"I'm sorry. Really. This can't be easy for you."
"Half the time, it's like I'm not even here. They talk about finding a wife for you from one of the other septs, about how your arrival here means so much to them all."
"It seems that some of the women have been kind to you."
She nodded. "Some of them have. But I'm starting to suspect that the ones who are nicest are the ones who have been concubines themselves. And they're kind to me right up until I insist that I'm not just your concubine. As soon as I say anything to that effect, they grow cold, distant." A bitter smile touched her lips. "It seems like I'm better off playing along. Maybe I should help them find you a wife."
"I have a wife."
She looked at him. "No, Grinsa, you don't. I know that you love me, and I love you, too. But the fact is we were never joined. With all that happened in the turns before we left the Forelands, we never found the time. And even if we had, I'm not certain that it would count for much here."
He felt a tightness in his throat. "What are you saying?" he asked.
She smiled at what she saw on his face, and kissed him softly on the lips. "Nothing terrible. I may not be a Weaver, but I'll fight with every bit of strength and magic I have if they try to take you away from me. I'm just saying that we're going to have to tread carefully here. We might even have to play along for a time, let them think that you're open to being joined."
"Cresenne-"
She held a finger to his lips, then kissed him again. "It's all right. We can do this. Just for a little while, just long enough for us to figure out how to get away. It might be the only hope we have."
"That all sounds fine for me," he said. "But what about you? Can you bear being treated as a concubine for that long?"
"I'll manage it." She shrugged, a small grin lighting her face. "I may have to convince some other Weaver that I'd be willing to become his concubine. Just to keep up appearances, of course. Although the men here are very handsome."
Grinsa smiled. "Is that so?"
She nodded, giggling as he started to kiss her neck.
"If you ask me," he said, "they're just short."
Her eyes sparkled in the candlelight. "They're tall enough."
He kissed her again, and this time she held him, kissing him back deeply.
"We'll get out of here," he whispered, as she nestled against him and closed her eyes. "I'm not sure how yet, but we will."
"I know," she said, sounding sleepy. "I just hope we can find a way to leave without making the Fal'Borna our enemies. I have a feeling that would be dangerous."
The next few days were much like their first among the Fal'Borna. As time went on, and they were accepted into the community, they came to feel less like curiosities. Several of the women made clear to Cresenne that she was expected to work with the rest of them at various tasks, be it tanning rilda skins, or grinding wild grain into meal for breads, or gathering roots and greens from the small copses that covered the nearby hills. Other women with young children, even those with babes younger than Bryntelle, left them in the care of some of the girls who were not yet old enough for such work, and they told Cresenne to do the same. At first, she later told Grinsa, she was reluctant, but seeing how happy all the children appeared to be, she eventually relented.
For his part, Grinsa was not expected to do any labor. Instead, the other Weavers expected him to sit with them outside the a'laq's shelter, smoking pipeweed and watching as the other men and women of the sept went about their daily tasks. The idea of it troubled him and at first he demurred, offering to help some of the other men, who were stretching finished skins over wooden poles for a new shelter. He quickly realized, though, that he was merely making these men uncomfortable and actually hindering their efforts. After just a short time, he returned to where the other two Weavers sat.
Neither of them said anything to him as he sat back down, and that suited him fine. He didn't much feel like talking. He could only think how eager he was to get away from this sept, indeed, from all of the Fal'Borna. More to the point, he had nothing to say to the two young Weavers. Though others in the sept had attempted to win his friendship, these two, Q'Daer and L'Norr, had not. Instead, they'd been hostile, as if Grinsa had given offense in some way and they had yet to forgive him. It hadn't taken Grinsa long to realize that they were jealous of him. While others in the sept were eager to welcome another Weaver into their community, seeing his arrival as a boon, Q'Daer and L'Norr saw only a new rival who, because he was older, and perhaps because he came from a distant land, might eventually form a close bond with the a'laq. On the one hand he would have liked to assure them that he had no interest in remaining here long enough to pose a threat to their standing. But it had also occurred to him that having the a'laq's closest advisors eager for him to leave might help him do just that.
As he returned to the a'laq's shelter, the Weavers were speaking of nothing in particular, at least nothing that interested him. They seemed to be reminiscing about a previous hunt. After a time, though, they fell silent. For several moments, they just sat there. Then Q'Daer, the first Fal'Borna Grinsa and Cresenne had encountered, turned to him, a puzzled look on his tanned, chiseled face.
"Why do you do that, Forelander?"
Grinsa didn't even look at him. "Do what?"
"Deny what you are. We tell you that Weavers do not labor with the others; that your place is here by the a'laq's z'kal. But you don't listen. You go off and try to do common work anyway, and I'd imagine that all you did was get in the way of the others. I doubt they even spoke to you."
"They spoke to me," he said, which was true, though in fact, the men had said precious little. They'd been courteous to a fault, but beyond that, they hadn't spoken at all, not to him, not to each other.
"You had an actual conversation with them?" Q'Daer asked. "What's your point?"
"Simply this. You are a Weaver. Whatever that meant in the Forelands, it means here that you are one of the select, chosen by Qirsar to be a leader among the Fal'Borna." He raised a hand, as if anticipating an argument. "And before you object, this is by no means unique to our clan. The J'Balanar, the Talm'Orast, the T'Saan, the M'Saaren and A'Vahl-nearly every clan in the Southlands treats its Weavers so."
"Nearly every one?"
He shrugged. "The B'Qahr may not. To be honest I don't know. They're a strange people-even if the a'laq consents to let you leave us, I'd suggest you avoid them. Unless you're hopelessly wedded to the sea and its ways."
The brief hope Grinsa had felt at the mention of this clan faded, leaving him discouraged. Joining a clan of sailors would be just about the last thing Cresenne would want.
L'Norr was watching them, listening to their exchange, but saying nothing. He and Q'Daer could have been brothers, so much did they resemble one another. They had the same rugged good looks, bronzed skin, long hair, and clear eyes that all the Fal'Borna men seemed to have. But as Grinsa sat with the two men now, it occurred to him that there should have been women here as well.
"I thought Fal'Borna Weavers were only joined to other Weavers." Q'Daer nodded. "That's right."
"So neither of you is joined yet."
The man straightened. "Not yet. But L'Norr here has a concubine already, and… and U'Vara, the a'laq's eldest child, who is just coming into her power, shows signs of being a Weaver. Before long, she'll be wed to one of us." He offered this last as if a challenge. She's ours, he seemed to be saying, though Grinsa sensed that it had yet to be decided which of the two men would be joined to her. He gathered as well that this last question was a matter of great import, certainly to Q'Daer, and most likely to L'Norr, too.