She paid for the drink, went back across the alley and handed it to Fate. They started on, wandering in and out of displays, while she described them as well as she could, guiding the older woman’s hands to objects she wanted to experience for herself.
“Well, good day to you, Fate Ravenglass Winter,” someone said behind them
They turned together, recognizing the voice of Capella Goodventure, and the unmistakable coldness in it as she spoke the word “Winter.” The truth about sibyls—that they were not strictly the province of Summer’s Goddess—had not grown noticeably easier for the Goodventures’ elder to bear, even after so many years.
“Hello, Capella Goodventure,” Fate said, with wry resignation, echoing the Summer woman’s formal address but leaving off her clan surname.
“Come to pick up a few handy appliances for your townhouse, Capella?” Tor said, pinched by irritation as she was left entirely unacknowledged.
She immediately had all of Capella Goodventure’s attention, and with it her hostility. “No, Winter. I’ve come to see what new perversions of our tradition are being insinuated into our world in the name of ‘the Change’ and ‘the Lady’s Will.’”
Tor matched her frown. “If you love your summer traditions so much, why don’t you go live on a plantation—or move back to the Lower City, with the rest of the Summers? You like your townhouse next to the palace well enough.”
Capella Goodventure stiffened. “I live where I do because it is tradition that I be near the Lady … in case she ever has need of me. And she chooses to live in the Snow Queen’s palace.” There was bitterness, and something that could have been regret, in her voice.
“So you can keep on interfering in her life, you mean,” Tor said sourly. “Why don’t you face it—not even Summers want to live worse than they have to. There wouldn’t be so many of them here looking, if they did. Even your holy sibyls know that, or they wouldn’t all be working for the Queen.”
“Tor.” Fate reached out to put a restraining hand on her arm. The abrupt gesture knocked over the roseberry juice sitting on the display table. Tor swore as the pink-red liquid splattered onto her pants.
“They work for the Lady because she speaks for our Goddess as Her Chosen . . and as a sibyl,” Capella Good venture said, “and they owe her their service, whatever they may think of the uses she puts it to.”
“Believe that if you want to.” Tor turned away, wiping at her clothing, using the accident as an excuse to go in search of a sponge, or better company.
She went back through the tables and displays toward the main entrance, where she knew she would find Danaquil Lu or Clavally. One or the other of them was always here, overseeing the operation—getting the Winters to think of sibyls as symbols of technological enlightenment, and at the same time reassuring the Summers in the crowd with their presence. They answered technical and personal questions for anyone who asked, with a patience that astounded her. But that, she supposed, was why they were sibyls, and she was not.
She saw Danaquil Lu now, standing with his kinsman Borah Clearwater just inside the entrance.
“Well, rot me, boy, I don’t believe my eyes!” Clearwater was roaring like a klee in rut, as usual. Tor moved closer, wondering what the cantankerous old bastard was complaining about now. Clearwater put his hands on Danaquil Lu’s shoulders, shaking his head “You’re standing straight! It’s a miracle—”
Danaquil Lu shook his own head, smiling with his usual reticence. “No, Uncle, it was surgery. I finally had that operation.”
“Gods,” Clearwater said. “And you survived? They must have gutted you like a fish—”
“No,” Danaquil Lu said, in good-natured exasperation. “That’s why I waited so long, until— Damn it, Uncle, I wish you’d listen when I try to explain these things to you.” He lifted his shoulders in a shrug that would have been impossible three months before; a motion that said he knew further explanation was futile. “Look around you—” He waved a hand at the piled goods and workshops behind him. Tor saw Danaquil Lu’s daughter Merovy, who had been stacking boxes with Tammis Dawntreader, put down her load and step between them. “You see, Uncle Borah,” she said. “I told you it would happen.”
Clearwater looked at her, and at Danaquil Lu. His grizzled beard worked as if he were chewing tough meat. “Well, by all the gods, you look like a miracle to me, Dana … I’m just glad to see you able to look me in the eyes again.” He glanced at Merovy. “I’ll even grant you that someone’s made a difference that matters to me, this time.”
Danaquil Lu smiled and nodded, putting an arm around his daughter, holding tar close before she slipped away. “It’s all the difference in the world,” he said softly.
Where’s Gran Selen? Didn’t she come with you?” Merovy asked. “If she wants to see Tammis and Ariele, she’d better come here!” She glanced at Tammis, who stood waiting, smiling at her, a half-forgotten box in his grip. Her face brightened, becoming beautiful under his gaze, as she saw his expression.
“Well, you know that woman, she has a mind of her own.” Clearwater made a face, his mustache bristling. “Says she doesn’t want to see so much change in one place. Couldn’t convince her to come. Let her spend time with Moon, if she can get it; she gets little enough of that. …”
“So, how are the wind-driven paddles doing for your seahair crop, Uncle?” Danaquil Lu said, pointedly changing the subject.
“Good, good …” Clearwater raised his head, peering into the interior. “You know, Jakard Homestead was telling me something about a new sort of jury-rig that might get my pumps working again. Not that I believed him, but since I’m here, I suppose I might as well take a look at it … just so I can tell him he’s wrong.”
Danaquil Lu led him away, past a laughing cluster of Winter youths. Tor saw Ariele Dawntreader in the middle of them, the unmistakable fog of her milk-white hair drifting around her. She was, as usual, the supremely confident center of their attention, and not simply because she was the heir-apparent of the Summer Queen. At the moment she was letting Elco Teel Graymount wrap himself around her like a squin, her head falling back in melodramatic rapture.
Tor looked away, unimpressed, back to where Ancle’s brother Tammis was helping Merovy with her work. Merovy spent most of her time here, because her parents expected it; Tammis spent most of his time here because of her. But Ariele and her friends were here simply because it was the most stimulating spot in their limited world—just as it was for the other gawking kids who made up nearly half the crowd in the Shop. Tor smiled. “Merovy—” she called. Merovy glanced up. “I need something to mop up a spill.”
Merovy disappeared into the back of the store. Tammis nodded in Tor’s direction, and went back to his work. He was the quiet twin, the thoughtful one, nothing like his sister. He seemed much happier here with Merovy, who was even quieter, than he ever seemed to be when he was surrounded by a crowd, as Ariele was just now.
Tammis looked up again, at the sound of someone’s laughter, and Ariele’s voice called out something to him, unintelligible but rude. He frowned briefly as his sister and her friends moved toward him, and past him. Elco Teel looked back as they passed, and blew him a kiss. “Pass that along to Merovy!” he called and rolled his eyes. Tammis stared after them as they went out into the alley. Tor realized that he was still watching Elco Teel, and not his sister, and the expression on his face was not anger; was not one she would have expected to see at all.