Page 29 of Among the Burning Flowers
‘The Donmata is to be married there,’ Liyat said. ‘I hope she will be happy.’
‘I hear she could do worse than the Red Prince of Mentendon,’ Melaugo replied, ‘but I can’t feel too sorry for her, either way. She lives in obscene luxury without having to lift a finger.’
‘I would not trade places with her. Not for all the world. Imagine it,’ she said. ‘You and I could not be together. Not until one of us bore a child, and even then, it might be forbidden.’
Melaugo had been ready to argue her case, but that reply stopped her.
Liyat led her along an elegant colonnade, where daylight gleamed through archways, reflecting off the Salbon. Pleasure boats lazed through the clear water, surrounded by darting orange fish. Many people wore bright yellow, apricot, or pomegranate red – a sunset of fine silk and linen. Melaugo took the splendour in with mingled wonder and dislike, thirsting for her own hoard of gold, which Lord Gastaldo must have confiscated from her lodgings in Aperio.
They crossed a bridge into the Cloth Quarter and entered an inn called the Golden Pear, where Liyat spoke to a woman in Lasian. Next Melaugo knew, she was in a modest bedchamber with a tiled floor and a door leading to a courtyard, where she could soak up the sun.
‘Thank you,’ Melaugo said. ‘Truly, Liyat.’
‘We will speak about where you go next,’ Liyat said, ‘but for now, you should regain your strength.’
Melaugo nodded. She sat on the bed and breathed in the clean scent of the rushes on the floor.
Liyat came to lie beside her and slid an arm across her waist. The sun fell on to her cheek through the window.Melaugo stroked her windswept curls back with one hand. They both needed to eat, but the ride had been long and hot, and before she could move again, she was sleeping.
****
For days, Melaugo tried to rest. There was a small bathing chamber and a chest for her to store her weapons. She ate in the kitchen at noon every day and stayed out of the other guests’ sight. It hurt to eat too much, even though she was hungry.
On their sixth morning in Ortégardes, she worked her way through a casserole of white cheese, hard-boiled egg and greens, trying not to overstuff her belly, and sipped a black Ersyri drink that made her feel awake. The shutters were ajar, so she could glimpse people going about their business, hear their laughter and the clang of sanctuary bells.
Melaugo took it all in. Even if she could not go outside with the fear of death hanging over her, she could listen to others’ lives unfolding. Surely that was better than Triyenas.
You were meant for more than that.
Get out of my head,she told Harlowe.Out with you, saltworn bastard.
Liyat returned from her walk to the bakery. By then, Melaugo was lying in her room with the windows screened against the burning sun, as most Yscals did at midday in the hot months.
‘Here.’ Liyat presented her with a small package. ‘Your favourite.’
Melaugo sat up and opened it. Inside was a pastry shaped like a cowry shell, the one she had loved to eat in Perunta.
‘Thank you,’ she said, with a tired smile. ‘I missed these.’
‘I’ll get youmyfavourite tomorrow. Orange cake,’ Liyat said. ‘A speciality of Ortégardes.’ She set down two loaves of fresh white bread. ‘It will ruin all other sweet things for you.’
‘I look forward to it.’ Melaugo tore the pastry in half and tasted the almond filling. ‘Any news?’
‘The heralds are still calling your description, even here.’ Liyat walked past her to crack the doors open, letting in a breeze. ‘I see no choice. You must go to Lasia.’
‘I’d sooner risk staying in Ortégardes.’
‘How can you?’
‘I’ll dye my hair and keep my hat on.’
‘That will not be enough.’
‘It has to be.’ Melaugo shifted on the bed. ‘Liyat, think about this. I don’t speak Lasian.’
‘You could learn.’ Liyat hung up her cloak, then started to remove her bandolier. ‘In a few days, you can join a caravan across the marchlands. In the meantime, I will send a dove to my friends and get you a new apprenticeship. Nzene rewards promising smiths.’
‘I don’t want to smith.’
