Práta quieted and looked out the carriage at the city around them. Wood painted white with black accents made most of the houses and shops. When she spoke, it was not about the guard captain. “What of our business with Rianaire?”
Socair grimaced at the question. “What else is there but to try again? Their Údar would be invaluable if the girl Inney is anything to guess from. How she can bear to have a half-Drow so close confounds me, though.”
“The small one is half-Drow?” Práta shuddered. “There was something about her. Something odd. But she does not look it.”
“Rianaire swears it’s Spéir’s Gift. Some strange form of it she uses as a mask. It sounded like so much nonsense to me, but then, I’d have said the same of exploded satyr this morning as well. She did not remove it in any case.”
“I’ll be happy to see the end of our time here, I think.” The carriage came to a stop and Práta opened the door as she continued. “It’s far too cold and I’ve experienced more exotic curiosities than I can stomach.”
The inn was pleasant and the room was large and, perhaps most importantly, the attendants kept to themselves. The bath was hot and refreshing, but the rags had been as disgusting a practice as she’d imagined when wiping away the dried blood that still remained in nearly every crevice of her body. Práta had thought to ask for some scented water. It helped remove the stink, she said, though Socair’s nose had ignored it after so long. The jasmine perfume of the water was not so easy to ignore and even as she dressed herself for dinner with Rianaire, Socair sniffed at herself.
“It’s far too obvious. I smell like a damned garden.”
Práta laughed. “Is that so bad?”
Nath had helped her dress and it wasn’t until halfway through that Socair stopped her. She put a hand on Nath’s head.
“You needn’t do anything for me, Nath. You are not a servant.”
Nath put her hand on Socair’s and pulled it down to her chest, squeezing the hand against her body. “No. I wish to. I will do everything for you, Socair. I wish to be everything for you.”
There was an intensity in Nath’s eyes when she looked up at Socair that stopped any reply. She only smiled and Práta interrupted, sending Nath back to her work buttoning Socair into another too-stiff coat.
“The thought of heading farther north does not sit well with me.” Práta had finished dressing and was seeing to their bags. She had taken to keeping them always at the ready after Fásachbaile.
“The snows?”
“Very much the snows. They are light enough here, but I wonder if the Bastion City or Cnoclean aren’t far more covered. It will slow us bad enough as it is.”
“Though it may make me sound a hypocrite, we were sent here with a purpose. We ought to see it out in good faith.”
“You sound as though you’ve warmed to the woman.”
Socair’s last buttons were seen to and she stretched her arms against the unyielding fabric. “She fought the satyr, Práta. Did not blink or shy from them or squeal like an infant. She is capable. And, at the very least, she seemed to be earnest when it mattered. As much as I could do without the rest of her, those things I respect.”
A knock came at the door and Nath saw to it. Inney had come to fetch them. The walk through the town yielded no conversation, Inney offering none of her own and both Socair and Práta too unsure of what to say to a half-Drow to make the attempt. The restaurant was a fine one. Large to the point of excess with ceilings twenty feet high, red velvet chairs, at least a dozen chandeliers, and staff who seemed never to stop moving.
When they arrived, they were escorted to a room at the back, away from the dining area proper. The door opened to find Rianaire nuzzling her stoic attendant. She smiled when her guests came and stood to greet them.
“Nothing ends a strange day quite so well as a lavish meal,” Rianaire said as the wine glasses were filled. “Something with meat in it, I think. How better to celebrate avoiding death than with meat?”
“The satyr were… a surprise. Though we had heard of the attacks, I did not expect one so far east.” Socair looked to Inney. “I am in your debt.”
Rianaire laughed. “A fact she has hardly gone a moment without mentioning since we arrived.” Inney turned sharply to Rianaire but said nothing. The Treorai laughed all the more. “She is intimidated by you, Socair. Jealous, I think. Likely a height issue.”
Socair could not bring herself to take part in the ribbing. “She is more talented than I could ever hope to be.”
“So serious.” Rianaire rolled her eyes. “You two would make a droll pair. A good thing I have Síocháin to keep my spirits up.”
The food interrupted the jest. A first course of small lamb chops crusted with herbs and a root vegetable puree. Rianaire spoke through the course at length about how she had been traveling to replace her Binse and the annoyance of her assassination attempt. She talked about it casually, a manner one could almost call light-hearted. It seemed strange to Socair that she was so unaffected by it.
“Does it not bother you?”
“Spárálaí’s treachery? Hardly. I am more troubled with the interruption to my life that has continued out from it. It is no small feat finding capable help. Again, a pity you will not come and kill people for me instead of Deifir.”
Socair took a bite of her food, hoping that chewing would give her time to think of a reply. She was willing to be forthright with Rianaire inasmuch as she could, but her mind was not always obedient, especially when it came to slights against Deifir. She swallowed the morsel and found that no words had bothered to arrange themselves in her
