Gim said, “Amen."
His father coughed. “I am no priest, Eleal Singer—but may I make a suggestion?"
"Please do."
"If your trouble was caused by some offense you committed against Holy Ois, or against Holy Eltiana herself, then you might perhaps ask Lord Tion to intercede for you."
"I didn't do anything.... I don't think it was anything I did,” Eleal said. “But yes. Please, Holy One, keep me safe from the other gods’ anger and whatever is prophesied. Amen."
That had not come out quite as she had intended. Again Gim echoed her amen, but there was a distinct pause before his father did—Kollwin had noted the cryptic reference in her prayer. Gim was still too stirred up by his adventure to be concerned with anything else.
"I already spoke my thanks to Holy Tion, Father, but I will do so again if you want to hear."
The sculptor chuckled. “You are not a child that I need supervise your prayers, but I can understand if your heart is still full, and anything I can understand must be very obvious to a god."
Gim needed no more encouragement than that. He raised his hands in supplication to the image. “Lord of art, I thank you again for the opportunity to serve you and for giving me such an adventure and bringing me back safely. All I ever want is to serve you, Lord, and I especially hope to serve you by bringing more beauty into the world in art or music, but I dedicate my whole life to pleasing you in any way I can. Amen."
"Amen,” Eleal said.
The sculptor bowed his head to the floor and said, “Amen” loudly as he straightened again. Then he clambered to his feet to indicate that the ceremony was over.
Ambria Impresario had been known to complain more than once that the gods had given Eleal Singer exceptionally sharp ears. She knew that Kollwin Sculptor had whispered a few other words—quickly, softly—in that sudden genuflection. “Lord, remember he is very young!” She had heard. Gim almost certainly had not. Had the god?
ACT III
ROAD SHOW
31
"SO I HAD VISITORS,” T'LIN DRAGONTRADER SAID. “A very lovely lady named Uthiam Piper came to see me, with a distraught young man named Something Trumpeter. They both seemed to know my business better than I did. How was I ever going to get any work done in Narsh if people kept cornering me to pour out tragic sagas of young women adopted by a goddess?"
His tone was amused. His expression was not. There was tension in that cozy kitchen. Dragontrader had refused to visit the family shrine. That was a very unusual act, which might be taken as a serious insult. The fact that the sanctuary was more than that—was the center of a mystery—might help a little, or perhaps it made things even worse, for he had probably declined a very rare honor.
Eleal was no stranger to late hours and odd sleep patterns, but this was the middle of the night. The soup had been hot and delicious. Embiliina had insisted on tucking her into her chair with loads of blankets. She was feeling woozy.
"What did they think I could do against a goddess?” T'lin said, rolling his green eyes. “Did they think I was crazy?” He was very large. Although he sprawled at ease, legs and arms spread, his size and beard and black turban were daunting in that kitchen. His sword lay within reach. “They did not even know where missy was. I threw them out, and they went away on the mammoths."
Kollwin Sculptor had stripped down to a threadbare, well-washed yellow cotton smock and battered old leather leggings. He sat hunched forward on his chair, leaning meaty forearms on his knees, mostly scowling at the range but sometimes at the dragon trader. His arms and his feet were bare. Such informality was surprising and perhaps deliberate. Although he could not match T'lin for sheer bulk, he was a broad, thick man, and he was showing he was not intimidated by his visitor.
Two enormous green eyes kept watch through the window. Dragons looked ferocious, but they were pretty harmless usually.
Gim was still so jittery with excitement that he could barely sit still. His mother kept telling him to stop fidgeting. He, too, had stripped off his fleeces, losing half of himself in the process. In cotton smock and woolen leggings, he was all long limbs and grin. His resemblance to the god in the crypt was astonishing, but his bare arms showed that he needed to fill out yet; the divine artist needed a few more years to produce a perfect replica of the model.
Eleal wondered sleepily what his trade was. His hand had been smooth and he lacked his father's brawn, so he was probably not a sculptor, and yet he retained the family name. He was certainly old enough to be apprenticed to something, though.
"The next morning I had two more visitors,” T'lin said, “and those two they told me a god wanted me to get involved! How, I asked them, is a man ever going to earn a living in this city?"
Gim grinned and ran a hand through his golden curls. Yes, he was even more handsome than Golfren Piper and he would make Klip Trumpeter look like a gargoyle. Eleal wondered sleepily if he had any talent for acting. Even now he would be a natural as the Youth in the tragedies! She must offer to give him lessons. That idea was amusing, except he seemed to have forgotten her altogether. He would be regarding her as a mere child, of course. She would have to demonstrate her maturity.
What more could she do to impress him than climb down a wall in the dark on a rope?
"Madness!” T'lin grumbled. “They wanted to borrow my favorite dragon for a kid who didn't know Whilth from Chaiz!"
"What persuaded you?” Embiliina Sculptor asked quietly. She was the only one of the group who seemed at ease, playing the role of hostess beautifully, passing around homemade biscuits. There was no hint of worry in her eyes.
Had Eleal's mother been as pretty as she? She had never had a chance to be motherly.
T'lin grunted. “I needed peace and quiet to earn a living. Besides, I was sure the brat would break his neck and I could trust Starlight to come home to me."
Gim grinned again.
"Why didn't you ride him yourself?” Eleal asked.
T'lin's green eyes registered horror. “Me? I'm much too heavy for escapades like that. Obviously Holy Tion had chosen a racing jockey for the task. To be honest,” he admitted ruefully, “and you know I am always honest, Jewel of the Arts, I did not expect such success. I thought it was suicide."
Gim chuckled with delight.
"What if the temple guards had caught him, though?"
T'lin stroked his copper beard complacently. “Then I would have denounced him as a thief to get my dragon back."
Gim's jaw dropped.
A sour smile crossed his father's face. “You hadn't thought of that? You'd have been hanged!"
"But it worked,” T'lin said in disgust. He fixed his cold green gaze on Eleal, and she started at his frown. “I came here to trade dragons and I have earned the enmity of the senior divinity of the city! I must leave quickly and never return.” He gripped the arms of his chair with his big hands. “The priests and guards will be scouring the streets already. Well, you have her, Sculptor. I have done my part. I must go!"
For a moment Eleal toyed with the idea of staying in this cozy family kitchen forever—forsaking drama and travel ... becoming one of this kindly family.... It did have a certain appeal in her present condition, but she knew that it was not going to happen.
"Not so fast,” Kollwin growled, eyeing her. “Now we need to know why! Why did Eltiana want this girl so badly? Why has Kirb'l Tion snatched her away? And what on earth are we supposed to do with her now she is here? Explain, Singer!"