we promised him,’ she said in a small voice. Inside her was a sort of agony. It had meant so much to her that Wintrow was a priest, offered up to Sa. Not all boys who were offered were accepted. Some were returned to their parents with the thanks of the monastery, but a polite letter explaining their sons were not truly suitable for the priesthood. Wintrow had not been returned. No, he had been cherished from the very beginning, advancing swiftly to his novice’s brown robe, transferred from the outlying monastery at Kall to Kelpiton monastery on the Marrow peninsula. The priests did not often send reports, but those she had received had been glowing. She kept them, tied with the gilt ribbons that had originally bound them, in the corner of her clothing chest.
‘You promised him,’ Kyle pointed out. ‘Not I. Here. Let me up.’ He disentangled himself from her arms and bedding to rise. His body was like carved ivory in the moonlight. He groped at the foot of the bed for his night robe and then dragged it on over his head.
‘Where are you going?’ she asked quietly. She knew her comment had displeased him, but he had never left her bed to sleep elsewhere before.
He knew her so well. As if sensing her worry, he reached down to smooth her hair back from her face. ‘I’ll be back. I’m just going to go check Althea’s room, and see if she’s in yet.’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t believe her foolishness. I hope she doesn’t make a spectacle of herself in Bingtown tonight. When she has a few drinks, she’s capable of saying almost anything. Scandal is the last thing we need right now. The family must be seen as stable and united until we get these financial problems under control. Any wild talk from Althea, and we could find our creditors panicking, thinking they should get what they can out of us while we’ve got it. Ah, well. We’ve had enough worries and grief for tonight. Try to go to sleep. I’ll be back in a few moments either way.’
For a long moment, Brashen feared she was going to refuse his offer of escort. Althea wove slightly on her feet as she blearily appraised him. He returned her gaze evenly. Sa, she was a sight! Her hair had come loose and sprawled across her brow and shoulders. Her face was smeared with the day’s dust and her own tears. Only her dress marked her as a woman of quality, and its dishevelled condition made it look like someone else’s cast-off. Right now, he thought sourly, she looked more like a doxie looking for a tumble than the proud daughter of a Bingtown Trader family. If she attempted to walk home alone, anything might befall her in the wildness of the night market.
But in another moment she sighed loudly. ‘Aye,’ she said, and with another heavy sigh she took his offered arm. She leaned on him heavily, and he was glad he had jettisoned his sea-bag earlier in the day. The tavern keep holding it for him knew him well, and he had parted with several small coins to ensure its safety. He did not like to think of how much more coin he had spent following her from tavern to tavern. More than he had meant to, true, but not as much as he would have ordinarily spent on a night out on the town. He was still almost sober, he reflected. This had been the most depressing first night back in home port that he had ever spent. Well, it was nearly over. All he had to do was get her safely home, and then the few hours between the stars and dawn would be his to spend as he wished.
He looked up and down the street. It was ill-lit with widely spaced torches and all but deserted at this hour. Those who were still capable of drinking were within the taverns, and everyone else in this quarter would be passed out somewhere. Nevertheless, there would be a few rogues who’d lurk down this way, hoping for a drunken sailor’s last coin. He’d be wise to go carefully, especially with Althea in tow.
‘This way,’ he told her and attempted to lead her at a brisk pace, but she almost immediately stumbled. ‘Are you that drunk?’ he asked her in annoyance before he could curb his tongue.
‘Yes,’ she admitted with a small belch. She stooped so abruptly that he thought she was going to fold up on the boardwalk. Instead she tore off first one and then another heeled and ribboned shoe. ‘And these damned things don’t help a bit.’ She stood and flung them both out into the dark street. Straightening, she turned back to him and took his arm firmly. ‘Now let’s go.’
She made her way much better barefoot, he had to admit. He grinned at himself in the darkness. Even after all the years of doing for himself, there was still some of the strait-laced Trell in him. He’d felt a shudder of horror at the impropriety of a Trader’s daughter going barefoot through the town. Well, given the rest of her condition, he doubted it would be the first thing anyone noticed. Not that he intended to troll her through the market as she was; he’d keep to the less-travelled streets and hope they met no one who could recognize them in the darkness. That much he owed to the memory of Ephron Vestrit.
But as they came to an intersection, she tugged at his arm and tried to turn toward the bright streets of the night market. ‘I’m hungry,’ she announced, and she sounded both surprised and annoyed, as if it were his fault.
‘Too bad. I’m broke,’ he lied succinctly and tried to draw her away.
She stared at him suspiciously. ‘You drank all your pay that fast? Sa’s ass, man, I knew you were a sot in port, but I didn’t think even you could go through coin that fast.’
‘I spent it on whores,’ he embellished irritably.
She appraised him in the flickering torchlight. ‘Yes. You would,’ she confirmed to herself. She shook her head. ‘Nothing you wouldn’t do, is there, Brashen Trell?’
‘Not much,’ he agreed coldly, resolute on ending the conversation. Once more he tugged at her arm but she still resisted.
‘Lots of places there will give me credit. Come on. I’ll buy for you, too.’ She had gone from judgemental to effusive in one breath.
He decided on a direct tack. ‘Althea. You’re drunk and a mess. You’re in no condition to be seen in any public place. Come on. I’m taking you home.’
The resistance went out of her and he led her docilely along the semi-dark street. They were in an area of smaller shops here, some of an unsavoury nature, others incapable of paying the high rent of a night market location. Dim lanterns shone outside those that were still open for business: tattoo parlours, incense and drug shops, and those that sated the more unusual cravings of the flesh. He was glad that trade was paltry tonight. Just when he thought that the night’s trials were over for him, Althea drew a long shuddering breath. He realized she was weeping, all but silently.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked her wearily.
‘Now that my father’s dead, no one will ever be proud of me again.’ She shook her head blindly, and then blotted her eyes on her sleeve. Her voice was choked when she spoke. ‘With him, it was what I could do. With all of them, it’s how I look, or what others think of me.’
‘You’ve had too much to drink,’ he said quietly. He had meant the words to sound comforting, to mean that such things would only bother her when she was drunk and her defences were down. Instead they came out sounding like another condemnation. But she only bowed her head to it and followed him docilely, so he let it be. He was certainly having no luck at making her feel better, and honestly he was not sure that he wanted to make her feel better, or had any responsibility to do so. So her family had condemned her. Could she speak to him and forget how completely cast out from his kin he was? Only a few weeks ago, she had thrown that in his face. It wasn’t fair of her to expect sympathy now that the tables were turned.
They had walked some way in silence when she spoke again. ‘Brashen,’ she said quietly in a serious voice. ‘I’m going to get my ship back.’
He made a noncommittal noise. There was no sense in telling her he believed there was absolutely no chance of that.
