Miguil held the reins in a causal hand, hardly paying attention to the streets. His eyes were bleary. Ōbhin felt the same heaviness. Last night had left his mind circling with questions. Why was Ust here? Had he seeded the rumor to test the estate’s defenses? It would go against the Boss’s commands, but Ust simmered with jealousy.
Part of Ōbhin wished he’d just killed Ust. I’ve killed better men. The world would do better without him staining it. He’d humiliated Ust. There would be consequences. Not that Ōbhin feared the man’s abilities.
Dje’awsa frightened Ōbhin. What does he want with you, Carstin?
A squeal of delight burst from the street urchins. It drew Ōbhin’s attention from his thoughts. He glanced back to see Avena leaning out the carriage window, her brown braid, wrapped in a mauve ribbon, swaying down the side of the door. She tossed out brass glimmers, the cheapest denomination of Lothonian coins. The glittering pennies were snatched up by the children’s dirty fists.
“They’re going to hound us all the way through the neighborhood,” muttered Ōbhin as the road bent to go around a swelling hill.
Miguil grunted. “She’s got too much heart.”
Ōbhin glanced at the groom. The handsome youth sat stiffly now, shoulders erect. Ōbhin sighed. Jealousy was an ugly thing. If he knew a way to allay Miguil’s suspicions, he would. The girl was besotted with the youth. His fine features, almost womanly, must draw more than a few maid’s eyes. Certainly hers.
“Miss Avena!” the children began calling. “Miss Avena.”
More coins flung out to their cheer.
“Every time?” asked Ōbhin.
Miguil nodded. “A pain when she’s not with us. Dualayn indulges her. Likes helping people, he does. Fixed my pa’s arm when he got scaled working at a cannery. Thought he was going to lose it. Dualayn charged a glimmer. ‘How can you drive my carriage if you’re worried about your father?’ he said.” A smile crossed his fine lips. “Better than most.”
“Different from most,” Ōbhin noted.
“We’re all different.”
Ōbhin glanced back down the carriage. Avena had closed the sliding panel. The carriage was fine craftsmanship, hardwood stained a dark, deep red, and a leather roof that could be removed for summer days. Large wheels were bound in iron. A pair of dun-hued horses drew it, not the heavier drafts pulling the wagon following them. Smiles lounged on its bench, handling the reins in a loose grip.
Angle Road held a mostly northeast bearing towards Kash, diverting only to skirt the hills that gave the Breezy Hills slums their name. Ōbhin saw nothing breezy about the place. The smoke from the factories stained the air a sickly yellow as it lingered overhead. His eyes burned like he sat on the wrong side of a campfire.
Traffic swelled the farther they went. Soon, they left behind Breezy Hills and entered the Roida Slums. Here, blond foreigners peered out of windows at the flow of traffic. It was mostly men who were marching down the street. Ōbhin noticed the purpose in their strides. These weren’t men slouching to work. Backs were straight, almost marching. Most had green or white cloths tied about upper arms or wrapped around their felt hats. A few wore scarves. Those who had the blue moved in tight, nervous knots.
“What’s going on?” Ōbhin asked, straightening. “A festival today?”
“Nah,” Miguil said. “Heard the high refractor is giving a sermon on the burdens of taxes. King and Parliament signed an increase on grain tax. Bakers are furious, and there’s a new tax on canned goods. Hard winter damaged the roads, or so the rumors say.”
“In Blue lands, right?” asked Ōbhin, beginning to understand.
Miguil nodded. “Where else would King Anglon pave?”
Ōbhin leaned over and rapped on the carriage’s side. A moment later, Avena’s head popped out the window, the collar of her high-necked, light-blue dress just visible. “Something wrong?”
“Maybe this isn’t the best day to go into the city.”
She glanced at the crowd. “Because of the high refractor’s speech?”
“Yes. Whoever he is, a lot of angry men are going to see him.”
She blinked shocked eyes. “Whoever the high refractor is . . . ?”
Embarrassment flushed Ōbhin’s cheeks. Her tone made him feel like a dunce asking why water was wet.
“He’s the head of the Church, Elohm’s chief prism on Earth. He can interpret the Colours and guide us to Elohm’s will. His word holds a great deal of sway.” She shook her head. “You’ve never heard of him in Qoth?”
Ōbhin held back what Qothians thought of stuffy Elohm. “No. Still, this could be dangerous.”
“It’s just a homily,” she said. “He’s a holy man. He’s not going to incite a riot or anything.”
“Dualayn hired me to guard you all. I think we can go tomorrow.”
She sighed and ducked back inside. Ōbhin couldn’t hear the discussion. He glanced at the men they passed. They squeezed out of the way of the carriage, dark gazes following them. The undercurrent of discontent itched his shoulders.
I wish I had a green or white rag . . .
Avena’s head re-emerged. “Dualayn says we must continue on. It has been too long since he’s been to the hospital. It’ll be fine. It’s in the Southern District. It’s a much nicer part of Kash than . . .” Her cheeks pinked. “Oh, dear, that sounds terrible, but . . .”
Ōbhin chewed on his inner cheek as he glanced ahead. The walls of Kash loomed closer.
