.
“Now it is time for this one to take his leave. There is much to be done and little time to relax. May your day be short and shaded.”
Maude, who had been about to make a go at fighting him to tend his wounds, suddenly jumped up. She hurried to follow Al’Rhun as he made his exit, trying to escort him out and bid him farewell in the manner befitting a host.
Nel stepped forward to take the place her mother had been about to occupy.
“Are you really going to attend his party?”
“I don’t see that I have much of a choice.”
“For all that you are, I would not have expected you to agree to this. It is not you.”
“I am what I am.”
“But are you worried about the fat man’s threats?” Nel pressed. “Because you do not need to fear him. He can do nothing to you, and he would do nothing to us. We…I can take care of myself.”
“I know that,” Rowan said. He did not believe it, but he was not going to argue that point with her. “But I do intend to continue my participation in the arena. It calls to me. When I fight, I am able to feel…something. Not alive, but something close to it. It offers me an escape.”
Nel frowned as he said that. She hated his participation in the arena, and he could tell that his words made her sad. He wanted to make that sadness go away, but he could not abandon the arena.
“If I am to continue fighting, then I need Al’Rhun’s sponsorship. Otherwise, I will have no protection from High House Ishtar and their attempts to bend the rules and have me killed.”
“Well, if you are going to go to this party, then you will need to be made presentable. If left to yourself, you would likely go dressed as you are now, wearing a tattered cloak and dirty garments. Foreign ones, at that.”
“They aren’t that dirty.”
“Yes, they are, Tattercloak,” Barra said. Rowan glared at him.
“The big man is correct. The clothes are dirty, as are you. Do you intend to shave or will you have your…beard…trimmed?”
“I’ll bathe if you think I smell,” Rowan said, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “But I don’t intend to shave.” His beard itched and he hated it, but it kept him from being recognized. Even here in a foreign city far from his homeland, Rowan could sense the danger of being discovered.
“Then you will need to have it trimmed.”
“No. I won’t.”
“You are too stubborn, Parren-nihm! I am trying to help you, but you make it very difficult.”
“You are trying to change me,” Rowan said, perhaps a bit too harshly. He had, after all, come to Nelliel for aid. She was the only person he knew in this city other than Al’Rhun and Barra. The merchant had expected him to get by on his own, and Rowan refused to acknowledge Barra lest he encourage the man’s strange devotion. It had been difficult enough to just try to lose him in the crowds before coming here. Had he asked for help…Rowan would never have been rid of him.
“I cannot deal with you!” Nel stamped her foot in frustration. “You are like challa—headstrong and simple. You must listen to me or I will not help you.”
“Very well,” Rowan sighed. “I’ll have it trimmed.”
And just like that, Nel was smiling again, as though she’d never been upset. It was strange how quickly she could switch between emotions. He suspected she’d been pulling his strings intentionally, manipulating him into doing what she desired. If so, it had been incredibly subtle and well-played.
“We will see to it then. I will help.”
“How will you help? You aren’t going to cut it for me, are you?”
“Of course not. You will have it cut by a stylist. I will simply inform them of the style in which it is to be trimmed and fashioned.”
“I thought I would just cut it myself.”
The way Nel looked at him, Rowan might as well have said that he planned to remove his own toe. She was appalled.
“You are insufferable, challa! Do you hear this, maudra?”
“I try not to, noohna.”
Nel sighed with exasperation. Maude was, for once, restraining herself to remain uninvolved. Nel looked at Rowen with a solemn expression.
“Had you not come to me…” She shuddered. “Let us agree that it is good that you did. I will not allow you to make a fool of yourself.”
“I have been to high social functions before,” Rowan said. “I dined with royalty.”
Nel arched an eyebrow and looked skeptical. Rowan silently cursed himself for revealing too much and said nothing more.
“Maude, will you contact Al’Rhun to gather the details of this event?”
“If I must.”
Nel nodded.
“You, Parren, must come with me. I will make you presentable and once I have done so, there is shopping to be done.”
Chapter 29: Rowan
“I don’t understand why this is necessary,” Rowan complained. He reclined in a leaning chair, his head tilted back to expose his chin and neck. A woman stood over him, working at his beard with trimmers. She tsked in reproach as he spoke.
“That’s alright,” Nel said, standing behind him. “I do not expect you to understand. Just obey.”
Rowan opened his mouth to speak, but the stylist hovering over him glared down and he kept his silence. The woman was holding a sharp instrument at his neck—best not to annoy her.
He waited as she cut away at the hair upon his face, trimming it down and brushing away the cuttings. She used a comb to remove the knots and tangles. Then she massaged oil into what remained, tugging at it as she did.
Nel made a curious sound as the woman did this, but said nothing.
When she was done, the stylist handed Rowan a reflective sheet of metal that functioned as a mirror. He held it up and examined himself. Much of his growth was gone. Not so much that his cheeks were left bare, but it no longer hid his face. He felt strangely exposed. He looked like he once had, and that worried him.
“It is a good improvement,” Nel said. “You look less like a shaggy dohge and more like a man.”
“Do I even want to know what a dohge is?”
“You would not appreciate the comparison.”
Rowan passed off the mirror and stood, reaching for a nearby cloth to wipe away the loose hair and remaining creams. The oil on his whiskers smelled pleasant, but felt…wrong. He itched to try and wipe it away but held himself back.
“Let me feel,” Nel cried, moving closer to him. She reached out and ran a hand across his cheek, lingering a moment before grasping his chin and pulling him to face her.
“That feels much better.”
“You never felt my beard before,” Rowan said, pushing her hand away and placing the cloth on his face. It was an odd thing to say, and Rowan felt odd saying it.
“But it does feel better. I can tell these things.” Nel looked up at him. “Are you sure I cannot have the rest of your hairs cut as well?”
“No.”
Rowan had washed his hair and tied it back in a tail, but he refused to have it shortened. Now that he could tie it back, it stayed out of his way. And when left loose, it hid his face.
“Very well. Maudra made me agree to give you some freedoms, so I will give you this.” She smirked in an annoyingly mischievous manner, green eyes sparkling. She was taunting him, hoping to elicit a response. He gave her none.
“Come on. Let’s find me something to wear and be done with this whole affair.”
Rowan pulled a few coins from his pocket and left them behind. Nel eyed them curiously, but she followed him without a word until they were outside.
“Lead the way to the clothing merchant.”
Nel laughed at that. “There is more than one, Parren,” she said. “This will take many sunlight hours.” Then she led the way to the textile market.
Rowan had not understood the scope of what Nel meant when she said that they would need to shop. He had expected a quick trip to the bazaar to purchase an outfit, perhaps two. After all, he could not keep many possessions for he had no place to properly store such things. He would not often wear this outfit either, if he wore it again at all. Such an outing should have required no more than an hour or two, depending on the crowds and the merchants visited.
That was how long it should have taken. But Nel was involved, and she was ambitious. She led him from shop to shop. Each time, he was measured and fitted, then given clothing to try on. Nel picked out most of it. Rowan gave his input at first—mostly protestations—but eventually he succumbed and allowed Nel to make the decisions. It was far too tiresome to argue with her.
To her credit, she kept strictly to his budget. And most of what she gave him to wear was comfortable. Far more so than the rich clothing he had been forced to wear after arriving in Estoria with Baird. That outfit had been rigid and stiff, tight about the neck and legs. The clothing of Lior was loose and flowing, the material thin and the colors bright.
“I like this one,” Nel said, walking in a circle around Rowan to examine him from each angle. “The colors are right, and it fits you well.”
That was important, as the party was in two suns. There was time to have it altered, but no major changes could be made.
“It still feels loose,” Rowan replied. He wore a light robe over clothing that hung folded in layers. What passed for trousers seemed to him to be like the bottom half of a dress that had been cut down the middle and then sown to keep the legs separate. It felt like he was naked.
“You are sun-damaged and used to wearing your odd trousers.” Nel said the word in Atlean, earning a look from the merchant.
“I feel exposed,” Rowan said, also switching to Atlean.
“The looseness hides you,” Nel said. “Tight trousers bare your form. Good, but also not good.” She frowned. “That is not right.”
Rowan shook his head as she looked to him.
“Too many words, all with not enough…meaning. And so many that are the same. It is frustrating.” She switched back to her native tongue. “This is better.”
Rowan eyed her, waiting for her to explain what she had meant before. She glanced at the merchant and his wife, then leaned forward and whispered.
“Your trousers are fitting, but they mark you as a Greenlander.”
“My skin and my eyes do that.”
“It does not matter that you are a Greenlander. But dressing as a Greenlander indicates that you wish to be seen as such…politically. You have already made an enemy of High House Ishtar. It would be unwise to set yourself further apart.”
Rowan nodded his agreement.
“You could have said that in Atlean. You know the words.”
“Yes,” Nel agreed. “But my intention was to say something different. That moment has passed now, so I will wait for the next. There are many.”
She hopped backwards.
“Shall we make our purchase?” she asked, returning to her normal volume and speaking for the benefit of the merchant and the seamstress.
“Yes,” he sighed.
Rowan paid the merchant, who looked between he and Nel before taking the offered money. The clothing was left behind to be altered as necessary. Rowan would need to return on the day of the event to pick it up and check the fit. He could have had it delivered, but that was an extra cost.
“Why did he look at me strangely when I paid?” Rowan asked as they left. Though the shadows were growing longer, the streets were still filled with shoppers. And while it wasn’t particularly cold, Rowan pulled on his cloak, flipping up the hood.
“It is common for women to handle money. Men do the buying and the selling, but women make the payments.”
“What about the men who aren’t married?”
“They have sisters and mothers and aunts.”
“So he thought you were my sister and expected you to pay?”
“Oh yes, Parren-lan,” Nel said sarcastically. “Perhaps we should return and correct his assumption. I can think of some very enjoyable ways to show him we have no blood-bond.”
“I think that would be improper.”
“That makes it better.”
“I still don’t quite understand,” Rowan said, eager to return to the conversation. “What is a man expected to do when he goes out without a woman?”
“When joined, it is common for the l’Shahl to be such that her partner keeps her in constant company.” She eyed Rowan. “But it is not uncommon for men—particularly those unwed—to go out without a woman. Often to go drinking and smoking with friends. They are given an allowance to do so.”
“So it was only odd that I gave the money because you were with me?”
“Yes.”
Rowan grunted. He thought that odd, but it made sense in a twisted sort of way. It wouldn’t stop him from making his own payments, though.
“What more is there to do?”
“All done for today. Unless you think that I should go shopping as well?”
“Why would you do that?”
“Perhaps I like to look good.”
“You already look good,” Rowan responded without thinking. He realized immediately how Nel would interpret what he’d just said.
“Of course I do,” she replied. “Though it is good of you to say it.” She continued walking, leading him nowhere in particular. Rowan waited, wondering if she actually did intend to continue shopping. Or answer his question. He was tired and ready to return to the commons where he could sleep.
Nel intended to do neither, it seemed. So they walked the streets together, slowly making their way through the city. Rowan purchased some fried meatballs along the way, sharing a few with Nel, who attacked the food with an appetite. Skewered on thin wooden sticks, they were meant to be eaten on the go. They were spicy and delicious, though hot enough to burn Rowan’s mouth.
“Are you leading me somewhere, Nel, or just wandering?” Rowan finally asked as they paused in an uncrowded plaza. He didn’t mind spending time with her.
“Just wandering.”
“It’s growing late.”
“It does this every day.”
He cleared his throat.
“Don’t you think that you should—”
“I have nowhere that I must be and nothing that I must do,” Nel said. “And even if I did, I would prefer to be doing exactly what I am. This is…enjoyable. Do you disagree?”
Rowan hesitated, and Nel took that as an answer.
“You feel as I do. Why must you fight it?”
“I don’t—”
“Do not lie to me.”
“I am broken; it cannot be helped. You don't understand.”
“Perhaps I do not.” Nel stepped back. “But that is only because you will not let me understand. I think perhaps it is time that I leave you.”
Rowan wished he could say something.
“Come to me after your party. I will be here. If you do this thing, I will explain to you what the words mean, and what they mean to me.”
She didn’t wait for him to respond. Nel turned and left Rowan standing alone with a promise to meet again, should he want to.
And that was a problem. He did want to see her again…very much so.
Chapter 30: Rowan
“You certainly look much better, in this one’s humble opinion. It is a good change.” Al’Rhun continued to compliment Rowan on his improved appearance.
They were on their way to Al’Rhun’s party, being carried by servants in a palanquin. Rowan was uncomfortable with the attention, but the merchant had insisted. “We must arrive by means of wealth and power,” Al’Rhun had said. “This is the most basic of things.”
So Rowan had climbed aboard the pillowed transport and sat himself down.
“There it is. Do you see?” Al’Rhun pointed to a building in the distance while pushing aside the silks for an unobstructed view. “That is the manor belonging to Al’Rhun’s good partner, Pehlad Namour. A very wealthy and influential man. It is your good fortune to personally make his acquaintance.”
“I have no interest in playing political games.”
“A game!” Al’Rhun laughed. “That is quite right. It is a game, and one in which Al’Rhun excels. But you are wrong to say that you do not play.”
“Your connections don’t interest me.”
“That is not true. But even if it were, disinterest does not remove you from the game. Everyone is a player, whether directly or indirectly. Some just play poorly and reap no rewards.”
Rowan ignored the merchant, focusing instead on the manor ahead. It was palatial, with abundant lighting and meticulous landscaping, obviously belonging to someone of great wealth. As they grew closer, the streets became wider and better kept. Rowan saw more people bound for the same party. Or so he thought. It soon became apparent that Al’Rhun’s friend was not the only one hosting a party that evening. Several other manors were hosting events, each in social competition with the others. Colored globes hung for lighting and ambient music filled the air. Enticing aromas of food and drink abounded, with cries of excitement among the grounds they passed, taunting the uninvited with envy.
