r better than I like you.”
I couldn’t blame him. “Why’s that?” I asked.
“She’s the one who snuck oranges into our sack. We didn’t even know they were there till we got home.”
I had turned then and watched as Kazi helped a Vendan woman lift a tub of water. I thought back to the first time I had ever seen her.
I paid for those oranges. You and your bunch of thugs were too drunk to see beyond your own inebriated noses.
Maybe she did pay for them. Maybe she didn’t. She was right; I’d been too fuzzy-headed to be sure of what I saw. But I’d never stopped to wonder what happened to those oranges.
Orange trees would grow well in the valley too.
For when the Dragon strikes,
It is without mercy,
And his teeth sink in,
With hungry delight.
—Song of Venda
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
KAZI
“Hurry up, Synové!”
She was still scrubbing her face and hair in the river. She’d had an unfortunate incident with horse dung. She’d fallen face-first into a large warm pile, and everyone in camp heard her screams. While we were sympathetic, Wren and I were ready to go, and an unwritten rule of the Rahtan was to be on time. Always. Eben and Natiya had made us pay for it dearly when we were late for drills. We were supposed to leave at dawn with the others. I felt like Griz, impatiently shuffling from foot to foot.
“Next time keep your eyes on where you’re going, not on the artwork,” Wren said. We didn’t know for sure what had distracted her—she refused to say—but we had a good idea.
She stomped out of the river, dripping with water, indignation, and utter nakedness, far beyond caring who gazed upon her beautiful curves. She jerked on her clothes, the fabric sticking to her wet skin, and then proceeded to comb and tightly braid her long hair, checking it often, making sure no trace of horse dung was left.
When we were finally on the trail, a good half-hour behind Jase and the others, we talked about the surprising progress made at the settlement.
“Caemus told me Jase was sending a teacher,” Wren said. “He already gave him the money for it. A big bag of gold coins, but there was blood on them. Caemus wondered—”
Synové wrinkled her nose. “Blood?”
“Jase nicked his thumb this morning,” I said. “Maybe he was still bleeding when he counted out the coins.”
Of all the unexpected things the Ballengers had done—the root cellar, the extra homes, the supplies—the teacher probably filled us with the most wonder. Our schooling had started late, not until we came to the Sanctum. We were eleven. Before that none of us could read a single word. Most Vendans couldn’t. In six years of training, we had learned to read and write in two languages—Vendan and Morrighese. It was grueling, as much of our time spent with a pen and a book as with a sword. At times, we had railed against it. Pauline and the Royal Scholar were demanding teachers, but it was the queen who made fluency a requirement of the Rahtan—and Rahtan was something we were all determined to be. I had struggled with the studies, my frustration often bubbling over. Until I learned to appreciate the quiet, puzzling world of words, I couldn’t see the point, but never did I see the point more than when I composed the letter to the queen, carefully molding the words Gunner had already written into ones that would send a different message to the queen: Ignore this letter.
I know you’ve been busy with travel.
The queen hadn’t traveled in months. She was unable to travel and knew I didn’t expect her to.
Bring golden thannis as a gift of goodwill.
We only gave the bitter purple thannis as gifts. The sweet golden thannis was deadly. It had nearly killed her father.
Our kind hosts deserve this honor.
Confirmation that they were not to be trusted.
We’re settled in at Tor’s Watch, taking in every aspect.