The woman fed on the remaining snake with evident gusto, grunting in pleasure as she chewed and swallowed. “A man of unending talents indeed,” she said when finished, grease shining on her lips. “What a fine husband you’ll make.”
They struck out in a north-easterly direction before the sun grew too hot to permit travel. A shallow rain pool nestling in a shaded crevice amidst the rocks provided a decent supply of water, though the going was hard due to the meagre sustenance of the last few days. A day and a half of slogging through the scrub brought them in sight of the coast, the woman judging them a good twenty miles north of Alpira.
“The port of Janellis lies another half-day north,” she said. “We’ll need to do some stealing, now that we’re just beggars in rags.”
Frentis hadn’t stolen anything of true value since his days as a pickpocket on the streets of Varinshold, the thievery he had been encouraged to indulge in during his time at the Order House had been much less lucrative in monetary terms. It transpired his childhood skills hadn’t deserted him, a few hours wandering the streets of Janellis netted two full purses and a decent collection of jewellery, sufficient for new clothes and a room at a suitably unremarkable inn. They were husband and wife again, newly wed and in the flush of marital bliss, seeking a ship to the northern ports to visit relatives. The innkeeper recommended a merchantman due to depart for Marbellis the next morning.
“I was expecting more of a reaction,” the woman mused that night, lying next to him. Her using had been gentler tonight, she had kissed him for the first time, trying to make their intimacy a reality he supposed. The binding forced him to reciprocate, to kiss and caress, hold her close as she shuddered against him. Afterwards she entwined her legs with his, fingers smoothing over the hard muscle of his belly.
“The wife and son of their fallen Hope die in a fiery calamity,” she said. “And not a voice speaks of it.”
Frentis willed the itch to return, to bring back the wonderful liberating agony that had allowed him to move, to be a man who saved rather than killed. He was careful to keep the truth from his thoughts, calling up images likely to provoke guilt and despair in an effort to mask the true outcome of their mission. The farmhand, the innkeeper, the boy staring up from the bed . . .
“Perhaps the Emperor has stifled the news,” she wondered. “Sparing his people the shock of it. First the Hope, now this, just as he’s about to announce a new Choosing. Not that there’s anyone to choose now that bitch is dead.” She giggled a little, sensing his surprise. “I’m afraid I wasn’t entirely honest, darling. It wasn’t the boy’s name on the list, it was his mother. He was just my little lesson for you. No, she was the prize, the one name that had to be struck through, Emeren Nasur Ailers, the Emperor’s choice as the new Hope, future Empress of the Alpiran Empire.” She lay her head on his shoulder, voice fading as sleep took her. “Doesn’t matter who he chooses now, all hope is gone . . .”
The voyage to Marbellis took another eight days, all the time playing the loving young couple for the merchantman’s crew. They were a cheerful lot, given to ribald jokes and unsolicited advice concerning Frentis’s husbandly duties, although his meagre Alpiran forced him to limit his responses to embarrassed laughter. In their cabin at night, when she was done, he would use the limited freedom allowed him to explore the scar where the itch had burned. There was a definite change in the texture now, the smoothness more discernible, and he had a sense it might have grown in size. But still no itch, no freeing surge of pain. Grow, he implored continually, trying to keep his frustration in check lest she sense it.
They docked at Marbellis with the morning tide, exchanging farewells and a final bout of raucous banter with the sailors as they descended the gangplank. “Right.” The woman turned to survey the city beyond the quay. “Time to find some scum.”
Like all ports Marbellis had districts where wise feet didn’t tread. In Varinshold it had been the entire western quarter, here it was smaller, a cramped slum of listing terraces clustered around the warehouse district. As they walked the streets evidence of the Realm Guard’s occupation was still plain in the gaps in the terraces and patches of ash-blackened wall. The bustle of the docks and the liveliness of the people told of a city that had healed a great deal in the years since the war, but the poorer recesses still showed the scars of battle.
“They say a thousand women or more were raped when the walls fell,” the woman commented as they passed a hollowed-out shell that had once been a home. “Many of them had their throats cut afterwards. Is that how your people celebrate victory?”
I wasn’t here, he wanted to say but stilled his tongue. Here or not, doesn’t matter. Every soul in the army was stained by Janus’s war.
“Ah, guilt for the crimes of others.” She wagged a finger at him. “Won’t do, my love. Won’t do at all.”
She chose a wineshop in the darkest alley they could find, ordering a bottle of red with a conspicuous display of coin then settling down to wait at a table facing the door. Several patrons, mostly men in various states of dishevelment, got up and left in the few minutes following their arrival, leaving them alone save for a man sitting in an alcove, the smoke from his pipe pluming in the shadow.
“Always go for the one who lingers in a place like this,” the woman advised, lifting her wine cup to the man in the alcove and offering a bright smile. “He’ll have the keenest eye for opportunity.”
The man took another puff on his pipe then rose and sauntered over to their table. He was short, wiry but with a fighter’s face, displaying several gaps in the teeth he bared in a mirthless smile. Although Frentis judged him to be from northern climes he spoke to the woman in Alpiran.
“I speak the Realm’s tongue,” she replied. “And no, I have no need of five-leaf, thank you.”
The man inclined his head. “Ah, so it’s the redflower you’re after.” His accent was thick and familiar, Nilsaelin. He pulled a chair over to sit down at the table, helping himself to wine. “Available, but expensive. Not like the Realm here. The Emperor thinks redflower a great evil.”
“We’re not looking to buy any . . . amusements.” She gave a furtive glance around the shop, dropping her voice. “We need passage to the Realm.”
The wiry man sat back in his chair, grunting in amusement. “Good luck to you. Alpiran ships don’t dock there any more. You may have heard. There was this small matter of a war, y’see.”
The woman leaned closer, voice soft and intent. “I have heard there are . . . other ships for hire. Ships not so bound by the Emperor’s strictures.”
His face lost any vestige of humour, the eyes narrowing. “Dangerous talk, from a stranger.”
“I know.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “We need to be gone from here. My husband . . .” She nodded at Frentis. “He is from the Realm, we met before the war. Things were so much easier then, our union was blessed by my parents, but now.” She put a sorrowful expression on her face. “The years since the war have been hard for us, shunned by family and neighbours alike. In the Realm though, perhaps we’ll find a welcome.”
The wiry man raised his eyebrows, giving Frentis a long look of appraisal. “From the Realm, eh? Whereabouts?”
“Varinshold.”
“Yeh, I can hear that in your voice. What brought you to the empire? You look more a soldier than a merchant.”
“A sailor,” he said. “Started as a cabin boy when things got difficult in the quarter. Needed to leave.”
“Difficult how?”
“One Eye.”
“Ah.” The wiry man drained his wine cup. “A name I know. Y’heard he died years ago now?”
“Yes. I didn’t weep.”
A faint smile twisted his lips. “I might have a name or two for you. But it’ll cost.”