Anger was going to make her do something stupid, she knew it—and Jes would be no help at all. Where was Tier when a diplomatic word was needed? She could have left it to Hennea, but the younger woman had already been seen as weak: if she had to prove herself there would be blood shed here.
“One of your boys decided it was a good game to throw mud at a woman who was doing him no harm,” said Seraph. She should have stopped there, but she couldn’t abide bullies. “Obviously he was poorly raised; he has no manners.”
“Poorly raised, Traveler bitch?” he snarled. “Who are you to say so?”
Jes, Seraph noticed gratefully, had taken her at her word and dampened the fear he generated. Fear fed anger, and might make the man do something more stupid than he otherwise would. Of course, she herself would have to control her tongue or risk pushing the man too far anyway. She knew, even before she spoke, what choice she had made, throwing away years of iron-willed control and prudence.
“Indeed.” Seraph kept her tones polite, even though she knew that would inflame the man more than if she yelled. “It seems that they were not the only ones who were ill-taught.” She paused for effect and then borrowed Jes’s whispering technique. “Didn’t your mother teach you that bad things happen to people who annoy Travelers?”
She didn’t know if she wanted to scare him away, or force him to attack her. She’d assumed she’d long ago buried all this anger at the solsenti who hated and needed the Travelers. But all it took was a bit of mud to prove her wrong. The anger that flooded her felt good, even cleansing.
Whatever she’d wanted to gain by her threat, the people from his group who’d begun to gather around forced him to act rather than run. Perhaps if she had been a man he could have backed down and not lost face.
Perhaps if she didn’t have a full bag of mermori to remind her how dangerous it was when solsenti began to lose their respect for Travelers she would have given him a graceful way out.
“Have a care, Seraph,” said Hennea in Traveler.
The man took another step closer. He was a big man, but Seraph was used to looking up at people and a few inches more didn’t make much difference to her. “Your man should have taught you respect for your betters, whore,” he said on the tails of Hennea’s words.
Seraph held her tongue. A raised eyebrow and a speaking look at him did the job nicely: You? My better? I don’t think so.
He raised a hand. Gura sank a bit, ready to defend her and she could hear the sheath of Tier’s sword rattle as Lehr readied himself to draw it. She still might have let him hit her but for Jes breathing heavily beside her.
With a word and a breath of power, she froze his arm in place.
When she smiled at the crowd of solsenti, several of them backed up hastily. She had the feeling that her victim would have backed up, too, but he couldn’t move his arm from where it was stuck.
“What’s going on here?” said an authoritative voice—and a young man pushed his way through the crowd.
Ash-pale hair in a waist-length braid announced his Traveler bloodlines as well as a written sign. Soon he had a wide circle around him.
“Look by the road, Mother,” whispered Jes.
Seraph looked, and sure enough, there was an entire Traveling clan waiting on alert.
Silence had fallen, mostly because the solsenti group hadn’t yet noticed the Travelers beside the road and didn’t know what to make of a man whose arm hung unmoving in the air.
“Well,” he said again, “What goes on here?”
“I am Seraph,” she said. “Raven of the Clan of Isolda the Silent. This one’s half-grown sons offered insult to my young friend. We were discussing the issue.”
The stranger tilted his head at the man’s arm. “Interesting discussion?”
“No,” said Seraph. “I was almost finished. If you’ll excuse me a moment.” She turned to the man. “I have no more patience with you. I curse you and your sons that if you ever hit a woman or child, you’ll lose the use of that which men value most. Now go.”
She released his arm and met the eyes of the few solsenti inclined to linger.
The stranger waited until they were gone before he started laughing. “I’m no Raven, but even so I could tell there was no magic to power that curse.”
She smiled. “It doesn’t need magic, does it?” If any of them ever hit a woman or child they’d remember her words and worry about it. Worry could achieve the effect she wanted more easily than magic.
“Who are you?” asked Jes, breaking into the shared moment.
“Ah, my apologies, sir. I am Benroln, Cormorant and Leader of the Clan of Rongier the Librarian.” He bowed shallowly. “If we may join you in your eating we might exchange stories.”
“Come and be welcome,” agreed Seraph.
There was a fair bit of confusion as the Clan of Rongier organized a meal stop and the solsenti group packed hastily and left, most eating the remains of their meals in one hand while they started out.
The fear on their faces didn’t bother Seraph nearly as much as the catcalls that came from the Librarian’s clan. Her father would never have stood for such a thing, but Benroln was young, and perhaps he felt much the same as the young people who teased the solsenti. Still there were older heads about, and Seraph thought that someone should have said something.
A glance at the clan’s wagons and clothing told her that having a young leader hadn’t hurt the clan materially, even if their manners had suffered. Their clothing was without holes or mending and their wagons were all freshly painted.
Seraph’s small family stayed close to her as the strange clansmen laid out food and attended to the chores of meal preparation. Doubtless the boys were intimidated by the foreign tongue and sheer volume of noise so many people set to a single task could make. Seraph finished the last of her meal as Benroln approached her with three other men.
“Seraph, this is my uncle, Isfain,” he said, indicating the eldest of the men. “My cousin, Calahar” was a young man with unusual raven-black hair. “Kors” had reached middle age and middle height with slightly stooped shoulders.
“This,” continued Benroln, “is Seraph, Raven of Isolda the Silent, and her family. This young man here is Eagle.”
The older man Benroln had introduced as Isfain smiled. “Well blessed in the Order your family is. Will you introduce them?”
There was nothing in the words they spoke to raise Seraph’s suspicions, but there was just a little extra stress in Benroln’s voice when he named the Orders. That stress had been answered with a thread of smugness in Isfain’s voice.
Seraph bowed her head. “This is my son, Jes, Eagle. My son Lehr, and my friend Hennea.” No one had ever accused Seraph of being a trusting soul. She couldn’t hide the Orders Benroln had noted, but there was no need to share information unnecessarily. Time enough to clear the matter up if necessary once Seraph knew more about the Clan of Rongier.
“May I inquire how it is that there are so few of you?” asked Kors diffidently. “I had heard that the Clan of Isolda the Silent fell to the sickness years ago.”
Seraph nodded graciously. “Only my brother and I survived. When my brother died we were left without kin.” Two decades of living with solsenti had not lowered her awareness of the disgrace of what she had done—so she lifted her chin, daring any of them to comment. “I married a solsenti man and we lived with him and his family until he died this spring. His relatives turned us out—but they did not know that he had investments in Taela. We are headed there to recover his monies.”
The men considered what she told them. For a Traveler to marry or even lie with solsenti was expressly forbidden. It happened, but a very strict clan leader could punish the offender with banishment or death.