expedition standing here.”
“Take my arm, then. The walkways may be slippery. I know better than to try to talk you out of this, but at least I shall beg you to be cautious.”
“I won’t fall.” She took his arm nonetheless and was glad of it when he opened the door. A wind curled into the room, full of damp and chill. “If it’s blowing like this under the trees, what is it like out on the river?” she wondered aloud.
“Worse,” Reyn replied succinctly as he closed the flimsy door behind them. “And no, you won’t fall, because I won’t let you. But be cautious in more than that. Please, do not let the Council excite or upset you.”
“If anyone becomes excited or upset, I’ll wager it will be them,” Malta replied sanguinely.
It was early afternoon, but it was winter and perpetually dim this far under the canopy of the great trees. Reyn held her arm tightly as they ventured along the narrow path from their tree branch to the main branch. When it joined a wider way on a thicker tree limb, she felt him relax. He was native to the Rain Wilds and its tree-built communities. She had come here when she was almost grown and felt she had adapted to it well. Usually she moved confidently even on the narrowest paths and when crossing the swaying bridges that connected the neighborhoods of the tree cities. But in these last few months, the burgeoning child in her belly had unbalanced her normally slight body. She held Reyn’s arm firmly, unabashedly claiming his aid and protection. They’d suffered four miscarriages since they were wed; she would take no foolish misstep out of pride now!
The tree-house city, typical of all Rain Wild settlements, spread out in every direction around her. Above her in the higher branches dangled the smaller, flimsier houses of the poor; deep in the shadowy depths below her where the tree limbs were thick and sturdy, she looked down on mansions, warehouses, and the sturdy walls and windows of the Rain Wild Traders’ Hall. Yellow lamplight lit those windows from within.
The Cassarick Rain Wild Traders’ Hall was the newest Trader Hall to be built, and there was still some grumbling among the Rain Wilders about its independent stance from Trehaug. For years, there had been only one Rain Wild Traders’ Hall, and that had been the one in Trehaug. The Rain Wild Traders and the Bingtown Traders had been two halves of a whole, united by a shared history of hardship. With the opening of the new Trader Hall in Cassarick, younger sons and lesser Trader families had come suddenly into more power than they’d ever had before. The politics were still settling. Greed and the need to be decisive had put a sharper edge on their Traders’ Council. Malta did not entirely trust them to hold to the old Trader standards of equality and the absolute enforcement of signed agreements.
She saw that she and Reyn were not the only folk bound for the hall, and by this Malta judged that the word had spread of the
Wind gusted against them, flapping her cloak and tearing leaves from the surrounding trees. Sturdy railings of woven vines edged the path they traveled. Beyond their safety, she saw only thick branches, dense greenery, and small houses dancing in the wind as they dangled from the trees’ great branches like peculiar fruit. The unseen marshy ground was a long fall below them. She gripped Reyn’s arm and let him lead.
Leftrin had deliberately taken his time. He’d gone to the bird handlers first, and there sent off the messages that had been entrusted to him before he’d left Kelsingra. It had cost him more than he’d expected. Some sort of bird sickness had put message service at a premium. Some of the birds would have a short flight. Several of the keepers had chosen to send messages back to Trehaug to let their families know they were safe. There had been two death notices to send as well. Greft’s and Warken’s families needed to know what had become of their sons. Greft had been a trial to the captain, but his death was still a tragedy and his family deserved to be first to know of it. Last, he had posted Sedric’s and Alise’s missives to their families in Bingtown. All the way downriver to Cassarick he’d agonized over the wisdom of sending those. He’d urged all of them to be circumspect in what they told people about Kelsingra and how they had arrived there, but he had not read any of the messages. By the time this day was over, people in Cassarick would know as much as he intended to tell them, and message birds would be flying in all directions. Best to see that the messages from his friends had a chance of reaching their families first.
By the time he reached the ship’s supply store, he’d acquired several followers. Two small boys tagged at his heels, loudly announcing to anyone they encountered that this was Captain Leftrin, back from his expedition. This led to handshakes and questions that he courteously refused to answer. One young man, probably a gossipmonger, had trailed him for some way, peppering him with a score of questions, only to be frustrated by Leftrin’s insistence that he would report first to the Council. One other, a man wearing a long, hooded gray cape, had hung back and not spoken to him at all but followed at a more than discreet distance. Once Leftrin was aware of him, he took care to remain so. The man was a stranger, and in the brief glimpses the captain had had of him, he did not move with the easy familiarity of the treetop born. He was no Rain Wilder. Dread uncoiled in Leftrin’s chest as he speculated about just who the man might serve.
At the ship’s supply, Leftrin ordered the preserved foods and basic necessities that would restock his ship’s larder. Oil, flour, sugar, coffee, salt, ship’s biscuit. . Bellin’s list seemed endless. He also bought every sheet of paper and bottle of ink that the store possessed, as well as a stock of new quills. He smiled as he did so, imagining Alise’s pleasure at this trove. He asked that all the supplies be sent immediately down to the
By the time he left the store, his legs ached. Walking the deck of his ship and even hiking the meadows around Kelsingra did not prepare a man for the many vertical climbs of a Rain Wild city. He took a lift down to the Council Hall level, paying the tender with his last coin as the man’s basket passed his own in transit. As he drew near to the Council door, he recalled that the last time he’d come here, Alise Finbok had been on his arm. It had been in the early days of their acquaintance, when his infatuation with her was dizzyingly new. He thought of her shiny little boots and her lacy skirts and smiled a bit sadly. Her finery had dazzled him as much as her ladylike ways. Well, her lace had gone to tatters and her boots were scuffed and worn now, but the gracious lady inside them prevailed as if wrought from iron. He suddenly missed her with a pang more powerful than hunger or fear. He shook his head at himself. Was he a mooning adolescent, to be so thoroughly engrossed with her? He smiled. Perhaps he was. The sensations she woke in him were wilder and sweeter than any other experience in his life. And once he was paid, he anticipated buying little luxuries and dainties to take back to her. The thought put a wider smile on his face.
When he pushed open the door to the Traders’ Hall, he was greeted with light and the murmur of voices and warmth. Braziers burned in scattered locations throughout the room, contributing heat and the sweet smell of burning jalawood. Light came from another source, the tethered globes that floated within the hall. Elderling artifacts unearthed from the buried ruins at the foot of Cassarick now illuminated the meeting place of the humans in a flagrant display of wealth. For a moment, he imagined the surge of greed that would be stirred if he spoke of an Elderling city that stood intact and virtually untouched. His eyes went to the tapestry of Kelsingra that hung on the wall behind the Council dais. Alise had once used that tapestry to prove to them that their destination had existed. And when he told the Council that its gleaming walls still sparkled in the sunlight? His smile tightened.
Tiers of benches surrounded an elevated dais. Several dozen people had claimed seats; it was not exactly a packed gallery, but it was a lot of people to have gathered spontaneously for an unannounced meeting, and more were arriving behind him. All the seats at the Council table on the dais were already occupied except for one. Selden Vestrit’s seat was empty, as it had been the last time he’d been here.
But Malta the Elderling had taken her place at one end of the front row of audience seats. Her husband, Reyn Khuprus, sat beside her. All around the Elderlings, seats had been left empty. Leftrin wondered if it were out of respect or avoidance. Reyn and Malta were not dressed glamorously, but their simple clothing was well tailored to them and in colors that glorified their scaling. Reyn wore a long jacket of dark blue buttoned with gleaming silver buttons over gray trousers and soft black boots. Malta wore a choker of flame jewels that gleamed yellow against the delicate scaling of her throat. Her soft white overtunic was long, to her knees, and her brown-gold trousers
