Mero froze, and Lorryn nodded. Their own work here was well started, the last of the five cities to plant their gardens of discontent in. All of the rest had a flourishing network of tiny shops, human slave-craftsmen silver- plating the Iron People's work and manufacturing the simpler versions, all overseen by a shape-changed dragon sent to them by Keman.
Well, it didn't much matter, not unless Keman managed to recruit most of the dragons from most of the Lairs, before the revolt took place, and that wasn't too likely.
The point was, it was time for Rena to go home.
'You don't have to go,' he reminded her, although anxiety cramped his insides every time he even thought about his mother. She was alive, at least; that much he knew, for he had it confirmed from several sources. Her pretense that her real son had been born dead, and a 'changeling' substituted by the midwife, had been accepted. Her feigned madness had been accepted as well, and had freed her from further questioning. It was a terrible scandal, but no worse than that.
And she had been confined to a single building in the garden, rather than facing the full wrath of her lord and husband—and the wrath of the law, which would permit—no, order—him to execute her for knowingly giving birth to a halfblood.
As yet, there were no rumors to the effect that Rena had escaped with him. In fact, the only rumors he had heard were that her mother's collapse into madness and Lorryn's own betrayal had sent her into a decline. She was said to have taken to her bed and refused to wed Lord Gildor until the honor of her family was redeemed. That was as pretty piece of fiction, probably spread about by Lord Tylar himself.
'I have to go,' she told him earnestly. 'We both know that. I won't pretend that I'm not afraid, but at least he can't read my thoughts—and I will have my own jewelry to protect me if he strikes at me in a rage.'
'But not if he lulls you into thinking that everything is all right, then orders his men to haul you off to some more powerful lord for—' He couldn't say it.
She tightened her lips, and tightened her grip on Mero's hand, but only said, 'That's the risk I have to take. But I'm a much better actress than I was before. I think that I can make this work.'
He sighed, and stepped forward to hug her, freeing one hand to pat Mero's shoulder as the young halfblood showed him the face of pure agony that he would not turn to his beloved. 'If you say you can, I will believe it, sweeting. You are not the silly little girl who used to read romances in the garden, let her birds perch on her shoulders, and then have to hide the soiled gowns from her father in terror.'
'Oh, I'm not so far removed from that as you might think,' she whispered bravely into his ear. 'Just now I have to hide a soiled past, rather than a soiled gown. Rather easier, actually.'
He had to shake his head over that, as he let her go. 'All right,' he replied. 'We'll proceed as we planned in the morning. Right now—I've got to go meet with a few people, then I'm going to go to bed. The transportation spell is going to take a lot out of me.'
He turned and went back out into the hallway without a single backward glance, leaving the two of them alone to make their good-byes however they chose.
And he actually managed to repress his envy enough to wish them both, sincerely, well.
He hadn't told Mero about this meeting; he'd intended to, because he would much rather have had someone to watch his back, but he couldn't bear to steal a single moment of Mero's time from Rena.
This time he was going out into the streets, with the reverse of his guise of a young elven lord. He was out there, after dark, as a human slave.
He kept his eyes on the ground ahead of him and his back hunched, but his neck prickled every time someone looked at him, or seemed to look at him, for more than a heartbeat. He didn't think anyone would be looking for halfbloods among the human slaves, but how could he be sure? He wished that slaves were allowed something like a hood to cover his ears, but he would have to trust to darkness for that.
His nerves didn't stop jumping until he finally reached his goal: a plain storefront with a sign of a green leaf above the door. The place looked closed up for the night, but when he tapped in a prearranged signal, the door opened for him.
He slipped inside and his contact closed the door behind him, quickly, leaving him standing in the darkness, shivering. 'Come into the dispensary,' came a low whisper. 'I can strike a light there that won't be seen from the street.'
He followed the sound of footsteps ahead of him, barking his shin on a bench and holding in a curse. A hand touched his arm, guiding him forward, and then he heard the sound of a second door closing.
A moment later, a lantern flared into life, revealing the man he had been asked to meet, as well as the contents of the room in which they found themselves.
His nose would have told him the contents of the room: herbs, more herbs than he could identify by odor, a mingled aroma of bitter and sweet, fragrant and pungent, and just plain odd. The room was lined with shelves covered with bottles, jars, and little boxes, carefully labeled. There was a waist-high table in the middle, covered with an immaculately white cloth.
His contact was a middle-aged man, balding, with a fringe of beard, and very fit-looking. What hair the man still had was curly and brown, like the beard. The only trouble was, he was fully human.
'I was told you have something,' the man said abruptly. 'Something that—something that blocks elven magic.'
The back of Lorryn's neck prickled afresh. 'Who told you that?' he asked cautiously. 'And—why are you asking?' He'd assumed his contact would be another minor elven lord—and this man's thoughts, like those of many humans, were murky and chaotic with fear. Lorryn couldn't precisely read what his intentions were through the emotions.
But the human surprised him again; taking a deep breath, and steadying his own nerves to the point that his thoughts came clear again. Lorryn almost choked; where had this man acquired that kind of discipline?
'I heard—from your good host,' the man replied carefully, and nothing in his mind contradicted that. 'And as for why I want what you have—do you know what a 'physiker' is?'
Lorryn shook his head, dumbly.
'Elves don't sicken, but humans do, and of course, our mighty masters couldn't be bothered with tending, to a sick slave,' the man said bitterly. 'Nor are they prepared to deal with the sick or the injured in their own dwellings. That is when they call for me—or more often, send the poor sufferer to me. Not that I can do much, but it's better than nothing, and nothing is what they'd get without me. I take care of your host's young ladies, when one of the young lords gets too careless with his toys.'
Lorryn winced at the tone of the man's voice; the suppressed anger and hate alone spoke volumes—he knew, all in that moment, that this physiker had seen things that he simply did not want to know about. Hearing more tales of horror was not going to get his job done any faster—but he would end up with nightmares, and he couldn't afford that right now.
'So—you want protection, because some of the lords—** he began.
The physiker interrupted him with a snarl. 'Not only have they punished me because I couldn't force someone to heal faster than nature would allow so they could get on with their amusements, they've tried to force me to do—things—' He choked, and Lorryn held up his hand in entreaty and resolutely shut his mind against the thoughts that beat against it
'Please,' he begged. 'I'd rather not know; I can see that your need is genuine. Here—' He emptied out his pockets of every pouch he'd brought with him, a total of three. 'Take these; you may know of others who could use them. If—'
He was about to say more, but was interrupted by someone pounding on the street door.
The physiker froze, and so did Lorryn. The pounding stopped, then began again.
'Bryce!' bellowed an angry voice. 'Open up!'
The physiker leapt into action, and shoved at Lorryn, pushing him toward a waist-high basket with a few bloodstained towels in the bottom of it 'Get in there!' he hissed, pulling the towels out and forcing Lorryn to crouch down below the level of the rim, with the three pouches dropped in after. 'Don't move if you value your life!'
