Emerald House Rising, page 5
Finally Bram gave her foot a poke. “Now. Tell me what’s happened.”
“Father received a letter this morning.” She pulled it from her sash and showed him the seal.
“What’s it about?” He didn’t take it from her; Bram could not read very well.
“My application for elevation was rejected.” She unfolded the letter and scanned the words again, as if they would say something else this time. “It’s just so hard to believe.” She told him what Collas had explained to her.
“So you didn’t expect this at all?”
“Of course not.” She frowned down at him in surprise. “Why, did you?”
He shrugged. His head was turned from her so she couldn’t see his face.
“Father told me I can appeal.” She heard the plea in her own voice, begging him to say, Yes, go ahead and do it. Make them accept you. You don’t deserve this; you’re as good as any gemcutter in the city.
Instead he said, “Maybe it’s for the best.”
Her surprise stole her breath away for a moment, like a slap of icy water. “But I thought—Bram, we’ve always talked about when I take over my own shop.”
“I know we’ve talked about it.” Bram shifted to squint up at her. “But I suppose I never thought it would really work out that way.”
Jena slowly refolded the letter and tucked it back into her sash. “Why not?”
“Well, I sometimes found myself wondering whether you weren’t making too many assumptions—like that the Guild would make it easy for you to go to Chulipse.”
“I know I can’t start as a journeyman in Father’s shop there, since I was apprenticed to him. But there are lots of other good masters in Chulipse I could work under. And once I became a master—”
“No, I mean the Guild might’ve decided not to post you to Chulipse at all. What if they’d chosen to send you to Ponza or Almanea instead? It would mean years of separation, Jena. I know you didn’t even think about it, but I did. A lot.”
He paused to give her a chance to reply, but she remained silent.
“Even if it had worked out the way you’d planned,” Bram continued after a moment, “and you went to Chulipse and the Guild eventually elevated you to master rank … well, wouldn’t it just be too much? Having a gemcutter’s shop and helping me out, too, I mean? Once a baby or two comes along …” He shrugged.
“But Father’s shop in Chulipse’s already established, so we wouldn’t have to buy any new equipment. You’d get apprentices to help you out, and so would I.”
Bram gently tapped the letter in her sash. “You forgot. The Guild isn’t going to accept you as a journeyman, Jena.”
“But if I appeal …” She stopped herself. “That might create a problem for Father. I couldn’t let that happen.” Old precepts, old customs, such as avoid making trouble for Father, died hard.
“With the Guild, you mean? Oh, I think his position is secure at least. I don’t think you need to worry about that.”
Jena nodded slowly. “I suppose so.” She took a deep breath, trying to regain a sense of hope—and then remembered. “But if I do have a baby, a boy, it would all be for nothing, anyway.” Another wave of numbing helplessness washed over her. “Perhaps you’re right. Maybe it is for the best.” Despite her best efforts to smile, the words tasted bitter in her mouth.
“Besides,” Bram said, pulling restlessly at the grass at his knee, “Father and I were discussing the business last night.”
As she had trained herself to do, Jena put aside her own troubles to concentrate on another’s concerns. “It’s going to be a big change for him when you leave, isn’t it?”
“Well, that’s why I needed to talk with you. It seems it’s not going to be very easy for me to go to Chulipse, either. Father asked if I …” he hesitated. “If we could wait. He wants me to stay and help him here in Piyar.”
“For how long?”
“I think he was hoping we could put it off for a year. Maybe two.”
“What? He can’t be serious!”
Bram shifted to face her and rested his chin on his fist on her knee. “I’m afraid he is.”
“I thought your uncle wanted to start that Chulipse shop before the end of the year.”
“He does.” His dark brown eyes were sober. “I’ve already talked to him. He said he’d have to find someone else.”
“Someone else! Bram, this was your best chance to start your own shop, to work in Chulipse silks. It’s the only way you can get into a position as a Court supplier.” Something inside her realized, vaguely, that she felt more upset about Bram’s setback than about her own.
“Don’t you think I know that?” he replied sharply. He stood in a single swift motion and strode away along the water, kicking a stone aside angrily.
“Bram, wait. Bram!” When he stopped, she caught up with him and placed her hands on his shoulders. She could feel the tension coiled in his shoulders under the thin cloth. “I’m sorry.” She gently turned him to face her. “Does he want us to wait on getting married, too?”
He couldn’t meet her eyes. “Anesta’s been so sick. It’s left them short-handed. And they had to spend far too much on medicines—”
“I told you they should ask Arikan—”
“I know! But Father wouldn’t listen. You know how he is about magic. The orders have been coming in for Equinox Festival …” He shrugged helplessly. “Try to understand, Jena.”
“I’m trying.” She felt her throat tighten, and the words that came out next surprised both of them. “All I understand is that your father’s being a fool. And he’s asking us to pay for it.”
She saw the anger in his eyes flare to match hers. “He’s my father.”
“I know.” Suddenly ashamed, she took him into her arms, held him tightly. “I know, Bram, I’m sorry. It isn’t anyone’s fault. I’m just upset about the letter, and this—it’s such a disappointment on top of that. I wanted it so, for both of us.”
“So did I.” He buried his face in her hair. “Jena, maybe I’m just not meant to work for the Court. There’s no shame in living out my life as a neighborhood craft tailor.”
“Like your father?” She rubbed her cheek against his. “There is when you’re capable of doing so much more. You could work miracles with that silk, Bram, I know you could.”
“Perhaps.” He kissed her cheek. “But I’ve wondered. Jena, could it be what you really want is to leave home, but you can’t admit it?”
“What?” She pulled back and looked at him.
“It’s just a feeling I get sometimes.” He shrugged. “Maybe you don’t like the responsibility of actually leaving your father or something. But anyway, it’s much easier for you to think the reasons for leaving are mine, rather than yours.”
“That’s not true, Bram. You’re jesting, aren’t you?”
“No.”
“Well, you’re wrong. I’m sure of it.”
“Perhaps I am,” Bram said affably. They began walking alongside the river again. After a few minutes of silence, Jena spoke again. “Bram, do you think there’s a chance your parents don’t want us to marry?”
“What? Don’t be ridiculous. You know they love you like I do.”
“Well, maybe not quite the same way.” At his grin, she went on. “No, but you know how your father hates magic. I was wondering if he had talked to my father, or perhaps to Arikan.”
“To Arikan? You must be mad.” Bram stopped dead in his tracks. “Jena, why would my father ever possibly talk to Arikan? What are you hinting at?”
She shook her head, suddenly regretting the way the conversation had turned. “It’s probably nothing.”
“What does magic have to do with us?”
“I don’t know if I should tell you. Please, Bram, just forget it.”
“I thought we could tell each other everything.”
Too late, she realized she had really hurt him. “I mean, I don’t know if I can explain it; I don’t entirely understand it myself. Arikan told me a couple of days ago …” she faltered.
“Told you what?”
“That I could do magic.”
He just looked at her, as if he didn’t understand what she was saying.
“And I was wondering,” she said a little desperately to fill the sudden silence between them, “if your father knew, like my father did and, well …”
“Magic.” He said it so flatly she was afraid to look at him.
“Yes. At least, that’s what Arikan said.” She forced a laugh.
“No. No, I’m sure Father doesn’t know.”
“Because if he did know, he wouldn’t have accepted me?”
“No, probably not.” He studied her face, his expression as hard as a stranger’s, and she felt a rising fear. Then he smiled; he was her Bram again, and she found she could once more breathe freely. “Mother and Father know you now, Jena,” he said, slipping an arm around her waist. It felt the same as always. “They think of you as part of the family. Don’t worry, everything’ll be fine. You’ll see.”
“Just because I could do magic doesn’t mean I have to do it.”
This suggestion seemed to cheer up Bram even more. “You’re right. You’d have to train, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes. I don’t see Arikan’s in any hurry to take me on. Besides, who wants to start as a beginning student all over again?” They laughed, and the sound echoed sharply over the water, startling a flock of dusky geese floating at the river’s edge into a flurry of hisses and honks. “See? They agree with me.”
Bram gave her braid a tug. “Come on. It’s time for me to be getting back.” They turned and began retracing their steps along the water. “So why did Arikan decide to tell you this?” he asked as they turned up one of the lanes leading away from the river.
“He didn’t. Well, not exactly. There was a lord who came to Father with a jewelry commission …” she broke off, and her steps slowed.
“Yes? Well?”
“A lord we didn’t know. He wouldn’t leave his name. He left a stone …” The words came haltingly.
“A stone?”
“For a ring.” She stumbled and stopped abruptly as her stomach lurched. “Bram, something’s wrong.”
He was back at her side in an instant. “What is it?”
“I feel sick.” She thought he took her arm, but she couldn’t feel it. “What hour is it? Is it after midday?”
He blinked in surprise at the question and then squinted up at the sun. “I think so. Why?”
“That’s it,” she breathed. “He’s returning to the shop.” Her lips felt numb.
“Who’s returning? Jena—”
But she wasn’t listening. The street had faded away, replaced by a cold, clear vision. The lord would return, and Collas would tell him he had decided not to do the work. The lord would smile and take back the money and the stone without a single protest.
And then he would smoothly draw his knife and stab Collas through the heart.
Jena saw the flaccid look of shock on Collas’ face, the blood trickling out of his chest, dripping off the handle of the knife. His hands fumbled at it weakly and then fell away. No! she screamed, but the nightmare held her tightly in its grip, and her words made no sounds. Her hands fluttered like a ghost’s, unable to touch her father’s fallen body.
And then, mercifully, Bram’s voice cut through the haze, saying, “Here, lean against this wall. It’s right behind you; just step back. There.” Piercing sunlight made her blink, and the vision fell away. She could feel the rough, sun-warmed brick through her dress, pressing into her, the grit falling down by her ankles, and then Bram’s anxious face swam back into view. He smoothed the wisps of hair back from her eyes. “Jena, can you hear me?”
With an effort, she pushed herself away from the wall. “Father,” she croaked. “The lord is going to kill him.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I need a weapon. Bram, do you have a knife, anything?”
“Jena—”
She grabbed his shirtfront and yelled into his face, “I don’t have time to explain! Do you— oh, here.” Fingers fumbling, she seized the sharp cutting shears Bram wore suspended from a loop at his waist.
He tried to restrain her, but she brushed his hands aside as if they were dry leaves and lurched away up the lane. Her first staggering steps felt wooden, and then she ran in earnest.
“Jena, wait!”
Her fingers closed around the points of the shears to protect her if she fell. The cold metal felt good in her hand, driving away the last of her disorientation. She could no longer hear Bram, shouting behind her. She pushed through the startled crowds, shoving aside children, a cooper trundling a cart loaded with barrels, a flower seller. She crashed into a water seller who had unfortunately dodged the wrong direction to avoid her, and they both tumbled to the cobblestones. Jena retrieved the shears and scrambled, panting, to her feet, ignoring the water seller’s outraged protests about his smashed pottery. Dripping, she kept on, up the terrace stairs to the Fifth Rim, two street levels below her house. Down another lane she dashed, her heart laboring hard, and then up another flight of stairs to the Fourth Rim. She felt a stitch cramping her side.
At the top of the stairs, she stopped and leaned against the railing, fighting to catch her breath. Sweat poured down her face and ribs and slickened her grip on the handles of the shears. She shifted them to her other hand and scrubbed her fingers on her skirt to dry them. Her heartbeat sounded loudly in her ears as she looked around the quiet lane. No pedestrians walked here. Good, thought a cold, unfamiliar part of herself. When her breathing slowed, she walked past three houses to the private stairs leading up to Collas’ garden.
They had never seemed so long. Nerves taut, Jena stopped every few steps to listen, but she heard nothing. At the top of the stairs, she slipped over to an acacia tree beside the path leading to the house. Was the lord already within? Maybe it wasn’t too late. She should work herself closer and try to look within the front room, if she could do so without being seen herself. On the other hand, perhaps he hadn’t yet arrived. Should she wait here to confront him when he came through the garden?
As she hesitated, unsure what to do, the door from the house opened. She threw herself behind the tree and closed her eyes at the wave of despair. Too late. The steps came closer, and she shifted her grip on the shears. The despair melted in the face of a burning rage. He won’t escape, Father, I swear. Once he was past her, with his back to the tree …
But the footsteps slowed. Just opposite her, there on the path at the other side of the tree, they stopped. Jena held her breath. Just a little farther.
Suddenly a hand snaked around the tree and seized her upraised wrist. She jumped, dropping the shears, and the crushing grip dragged her around the tree, where she all but collided with the lord. He looked at her with a kind of mild amazement—yes, and something else, too.
She could have sworn it was pity.
She drew a breath and opened her mouth to scream and then stopped, arrested by a totally unexpected sound. Startled, she turned her head to listen, and then after a stunned moment realized what it was: her father’s bright whistle, wafting from the workshop.
She stared at the lord. “You didn’t hurt him?”
The lord dropped her hand. “Who? Your father? What conceivable reason would I have to do that?”
“I thought … I thought …”
His mouth quirked. “What? That I would be so insulted by a refusal to cut a stone, I would throw some kind of lordly tantrum?” His eyes widened. “Did you actually think I would kill him?”
Jena felt her cheeks grow hot.
He stooped to pick up the shears and hefted them in his hand. “And so you came flying to your father’s defense”—he shook his head in amazement—“with a pair of sewing shears?”
Face aflame, she tried to seize the shears back, but he held them out of reach. “Not a particularly good choice for a weapon,” he said, cocking an eyebrow at her. “I suppose if your first attempt didn’t work, you could always use them to cut off your hair. Then your lover would have a revenge-braid to hold while you chased after me.” He jammed the shears into the trunk of the tree. “With something more lethal.”
She turned to flee, to get away from him, anything, but he took her wrist again. “Jena, stop.”
“Let go of me!”
“This is my fault.” He gave her wrist a little shake, his voice serious this time. “I honestly didn’t realize you were someone who could see possibilities so strongly.”
She stopped trying to free her wrist. “Someone who could … see possibilities?”
“You caught me off guard when you looked into my ring; I’m not used to people even noticing it. I never would have allowed you to do so, had I known. I’m sorry.”
“Not used to people noticing it—what are you talking about?”
“Look at me,” he said kindly. When she did, reluctantly, he placed a fist gently over each of her temples for a moment and looked deep into her eyes. A part of her wanted to flinch away from him, but she couldn’t reject that calm scrutiny.
Then he released her. “I see,” he said softly. “You wanted to leave home. And this was a possibility you saw, one which would make that happen. You simply didn’t understand it was only that: a possibility.”
Jena said nothing.
“Is that the only way you can imagine leaving home?” he said, taking her hand. “Surely you can think of a different scenario.”
“Such as?”
He took a step closer. “Such as coming with me, perhaps?” His voice sounded light again, suggestive. “I could open up some opportunities which might … interest you.”
She looked down at his hand holding hers. “What are you asking me, to be your mistress or something?”
He stared at her, and she got the impression he was trying very hard not to laugh. “I’m disappointed. Such a lack of imagination! No, try again.”
