She recognized the stripes of a captain on his lapels. He was a handsome man, quite tall with slender shoulders. He grinned at her. “Going somewhere, my lady?”
“Yes, thank you.” She could feel his hand hovering just behind the small of her back.
“Can I help you find where you’re going?” His hand brushed her ass gently. She turned toward him, a welcoming smile on her face, and punched him in the nose.
He reeled back with a high-pitched squeal, fumbling at his face. “Aii! Pit, woman!” Surprise turned to anger, which quickly progressed to fury. He wiped his nose with one sleeve, looking down at the trickle of blood on his cuff, then reached for his belt. “You made a mistake, lass.”
Nila realized that mistake just after her knuckles connected with his nose. She was in a foreign camp – she had no companion or chaperone, and she didn’t know the least thing about Deliv social mores. What’s more, this man had the stripes of a captain on his lapel. This wasn’t the Adran army – he was most likely a nobleman and could cause all sorts of trouble for her.
“No,” she said, advancing as her mind raced. Nothing to do now but follow through. “I’ll teach you a lesson, you ingrate. I’m looking for the Deliv cabal. If you touch me again, I’ll put that hand so far up your ass, you’ll be able to scratch your own nose.”
The Deliv captain retreated several feet. He visually searched her up and down, glancing repeatedly at her bare hands, looking for evidence that she was a Privileged. She could see his mind working for several moments, as if he was weighing his odds. Finally, he said in a nasally tone, “They’re sequestered just to the east.”
“Thank you.”
She turned her back on him though every instinct told her not to, and began heading in the indicated direction. This was another part to play, she reminded herself. No more dangerous than the parts she played for Lord Vetas. She was a lady, a Privileged, and she had to demand respect.
“Watch yourself, lass,” the Deliv’s voice called to her.
She wanted to make a rude gesture, but she thought perhaps that was beneath the dignity of a Privileged.
The Deliv cabal, it turned out, was not hard to spot. Immense tents of white and Kelly-green rose just beyond the next rise. While not as high as the tent belonging to the Deliv king, these were far wider and more numerous, with dozens of chambers seemingly interconnected by cloaked avenues to keep the Privileged’s comings and goings shielded from common eyes. The whole area was cordoned off from the rest of the camp by a fine green ribbon tied at intervals to tall wooden posts. Each post was covered in Deliv script and arcane symbols, which Bo had taught Nila enough to recognize as wards – and the warnings that accompanied them.
She followed the ribbon around to the south until she found an opening. Deliv cabal guards – immense men with broad shoulders, gleaming breastplates, and spiked helmets – stood at attention with muskets shouldered.
She stepped between them, only to find her way immediately blocked by those muskets.
“Step back,” one of the guards said in heavily accented Adran, the words laced with menace.
She did.
Neither of them so much as looked at her. Glancing from guard to guard, she extended one foot slightly, only to watch the tips of their musket barrels slide back across her path. It seemed like something out of a comedy play.
“I’m looking for Privileged Borbador,” she said, pulling her foot back.
Neither of the men responded.
“He’s an Adran Privileged. He was taken to your healers just two nights ago.”
Again, nothing.
“I’m here from Field Marshal Tamas. This is an important query,” Nila ventured. If invocation of Tamas’s name meant anything to the cabal guards, they didn’t show it. “Is there someone I should see?” A cold sweat broke out on the back of Nila’s neck. Did these men even know who Bo was? Had Bo reached the Kez cabal alive? The possibility that he had died on the way crept into her mind and she felt a rising panic.
What did she have to do to be allowed admittance to the cabal? She needed answers. Maybe if she set fire to their shoes, they wouldn’t be able to ignore her any longer.
A quick glance at the polished bayonets of the guards, and she imagined that setting their shoes on fire would be a quick path to a disemboweling. She raised her hands. A demonstration of some kind seemed to be in order. There was nothing else for her to do. She still didn’t know how to wield her powers. Without Bo she might as well go back to being a washerwoman.
“What do you want?”
Nila nearly jumped out of her skin. A woman had approached from behind one of the guards. Her caramel skin was lighter than most of the Deliv and her face was long but beautiful, with high cheekbones and a narrow chin. Her spine was straight, her head held high, and her hands were clasped at her waist, clothed in runed Privileged gloves.
“Make it quick,” the woman said impatiently before Nila could answer. She didn’t look at Nila’s face, but rather over her head, as if Nila herself was worth little more than a cursory glance.
“My name is Nila. I’m looking for Privileged Borbador.”
“He’s not seeing anyone.”
Nila swallowed, her throat dry. “I’m…” She stopped herself, a warning dancing across the back of her mind. “Careful with any Privileged,” Bo had said, not long after discovering that Nila didn’t require gloves for her sorcery. “They detest change. Any change could bring the upset of their unrivaled power among the Nine. If a member of a rival cabal discovers your unique ability before you’ve learned to defend yourself, you may wind up being cut apart by Privileged surgeons in a dank room somewhere.”
“I need to see him,” Nila finished.
“You his whore?”
She nearly choked on this. “Excuse me?”
The woman’s eyes narrowed and she seemed to look at Nila for the first time. “Bo’s been letting himself slip. Your skin’s too pale and you’re too short. By Kresimir, his tastes have gotten worse.”
“I’m here from Field Marshal Tamas,” Nila said, biting her tongue. “I need an update on Privileged Borbador.”
“Don’t lie to me, wench. One of Tamas’s men was here an hour ago. Pit, you must be new. Bo’s always liked the clingy types more than he should. He’s still alive, if that’s what you’re asking. If he still wants you, he’ll find you in a couple of weeks. If he doesn’t, you won’t hear from him again. I suggest you go spread your legs for some Adran officer to occupy your time.”
Nila was near bursting. How could this woman, Privileged though she was, speak to her in such a manner? Even when she was nothing more than a laundress, the lord and the lady of the house had never been so contemptuous, and Lady Eldaminse had hated her.
The Privileged waved one gloved hand in dismissal. “If you come around here anymore, I’ll make sure he never sees you again.” There was no malice or threat in her tone of voice. It was just a statement, as casual as a cook might speak of cutting up a chicken. She turned around and strode off without another word, leaving Nila looking for something, anything, to say to her back.
Nila’s hands clenched and unclenched behind her back, and she snatched them to her sides before she caught her dress on fire. She took a step forward, only to find two muskets blocking her path again.
“You should go,” one of the guards said, a note of sympathy in his voice.
Nila whirled on the ball of her foot and stalked away, wondering if she had the power in her to set fire to the whole damned cabal pavilion before they knew what was happening. A “whore,” that Privileged had called her! Spreading her legs for an Adran noble? She could feel the blue flames dancing on her fingertips, and balled her hands into fists.