“Mari was telling me about the Endurance! I'd love to see it.”
“It goes on all night, why don't we go up and see after you've eaten? It'll come down the Corkscrew after the Slipway anyhow, much closer to here…I can't imagine how they'll keep those carts from running away and ploughing through someone's house.”
“You're here to see Kessligh?” Sasha asked her, chewing on some bread.
“No, you,” Rhillian said mildly. And smiled at her. “You seem surprised.”
Sasha shrugged in exasperation. “Everything's so political these days. I hadn't thought you and Kessligh had finished your business.”
“We haven't.” Rhillian picked a prawn off Sasha's plate. “But even the ‘White Death of Petrodor’ needs some time to relax every now and then.” She said it with a faint edge. It was what the rich men of Petrodor's highest families called her, Sasha knew. The “White Death of Petrodor.” Rhillian was, by human reckoning, the most powerful serrin in the city. By serrin reckoning…well, serrin did not view things in such simple, hierarchical terms. But she had great ra'shi, the serrin term for respect and credibility, through all Saalshen. Serrin had no kings or queens, or anything that might say “power” to a human. Kessligh said that Rhillian was perhaps one of the ten most powerful serrin in all Rhodia. Which was about as precisely as anyone had managed to explain what Rhillian actually was, to Sasha's memory.
A handsome young man sauntered between Rhillian and the steaming pan of seafood. “Please, my most beautiful lady!” he exclaimed. “I cannot allow you onto our dock without savouring our hospitality! You must accept some food!”
Rhillian considered him with an elegant tilt of the head, chewing on the tail of Sasha's prawn. The young man was game-he barely even flinched as those green eyes found him. “But I've eaten,” she said.
“A drink, a drink for the beautiful lady!” said the young man, in search of whoever now had the wine jug. Quickly a cup was filled, and placed in her hand. Sasha grinned, watching the serrin's dismay.
“Who is that young man anyway?” Rhillian asked as he moved away to pester some other attractive woman. Sasha drained her own cup, and took Rhillian's so she could eat.
“I think he's a Malrini,” she said. “There's at least thirty families just in this little block, I'm still learning them.”
“Petrodor is so crowded,” Rhillian agreed glumly, taking another prawn. Her voice felt strained, having to half shout over the top of it. “I'm not obliged to have sex with him now, am I?”
Sasha laughed. “That's up to you. I'm sure he wouldn't complain.”
“Even I must draw the line somewhere, I suppose.”
Sasha considered Rhillian with amusement. “You know, you're nothing like what I'd been led to expect before I met you.”
Rhillian raised eyebrows at her. “How so?”
“The White Death of Petrodor,” said Sasha, teasing. “Errollyn has so much respect for you when he usually has no respect for anything…” Rhillian grinned, “and the archbishop wets his bed when he dreams of you, and even Kessligh doesn't push you around. But you're not two spans tall and breathing fire. I must say, I'm disappointed.”
“Good,” said Rhillian, around her mouthful. Even with juice dribbling on her fingers and chin, she still managed to look poised and elegant. Catlike, Sasha thought. She'd heard people described like that before. Rhillian was the first who truly matched the description. “Let me tell you a little something about Errollyn.”
“Yes?”
Rhillian licked some juice from her finger. “He's insane.”
Sasha laughed. “You two are impossible! Can't you just call a truce?”
“No seriously,” Rhillian insisted, in a manner that was not serious at all. “I've been thinking on it. Of all the many philosophical inflections of the Saalsi tongue, all the many shades of meaning and description that you're always complaining about…”
“I am not.”
“They all fail to do Errollyn justice,” Rhillian concluded. “He's a raving loon.” She managed to keep a straight face for several heartbeats, before she and Sasha burst into laughter.
Errollyn, Sasha had gathered, was different. A du'janah, they called him, a term which Sasha still did not entirely understand. All the serrin seemed to have great affection for him, and he for them, as always seemed the case between serrin…yet there seemed an unspecified distinctness about Errollyn and his position amongst his own people. All of those who served Saalshen's interests abroad-the talmaad-were direct and straight talking, by the convoluted standards of the Saalshen serrinim, but Errollyn was even more so. Sometimes, Sasha thought, he enjoyed human company more than serrin. And sometimes, she fancied that some serrin, perhaps including Rhillian, found that…disconcerting.
Yet for all their strangeness, Sasha was only too well aware that her new serrin friends were far more at home in Petrodor than she was. She had been here a matter of weeks, Rhillian had been in Petrodor for three years now, and while Errollyn was younger and less experienced, even he was nearing the end of his second year in Petrodor. Saalshen's trading interests in Petrodor were vast, and had deep roots. There had been serrin outposts here for more than three hundred years, it was said. Two hundred years ago, following the invasion of Saalshen by the Bacosh King Leyvaan, Saalshen had expanded its trading range in the hopes of new human allies from other parts of Rhodia. Petrodor, then a simple fishing town, had erupted into unanticipated wealth, size and power. Yet, despite all the serrin had done for the city, its residents were not always grateful.
Some Lisan sailors moved slowly through the crowd, careful not to touch anyone. They had long, dark hair, broad faces and slanted eyes. The swords in their belts were curved, and even their sleeveless undershirts were light skins, to go with their leather pants and hide boots. They stared at Rhillian and Sasha as they passed, with neither friendliness nor curiosity.
Rhillian smiled at them. She waved and called a greeting in the Lisan tongue…Rhillian was not much of a linguist, by serrin standards. She only spoke five foreign tongues, besides all the Saalsi dialects. Amongst the talmaad that was almost retarded. The Lisan stared, expressionless, and moved slowly on.
“Spies?” Sasha suggested, watching them go.
“Assuredly. The families know their own cronies wouldn't be very welcome down here. So they pay the Lisan to come wandering through, knowing the locals can't very well object to sailors on the docks. There's not much the Lisan won't do for gold.”
“You're just so popular with everyone,” Sasha remarked.
“Oh, they're here to watch you at least as much as me,” Rhillian said cheerfully. Sasha didn't like that. “Uma to Kessligh Cronenverdt, the hero of Lenayin, returned to Petrodor to reunite the Nasi-Keth. The families always hated the Nasi-Keth, at least as much as the serrin, possibly more. Demon serrin they expect to fight, but for humans to actually join forces with those demon serrin…well, that's traitorous.”
“That's okay,” said Sasha. “I'm used to wealthy Verenthanes hating me. Makes me feel at home.” A running child thudded into her leg, stumbled, then kept running, oblivious. Another chased her. “Hey!” Sasha called, spilling some of Rhillian's wine on her shirt sleeve. “That was my leg, if you don't mind!” But she was more amused than annoyed. She'd done far worse at that age.
“Human children can't see in the dark either,” Rhillian observed. Her green eyes flashed as the firelight caught them, an inhuman gleam.
“So far I've fallen amongst the commonfolk,” Sasha remarked, shaking wine from her sleeve and examining the stain. “I led the first Lenay rebellion in a century and the Udalyn people pronounced me their saviour. Now just look at these indignities.”