Page 12 of Among the Burning Flowers
CE 1003
Triyenas lay in the depths of Afelayanda Forest. It was home to seventy people, who lived beyond the law of the Saint. Now and then, it harboured outsiders, who sought it for distance from the authorities.
No map showed Triyenas. Few knew it existed. Liyat had told Melaugo about it, having learned the story from a friend in the region. A young man had been caught with an idol of Fruma, that old metalworking god of the mountains. Eluding the pyre, he had fled into the vast forest, where he had noticed strange runes on the trees and followed them to a tiny village. He had hidden there for twenty years, until his face and name were forgotten.
A legend passed between lawbreakers. A place that would turn a blind eye to them, where they could escape the constraints of society. Melaugo had not been sure it existed until she laid eyes on it, weeks after leaving Aperio.
She dripped with sweat as she approached the wooden alehouse, thatched with rye straw, at the edge of the village.A few people gave her nods as she passed. A week ago, they would have forced her back into the trees without pity, but now she was their culler. She was useful.
Inside the alehouse, she looked around slowly, counting fifteen villagers, all talking in low voices as they ate. It had been months since she had been this close to so many people.
And there was Captain Gian Harlowe, sitting among them.
He sat in a dark corner, holding an earthen cup. As usual, he wore silver cufflinks and a jerkin of silk brocade. It was a wonder nobody had robbed him on the mountain roads that wound into the forest, but the icy stare and raw-boned face must have kept the thieves at bay. The woman serving drinks was clearly fascinated. She had probably never seen real brocade.
When Melaugo stepped into his line of sight, Harlowe scoured her with his gaze. She wore the best of her three wrinkled shirts, and boots so worn the soles were peeling off with every step.
‘Estina,’ he said. ‘Dare I ask how you are?’
‘First,’ Melaugo said, ‘you will tell me how the fuck you found me.’
‘Liyat.’
Damn her.
‘Sit down,’ Harlowe said in Yscali. ‘From the looks of you, I’m amazed you can stand.’
Melaugo obeyed, noting the trencher of food on the table. She imagined the faults he was counting: her brittle hair, her dull and sunken eyes, the number of times she had darned her own clothes.
‘Liyat is a day or two behind me,’ Harlowe said.
Melaugo looked up. ‘She’s coming?’
‘She needed to find another horse first.’ He gave the villagers a scathing look. ‘I had to give these churls a quarter of my food, just so they would do me the great honour of fetching you.’
‘There is always a price here.’
‘Aye.’ He interlocked his fingers, showing a sapphire ring. ‘Not quite the haven from the tales, is it?’
Melaugo pursed her lips.
‘Drink this,’ Harlowe said. ‘You sound parched.’ He slid a cup towards her, full of the pine milk she had seen the villagers making. ‘I’ve never known Yscalin so hot. Not in the spring.’
‘Loosen just one fastening on your shirt. You’ll feel better.’
‘Don’t sauce me, Estina. What do you think you’re doing in Afelayanda Forest?’
‘I am surviving, Harlowe, and I will thank you to leave me to it.’
‘How long have you been here?’
‘Three months.’ She wrenched her gaze from his meal, back to his stony face. ‘I assume Liyat told you what happened in Perunta.’
‘Suylos did. Liyat told me she took you to Aperio.’
‘I would have gone to the cove, but Suylos cut me loose. He didn’t want me near him.’
‘Yes, because the comptroller wants you locked in a gibbet. You were a liability to Suylos,’ Harlowe said, ‘but you could have blended into another city, even with that hair of yours.’ He leaned towards her across the table. ‘So why draw attention to yourself by culling, Estina?’
