see.'
Haughty annoyance flashed across the young priest's face. He waved a finger at her. 'You shouldn't talk that way to the son of a noble house, girl.' Without another word, he splashed angrily away.
Furious with herself, Larajin waded back to the edge of the main pool. Ignoring the towel Jeina offered, she jerked her slippers onto her feet, then picked up her cloak and strode out through the temple's main door.
She'd gone nearly two blocks before she noticed that her arms and legs were no longer stinging. Stopping, she untied the bandage on her wrist, and found to her amazement that the bite there had completely healed.
As she walked toward Kremlar's perfume shop, Larajin clutched her cloak tightly around herself. The sun was just rising over Selgaunt's eastern wall, and snow drifted down out of a leaden gray sky. Larajin pushed the thoughts of Diurgo out of her mind. Unlike him, she would complete her quest. Today, no matter what foul creatures lay in wait for her in the sewers, she would sneak into the Hunting Garden and rescue the injured tressym.
She was nearly at the shop when someone hissed at her from an alley. Instantly on the alert, Larajin poised herself to run. When she saw the person who beckoned to her from the shadows, she faltered to a stop.
It was as if Larajin were looking into a mirror. The woman was in her early twenties, and wore the turban, vest, and serving dress of the Uskevren household. She had the same height and slender build as Larajin, and the same angular features. She even stood with the same awkward posture, aping Larajin's surprise. Then she winked and pulled off the turban to reveal short, dark hair.
'It's me: Tazi,' the double said. 'Pretty good disguise, don't you think?'
'Mistress Thazienne,' Larajin gulped. 'Why are you dressed in a servant's uniform?'
'Call me Tazi,' the mistress said: a reprimand that had become automatic between them. She chuckled. 'I was just having a little fun. Remember the day when I caught you in my room, dressed up in leather armor and posing in front of the mirror? You looked so much like me-aside from the clumsy way you held my sword-that it gave me an idea. I wanted to see if I could pass as you.'
Larajin blushed, embarrassed to be reminded of her transgression. She'd always admired Mistress Thazienne for her boldness, and when Larajin had set out after Diurgo, she'd pictured herself an adventurer like the young mistress. In the wake of her one adventure's disastrous ending, Larajin was even more aware of the vast gulf that separated the two of them. Thazienne, she was certain, wouldn't have even blinked at the malformed rats in the sewer.
Which reminded Larajin of the injured tressym.
'I have to go,' she said, glancing up the street in the direction of Kremlar's perfume shop.
Thazienne's playful expression instantly sobered. She caught Larajin's arm. 'Not that way,' she said. 'There's three elven gentlemen just up the street that I don't think you want to meet-much as they'd like to make your acquaintance.'
Larajin's eyes widened. 'Is one of them a wild elf?'
Thazienne's eyebrows raised in surprise. 'You've run into them before?' she asked. 'They look like pretty tough customers. They nearly succeeded in grabbing me-and I'm a pretty slippery eel. What do they want with you?'
'I don't know,' Larajin said with a shiver. 'Maybe they're members of a rival house who want to kidnap an Uskevren servant.'
Thazienne shook her head slowly, her green eyes sparkling. 'I don't think so,' she said. 'I understand a bit of the elven tongue-enough to have overheard one of them say, 'Is it her?' and the other answer, 'She's the one. I could smell it.' It's you they're after, Larajin.'
Larajin glanced around fearfully. 'Where are they now?'
'I pretended to run away, but then I followed them. They're lying in wait outside your friend's perfume shop.'
Larajin didn't know which surprised her more: the fact that the young mistress knew about Kremlar, or that the wild elves knew her movements.
'You shouldn't go back to Stormweather Towers either,' Thazienne advised. 'Is there some other place else you could lie low?'
Larajin thought for a moment, then nodded. 'I could go to Habrith's,' she said. 'Or do you think they'll be waiting for me there, too?'
A strange look crossed Thazienne's face; it was almost as though she knew something Larajin didn't. 'Habrith's bakery should be safe enough,' she said. 'Go there now. I'll distract the elves and lead them back to Stormweather Towers, so they'll think you're there.'
Larajin felt a rush of relief. 'That's very kind of you, Mistress Thazienne.'
'Think nothing of it-I haven't had this much fun in tendays,' Thazienne said. She winked. 'And for gods' sake, call me Tazi, would you?'
Larajin peeked out the window of Habrith's shop at the busy intersection. Wagons rumbled past, shoppers hunched along through the snow, and nobles in all their finery rolled past in glass-enclosed carriages, high above the dung-splattered slush in the street. She saw Kremlar stride past under a multicolored snow parasol, followed by a servant of the Soargyl family who was laden with boxes of Kremlar's perfume samples. But there were no other figures she recognized-and she was especially relieved to note there were no green-cloaked elves in sight.
'I don't understand any of it, Habrith,' Larajin said, letting the curtain fall. 'I'm not my parents' daughter, and now there are elves trying to kidnap me. Wild elves.'
Habrith must have heard the faint note of disgust in Larajin's voice. 'Elves have their place in the world, just as humans and dwarves do,' she gently chided. She waved away a customer who had come to buy bread and hung a 'Closed' sign on the shop door.
Larajin wasn't listening. 'What are they doing in Selgaunt, anyway? Wild elves are too simple and shy to cope with city life. That's why they hide in the forest. They have no use for money, the elder master says. Nothing to spend it on. Why would they want to ransom me?'
'It's not ransom money they're interested in.'
The certainty of Habrith's tone caught Larajin's attention. She stared at Habrith. The baker was in her late sixties-older than Larajin's mother-but though her face was wrinkled, her hair was still a rich nut brown. She wore it in a simple braid down her back. Her clothes were fashionable, but a little on the plain side. In a city where even peasants decorated their bodies with enough adornments to attract a flock of greedy crows, Habrith's only adornment was a silver crescent moon pendant, worn on a leather thong around her neck.
Habrith's philosophy-'simplest is best, and all ingredients in balance'-was reflected in her shop. She was known throughout the city for her bread. While other street bakers and household cooks, including Larajin's mother, cut and shaped their bread in intricate patterns, Habrith's product was simple, square loaves, shaped like the pans they'd baked in. But the tastes… that was where Habrith excelled. She made loaves using ingredients even Larajin's mother hadn't heard of.
Shonri and Habrith had been rivals, back before Larajin was born, and for a time there had been a war of loaves in the Uskevren household. Over the intervening years they'd developed a close bond, based on their shared love of their craft. Habrith, who seemed to embrace Larajin's own thoughts on the foolishness of fashion, had become like an aunt to the girl.
Now Larajin wondered how much Habrith really knew about her. The baker hadn't seemed one bit surprised when Larajin had told her that Shonri and Thalit weren't her parents.
Habrith seemed to have heard Larajin's thoughts. 'I know who your mother is,' she said.
'You do?' Larajin asked, startled.
Habrith nodded. 'I've been waiting for the right moment to tell you. Now it seems that moment has been forced upon us. I just hope you're prepared to listen.'
'I am,' Larajin said, jumping down off the counter she'd perched upon. 'Tell me!'
