Robin Hobb - Blood of Dragons

Her hand found wood softened with age to the consistency of a sponge; her memory told her it was dark, polished panels embellished with suns and moons. She pushed it open; it scraped over the floor and she stepped inside. After a few steps into the room, the house roused to her and lit unevenly. She glanced around, her memory imposing order on the room’s chaos.

Time had not treated their love nest kindly. All the furniture was long gone, collapsed into wood dust, and the draperies that had graced the wall were now only threadbare shadows. She more felt than saw that Tats had followed her. Don’t hesitate now, she told herself. The archway in the wall led to a hall. She walked hastily, denying the ghosts that plucked at her. That darkened room would have been a bath; that one the bedchamber they had shared. This door at the end of the hall was the one she wanted. The broken slab hung unevenly. She did not think Rapskal had ever come here. She pulled the pieces of wood down and stepped through.

It took a moment to adjust to the reality. The ancient quake had tumbled the back wall of the room into her little garden. Her fountain with the statue of the three dancers was buried under rubble. The ceiling hung in jagged teeth against the sky. Winter storms had rained into her wardrobe, and summer sun had baked the wreckage. Next to nothing had survived in this room. But in her mind’s eye, she could still see it as it had been. There had been expensive paintings and rich hangings on the walls. A little vanity table, the surface cluttered with pots of cosmetics, had been there. An enamelled shelf had held her collection of spun-glass sculptures.

All gone. She reminded herself that none of it was hers, and she could not miss what she had never owned.

She turned her back to the gaping hole in the wall. Her fingers walked over the chill stone of the interior wall. There was the indentation, and when she pressed with three fingers, she heard the familiar click. As the concealed compartment swung open, light blossomed from it. Gleams of yellow and blue reflected on the dusty wall. She leaned forward and looked in. Oh, yes. She recalled it now. Flame-jewels awoke after lifetimes of slumber. She heard Tats gasp, heard him step forward to glimpse the treasure.

Thymara allowed her eyes to linger on it. The significance of each piece swelled forth. The lavender circlet Tellator had given her on their anniversary, the earrings of topaz that he had brought her when he returned after nearly a year’s absence … She pushed back at the memories, reached into her pouch and took out the softly shining moon-pendant. A last time she looked at it. Tellator had worn a matching one, a gleaming golden sun. She had seen it often against his naked chest, felt its press against her breast when they made love.

No. She had never felt that.

Thymara lowered the pendant into the hidden compartment, let the fine silver chain slither in after it. A moment longer she stared at the mementos of another woman’s passion. Another woman’s life. Amarinda’s. Not hers. Gently, she pushed the drawer back into alignment with the rest of the wall and heard it latch.

She turned back to Tats. ‘I’ve finished,’ she said quietly.

Puzzlement showed on his face. ‘What were you doing? Is that where you keep your—’

She shook her head and turned away from it. As she led the way back through the hallway she said, ‘No. As I told you, I’ve never been here before. I don’t keep anything there. I was just returning something that wasn’t mine. Not ever.’

In the dimness she reached out to find his hand waiting for hers. Together, they walked out into the night.

‘It’s a different world,’ Alise said.

‘It’s my world,’ Leftrin asserted quietly. ‘The world I know best.’

She looked up at the small houses perched in the branches overhead. In a few more minutes, they’d be at the docks of Cassarick. She had resolved that once they tied up she would disembark and confront her old life. She’d go with Leftrin to the Traders’ Hall, not just to confirm his stories that dragons had left Kelsingra to attack Chalced, but to stand before the Council and demand her wages. She would go with Leftrin when he informed them that he had Chalcedean captives to transfer to their custody, be with him when he handed both Trader Candral and his written confession over to Trader Polsk, head of the Council.

Several hours ago, the small fishing boats that plied the river had discovered Tarman. Some had shouted greetings and questions, while others had stopped their fishing and now trailed behind them. At least two of them had raced ahead of them to spread the word that the Tarman was returning. Leftrin had responded to each of them in an identical manner: a smile, a wave, and a toss of his head toward Cassarick. Alise knew their curiosity would be boiling over. There would be many questions and interest in every detail.

With every passing tree trunk, she held tighter to her resolution to face it all squarely. It was time to stop running away, time to prove she had begun a new life on her own terms. As she looked up at the more numerous houses they passed, folk were coming out to point and shout to one another. She had expected their arrival to stir interest, but not on this scale.

‘I’m not sure I belong here any more,’ Alise said quietly.

Tillamon came out on deck and advanced to stand by the railing next to her. Alise glanced over at her. She had gathered her hair back from her face, and then pinned it to the top of her head. Every scale on her brow, every wattle along her jaw-line was bared. She wore an Elderling gown that was patterned in gold and green. Matching slippers shod her feet. Earrings dangled beside her pebbled neck. She answered Alise’s smile with, ‘Hennesey and I are going with Big Eider to visit his mother. Then I’m taking Hennesey to Trehaug to meet my mother and little sister.’

‘And your older brother?’ Alise asked her teasingly.

Tillamon only smiled wider. ‘Bendir will, I think, be pleased for me. At first. When he and mother discover that I’ve decided to live in Kelsingra when I’m not travelling on Tarman, they’ll fuss. But once I tell them that Reyn has gone off to Chalced on a dragon to destroy the city, they’ll probably forget all about me.’ She smiled as she said it, and added, ‘For years, Bendir has used our younger brother to distract mother from his ventures. Now it’s my turn.’

Leftrin grinned, but her words had turned Alise’s mind to the dragons and their mission.

‘I wonder if they’re there yet,’ Alise ventured.

Leftrin took her arm. ‘There’s no point in worrying. We won’t know anything until they come back. For now, all we can do is take care of our own business here. And we’ve plenty of that.’

‘What do you think will become of them?’ Tillamon nodded toward the Chalcedean captives. They sat on the deck, glumly watching Cassarick draw closer. A length of anchor chain was coiled in a circle, and each man’s ankle was manacled to it. Alise had not witnessed the ‘incident’ that had led to that drastic solution. She had awakened in the dark of night as Leftrin sprang out of bed and raced out of the door. An instant later, she heard shouts and impacts, flesh on flesh and bodies on wood. By the time she had flung on clothes and followed the noise, it had all subsided. A furious Skelly was helping Swarge drag out chains while Big Eider sat at the galley table, head bowed and barely conscious, with a cold wet cloth on the back of his head. Bellin stood, feet spread wide, with a fish club in her hand, glowering at the Chalcedean captives. Several of them showed the marks of her club, while Hennesey, with blood running over his chin, sported a brass fid for mending lines. The former slaves had stood alongside the crew, one of them holding an obviously damaged fist to his chest. The look of satisfaction on his face made little of his pain.