The Horsemen's Gambit

Chapter 17

For several days after she spoke with E'Menua, Cresenne refused to go to L'Norr's z'kal at mealtime. She knew that the young Weaver would be expecting her, that E'Menua would have wasted no time in making arrangements for the man to feed her and Bryntelle. She knew as well that her refusal to go was pointless. She didn't manage to find any new sources of food in the intervening days, nor did she magically inure herself to hunger and its effects.

It was pride that kept her away. She didn't want to feel like a beggar again, as she had the night she ate with F'Solya and I'Joled, and she certainly didn't want to be made to feel like a whore. So she kept to her z'kal, carefully rationing what few scraps of food remained from the journey she and Grinsa had made across the sovereignties. She nursed Bryntelle as she usually did, but by the end of the third day, she realized from her daughter's cries that she was no longer making enough milk to satisfy her.

That was what finally broke her. Starving herself was one thing; starving Bryntelle was another entirely.

On the fourth evening, after leaving the tanning circle, she went not to her z'kal, but to that of L'Norr, which was located near the center of the sept, not far from E'Menua and D'Pera's shelter. She slowed as she drew near L'Norr's home, trying desperately to think of any other way she might survive without having to do this. But her stomach hurt, and her mind felt dull, and Bryntelle was crying again, having fussed for much of the day. Cresenne glanced around and realized that several people were watching her, no doubt wondering what she was doing so far from her own z'kal. They would see her knock on the outside of the young Weaver's shelter, and they would assume the worst, but there was little she could do about that. For all she knew, that too had been part of E'Menua's plan: anything to drive a wedge between her and Grinsa. Maybe he hoped that if Cresenne grew unhappy enough she would simply take Bryntelle and leave the sept.

Several days ago, this thought would have been enough to send her back to her own z'kal without a bite to eat. It was a measure of how wretched she had become that she straightened, stepped forward, and, heedless of the stares, tapped on the flap that covered the entrance to the shelter.

For a moment her knock was greeted only by silence, and Cresenne wondered if L'Norr was elsewhere.

Then she heard a voice call out quietly, "Enter."

She hesitated before pushing the flap aside and stepping into the z'kal. It was dark within, and like all the z'kals she had been in, it smelled like sweat and smoke and food. Her stomach rumbled loudly.

L'Norr sat on the far side of a small fire, stirring a pot of stew. He glanced up at her, but then quickly looked away.

"Sit," he said, waving vaguely at the ground in front of her. "I wasn't certain whether your child eats this food yet, but I made extra, in case he does."

"She's a girl," Cresenne said, still standing.

He looked up at that, meeting her gaze. "Forgive me. She."

He turned his attention back to the stew, stirring it again and crumbling into it some dried leaves that looked much like the rildagreen F'Solya had used. L'Norr looked much like the other Fal'Borna men Cresenne had encountered. Broad in the shoulders and chest, with long white hair that he wore loose to his shoulders and bright yellow eyes that glittered like gold coins in the firelight. His face was rounder than that of the a'laq or F'Solya's husband, which made him look barely old enough to be living away from his parents.

The man glanced up at her again. "Please, sit," he said. "You have nothing to fear from me."

"You know that I'm Grinsa's wife," she said, not moving. "I don't consider myself his concubine, and I'm not looking to be anyone else's. Not even for food."

A slight smile touched his lips. "I have a concubine."

Cresenne felt her face reddening. "Oh."

"The a'laq told me you needed food." He shrugged. "I have more than I can eat. So sit down, and have something."

Still uncomfortable, she lowered herself to the ground on the opposite side of the fire. Bryntelle was looking around the z'kal, chattering nonsense, her pale eyes wide. Eventually, her gaze came to rest on a small pile of items that sat along the edge of the shelter: a small hide-covered drum, a shield and spear, what looked to be a ceremonial mask. The child let out a small squeal and then tried to wrench herself out of Cresenne's grasp so that she could go investigate. Not that she could crawl or walk yet, but she seemed determined nevertheless, and she began to fuss again when Cresenne didn't put her down.

"Is she all right?" L'Norr asked, a slight frown on his face.

"Yes. She's just curious."

"About what?"

Cresenne laughed in spite of herself. "About everything."

He nodded, but said nothing more, stirring the pot again. Cresenne felt that she ought to say something, but nothing came to her and as their silence lengthened she grew increasingly uncomfortable. Before she could break the lull in their conversation, however, there was a quick tap on the flap covering the entrance to the z'kal. L'Norr glanced up, looking alarmed, but before he could say anything, the flap was pushed aside and a young woman stepped into the shelter.

"T'Lisha!" the 'Weaver said.

She didn't answer him. Instead, she stared down at Cresenne a hard expression on her pretty oval face.

"So, it's true," she said after some time. Her gaze flicked toward L'Norr briefly, then quickly back to Cresenne, as if she expected her to attack at any moment. "They said that she was here, but I didn't believe them."

Coltish. That was the one word that came to Cresenne's mind as she looked at the girl. She was tall for a Fal'Borna-nearly as tall as Cresenne herself. And unlike F'Solya and so many of the other women of the sept, she was lanky, her body showing only the first faint signs of maturing to womanhood. Her skin was smooth and colored golden brown like that of the other Fal'Borna, and her eyes were so pale they almost looked white. She was exceedingly pretty, but Cresenne couldn't help thinking that she was far too young to be any man's concubine.

She didn't give voice to this, of course. Rather she extended a hand in greeting. She would have preferred to stand, if for no other reason than to put herself on equal footing with the girl. But she still held Bryntelle in her lap, and without being certain how T'Lisha was going to respond to the situation, she didn't want her child anywhere but in her arms.

"My name's Cresenne," she said, making herself smile.

"I know who you are," the girl shot back.

Cresenne kept the smile fixed on her lips. "Good! Then you understand that I'm already married and that you have nothing to fear from me."

The girl narrowed her eyes, but didn't respond immediately.

Cresenne pressed on. "With Grinsa gone, my daughter and I have no food, and at the a'laq's suggestion we've come to L'Norr for our evening meal. He's generously offered to share his stew with us. Will you be joining us as well?"

The girl eyed her for another moment, still looking confused.

"He's mine," she finally said, her expression hardening once more. "You claim the Forelander as your husband, but you're no Weaver."

"No," Cresenne said, still wishing she could stand, "I'm not. But where we come from that doesn't matter."

"Well, it does here. And with Q'Daer gone, and your man with him, L'Norr is the only Weaver left who doesn't have a wife."

"That's enough, T'Lisha," the young man said quietly.

"You think I'm too young to understand why you're really here?"

"I said that's enough." He had raised his voice this time, drawing the girl's gaze.

He stood, stepped around the fire, and took her by the arm, though not roughly. "Come with me," he said, his voice low again.

She glared back at Cresenne, but she allowed L'Norr to lead her out of the z'kal.

They started arguing almost at once, and though Cresenne could hear their voices clearly, she made a point of not listening, choosing instead to sing to Bryntelle.

Eventually the flap opened again, and L'Norr reentered the shelter. He faltered for an instant, glancing down at Cresenne, but then returned to his place on the far side of the fire and sat. He stirred the stew once again, before reaching for bowls.

"She won't have any?" he asked, indicating Bryntelle with a curt nod. "No, thank you."

He spooned some stew into a bowl and handed it to Cresenne along with a second, smaller spoon. He served himself and immediately began to eat, seemingly doing his best to ignore both Cresenne and Bryntelle. After a moment, Cresenne began to eat, too. The stew wasn't nearly as flavorful as F'Solya's had been, but it was warm and Cresenne was ravenous.

"It's very good," she said between mouthfuls. "Thank you for sharing it with us."

L'Norr grunted something that might have been a "thank you" or a "you're welcome"; it was hard to say for certain. Before long, Cresenne had emptied her bowl, and despite the awkwardness of the situation, she held it up for him to see.

"May I?" she asked.

He nodded, barely bothering to look at her.

She refilled her bowl and sat back again, eating this second helping almost as quickly as she had eaten the first.

"I'm sorry if our being here has created problems for you," she finally said. Her bowl was empty again, but she decided to wait before asking for more.

L'Norr shrugged.

"You could have invited her to join us."

"This is my z'kal," he said, casting a quick, dark look her way. "I don't need you telling me what I can and can't do."

"No, of course you don't," she said. "That's not-"

"You're here because the a'laq has commanded me to share my meals with you. You have no claim on me or on my shelter or even on my food. Were I to decide to give you nothing more than rancid meat and stale bread, I would still be living up to the a'laq's expectations. I share this food out of kindness. So I'll thank you to leave me alone while I'm eating and to say nothing about matters that don't concern you."

She felt as though she'd been slapped. She had to bite her tongue to keep from railing at the man. She didn't deserve to be talked to in that way-she'd done nothing wrong, nothing to give offense. Since her arrival in the sept she'd done all she could to make herself invisible. She wanted only to survive until Grinsa returned, so that they might find a way to get away from this settlement and out of Fal'Borna lands. And yet it seemed that at every turn, someone was yelling at her or insulting her or accusing her of things she hadn't done and had no intention of doing. It was enough to make her want to scream.

But of course she couldn't, any more than she could yell back at him. She couldn't get up and leave, either. She was utterly powerless here. She'd never truly felt this way before. Even when she was still living in the Forelands, a prisoner in the castle of the king of Eibithar, victimized again and again by the renegade Weaver and his assassins, she hadn't been this helpless. She'd been able to fight back, to use her magics and her wits to protect herself. Here, even that comfort was denied her. She could only sit, enduring the sting of this man's ire, willing herself not to cry in front of him.

She put down the bowl, her hands trembling slightly, what was left of her appetite gone.

"May I have some water?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

He stared at her for a moment, then reached for a full skin and handed it to her. She took a drink and gave it back to him.

"Thank you."

L'Norr took it back, drank a bit himself, and placed it on the ground beside him. His jaw muscles were clenched and he refused to look her in the eye.

"A Fal'Borna Weaver has to marry another Weaver," he finally said, his voice so low that Cresenne had to lean closer just to hear him. "You know this. But there aren't any Weavers among the women of E'Menua's sept, except for D'Pera, of course. U'Vara, the a'laq's daughter, shows signs of being a Weaver. But she can only marry one man, and eventually the a'laq's sons will come of age, and they will be given wives before any of the rest of us."

He looked up. "That's why concubines are so important. T'Lisha is young, and she shouldn't have spoken to you as she did, but she's all I have. She may be all I ever have, unless I'm willing to leave here or marry a woman from another sept."

It was more explanation than she had expected, and no doubt he felt that it was more than she deserved. Yet, Cresenne could muster little sympathy for him. Her life had come to a point where she had no choice but to think first of herself and her child.

"Are you saying that you don't want me to come back?"

L'Norr smiled thinly. "If I could tell you such a thing, I would. I have no reason to wish you ill, and I'm sorry for you. But if I could send you away to make T'Lisha happy, I'd do it in an instant." He shook his head. "But E'Menua has made it clear to me that I'm to feed you until your man returns."

Her relief was immediate and profound, making it much easier for her to be generous.

"Then what can I do to make things better between you and T'Lisha?"

The question seemed to surprise him. "What can you do?"

"She's not going to like the fact that I'm here every evening. But perhaps there are ways in which I can convince her that she has nothing to fear from me."

L'Norr shook his head, looking terribly young, his eyes fixed on hers. "I don't know. I'll have to think about this."

"Would you like me to speak with her?"

"No!" L'Norr said quickly. "That would be a bad idea. She's made up her mind about you already. She considers you a rival, an enemy even. You'd be best off staying away from her."

The relief Cresenne had felt a moment before vanished, leaving her feeling cold. It was bad enough that everyone in the sept thought of her as Grinsa's concubine and as someone who was intent on luring every Weaver in the settlement to her bed. But to have an enemy, someone who actually wished her ill… This was precisely why she had wanted to go unnoticed. She knew what it meant when the Fal'Borna declared someone an enemy, and though she couldn't imagine that the enmity of one girl meant the same thing as that of the entire clan, she had no desire to find out what it did mean.

"You have to tell her that I'm not a rival!" she said. "I don't want her for an enemy, L'Norr. You have to tell her that!"

He looked taken aback. "I… I can try to tell her, but I'm not sure she'll listen. If I defend you, she'll only hate you more."

Of course he was right. She once had a jealous lover, and there had been no reasoning with him. Every reassurance she offered him he managed to twist into further proof of her infidelity.

"The last thing I need is for someone else in this sept to have a reason to hate me," she said, trying to sound reasonable. Bryntelle had started to fuss again, perhaps sensing Cresenne's distress, as she so often did. Cresenne kissed her brow and began to rock her gently. "And the last thing you need," she went on, "is for T'Lisha to think you're betraying her every time I come to your shelter for a meal. I understand that you don't want me speaking to her, but then you need to convince her that she has no reason to fear me."

"And I'm telling you I don't know how to do that," L'Norr said.

"Have her eat her meals with us. Let her be here whenever I am. That way she can see that there's nothing more to these meals than there appears."

He shook his head, looking uncertain. "I don't know if she'll agree. And even if she does, it may not satisfy her."

"Then think of something else," she said, her patience waning. "As you said, E'Menua expects you to feed me. So unless you want to lose her, you'll find a way to fix this."

The young Weaver didn't look happy, but after a moment he nodded. They sat without speaking for several moments.

"Thank you for the meal," she finally said. "Do you need help cleaning up?"

He shook his head. "No. You can leave."

Cresenne hesitated. She had hoped that her meals with L'Norr might lead to some sort of friendship. She certainly hadn't wanted this night's meal to end with such bitterness. But she didn't see any way to make matters better; it seemed more likely that the longer she stayed, and the more she said, the worse it would be.

She stood, still holding Bryntelle in her arms, and looked down at him. "Good night, then."

"Good night."

She turned and left the shelter. Glancing around as she emerged from the z'kal, she saw that a few people were looking her way, all of them young women. None of them said anything, and she did her best to ignore their stares as she walked back to her shelter. But she felt their eyes boring into her back, and she expected at any moment to hear them start calling her a whore, or worse. By the time she reached her z'kal she was shaking with anger, her cheeks burning, her eyes brimming with tears. She'd done nothing wrong. Nothing. So why did she feel so ashamed?

As much as she wanted to cry, she refused. Since arriving in E'Menua's sept, she had been treated with contempt by nearly everyone except F'Solya. She had been dismissed as being an unworthy mate for Grinsa, she had been ignored and insulted, and she had been forced to endure all of this in near total isolation. And she'd had enough.

She had no way of fighting back, of course. Most of the Fal'Borna had made up their minds about her long ago; Cresenne had little hope that she could convince any of them that she was anything more or less than they already thought her to be. But she wasn't helpless, and she didn't need anyone else to tell her what she already knew to be true: Grinsa loved her. No matter what they had been through-and the gods knew that they had been through a lot-he had chosen to spend his life with her, and she with him. The Fal'Borna could not take that away from them.

"We don't care what they think, do we, Bryntelle?" she said, blinking the tears from her eyes as she looked down at her child. "They can call me whatever they want, but we don't care, right?"

Bryntelle grinned at her and then laughed.

Cresenne smiled. "That's right."

She put Bryntelle to bed and then lay down herself. It took her a long time to fall asleep, though, and even after she did, she slept fitfully, troubled by strange, disturbing dreams that made no sense to her when she awoke in the morning. She sensed that she had slept too long and she dressed hurriedly, feeling disoriented.

Once more, as she made her way to the tanning circle, she felt that people were watching her, speaking of her behind her back. Even the younger girls who took Bryntelle for the day behaved strangely around her, some of them suppressing grins as if amused by some ill-mannered joke, others staring at her with open hostility. Despite having resolved the night before not to let all of this bother her, she had to grit her teeth to keep from screaming at all of them that she'd done nothing wrong. But it was only when she reached the tanning circle that she realized how serious matters had become. F'Solya was there, and her space beside the woman was open, but her friend said nothing to her as she sat. Worse, when Cresenne said "Good morning," F'Solya didn't reply.

Cresenne felt herself growing cold, though the sun was shining and the air was warmer than it had been in days.

For a long time neither of them spoke, until finally Cresenne couldn't endure the silence any longer.

"You have something you want to say to me?" she asked, keeping her eyes fixed on the skin she was tanning.

At first F'Solya said nothing, though Cresenne could tell that she had stopped working and was staring at her. "Why would you do it?" she demanded at last. "After all we've done for you, why would you do such a thing?"

Cresenne turned to face her. "What is it you think I've done?"

"T'Lisha said that she found you in L'Norr's z'kal last night."

"And did she tell you why I was there?"

The question seem to catch her friend off guard; the reason would have seemed so obvious that probably none of the people T'Lisha told-the entire sept by now, no doubt-even thought to ask.

"No," F'Solya said, her voice softening. "She just… she just said…"

"She told all of you I was there, and allowed your imaginations to do the rest." Cresenne shook her head. "I expect that from the rest of them, F'Solya. But I thought you and I were friends."

"We are," F'Solya said. She took a breath. "Tell me why you were there. Please."

"I was there for food."

The woman frowned. "Food?"

"Yes. That's all."

"But the a'laq-"

"The a'laq refused to sell me food," Cresenne said. "And he said he wouldn't give me any, either. But he said he'd arrange for L'Norr to share his meals with me. E'Menua said that since he didn't have a wife or children, he'd have plenty to spare."

F'Solya shook her head, looking utterly confused. "But that makes no sense."

"I know," Cresenne told her. "But it's the truth."

"Why would the a'laq make feeding you so complicated when it could have been so simple?"

"Because he's intent on destroying my marriage to Grinsa. He wants us to stay here, and he wants Grinsa to marry a Weaver, be it a woman from your sept or someone from a neighboring one. He doesn't care. Either way he gets what he wants: more Weavers. He knew how T'Lisha would respond to this; he might have thought that this would drive her away from L'Norr so that he would try to make a concubine of me. And E'Menua is probably hoping that Grinsa will react the same way T'Lisha did. Anything to drive us apart. He's like this old spider spinning webs all around him, trying to catch as many flies as he can before he dies."

"You're speaking of my a'laq," F'Solya said, an edge to her voice.

Cresenne winced, realizing that she had gone too far on the one day when she could least afford to do so. "I'm sorry," she said. "It's just… he doesn't like me very much, and he seems intent on forcing Grinsa to marry a Weaver."

They lapsed into another lengthy silence. Cresenne tried to keep her mind on her work, but her hands were trembling again. She wasn't certain what she would do without F'Solya's friendship. It was bad enough longing for Grinsa day and night, but to be friendless as well would drive her mad.

"T'Lisha is telling anyone who'll listen to her that you're trying to steal her man," F'Solya finally said.

Cresenne wanted to ask if F'Solya believed the girl, but she was afraid of her friend's answer. So she simply said "I'm not."

"I believe you," F'Solya said.

Cresenne lowered the skin she was working on and looked at the woman. "Do you really? It didn't seem that way before."

F'Solya met her gaze. "I was wrong to speak to you the way I did. I'm sorry."

She smiled, feeling so relieved that tears came to her eyes. "Thank you."

"The others…" F'Solya trailed off, her brow furrowing.

"I know. The others believe T'Lisha. Why shouldn't they? They know nothing about me, and I was in L'Norr's shelter last night. I will be again tonight and tomorrow, and every day until Grinsa returns."

The woman frowned again. "It does seem an odd way to get you food," she said. "Do you really believe that E'Menua wishes you ill?"

Cresenne looked away. "I suppose there might be another explanation."

"Look at me," F'Solya said, as if Cresenne were but a child.

She faced her friend once more.

"Do you really believe all those things you said before about the a'laq?"

Cresenne nodded. "I do. I'm sorry."

F'Solya shook her head, looking troubled. "It's all right. I was… troubled by the way D'Pera spoke to you the day we went to see her. She as much as accused you of trying to.." Her face colored. "Well, anyway, she shouldn't have spoken to you the way she did."

"They need Grinsa," Cresenne said. "At least they think they do. And because of who I am, they feel that the only way to get him, to convince him to stay, is to drive me away." She shrugged, not quite certain why she was justifying the way they had treated her. "I'm sure it makes a great deal of sense to them."

F'Solya seemed to consider this for several moments. Cresenne went back to working on the rilda hide she was holding, feeling a bit better. Let T'Lisha spread rumors about her. As long as F'Solya didn't believe them, Cresenne didn't care, at least not much.

"What will you do?" the woman asked her eventually.

"About T'Lisha, you mean?"

Her friend nodded.

"I've told L'Norr to have her join us for the evening meal each night, so that she can see for herself that she has no reason to be jealous."

F'Solya's expression brightened. "That seems like a fine idea."

"L'Norr didn't think so. He wasn't certain that T'Lisha would agree, and even if she did, he didn't think it would satisfy her."

"Then she's a fool."

Cresenne smiled. "That thought had crossed my mind."

"I can try speaking to her for you. I've known her for a long time. She's headstrong-girls her age often are-but she's a good child at heart. She might listen to me."

"I don't know, F'Solya," she said, shaking her head slowly. "Don't get me wrong: I'm grateful for the offer. But you've done a good deal for me already. At this point you might not want to make it so clear to everyone that we're friends."

"Nonsense," F'Solya said.

Again, Cresenne smiled.

"But you may be right about talking to T'Lisha. I'd be better off speaking with T'Resse, her mother."

"Her mother?" Cresenne repeated. "That sounds like a very bad idea."

"Not at all," F'Solya said, sounding quite sure of herself. "T'Resse and I have known each other for years." She nodded, clearly convinced by the soundness of her choice. "She'll be able to help."

She stood.

"You're going to talk to her now?" Cresenne asked.

"Of course. She'll be grinding grain-that's what she does most days. I'll be back in just a bit."

Cresenne watched her walk off, hoping that her confidence would be rewarded. She had her doubts, though, and as she turned her attention back to the rilda hide, she began to consider once more the possibility of speaking to T'Lisha directly. L'Norr had thought it a bad idea, but Cresenne wasn't certain that they had many choices.

Before long, she looked up from her work to see F'Solya returning. Her friend didn't look at all pleased, and Cresenne was glad that she hadn't allowed herself to share in F'Solya's earlier optimism.

F'Solya sat down heavily and took up her hide once more, a deep frown on her pretty face.

"I've never known her to be so unreasonable," she said. "Or so stubborn." She looked at Cresenne. "When my boys misbehave I'm the first to admit it. But T'Resse sounded as if T'Lisha had never done an ill deed her entire life. And I know that's not true."

"I'm sorry, F'Solya. I shouldn't have gotten you involved in this."

The woman waved a hand dismissively. "You didn't. I wanted to help. And I do now more than before." She frowned again and shook her head. "I just can't believe that T'Resse could be so foolish."

They worked a while longer, then paused for their midday meal. Cresenne's meal was meager as usual, but F'Solya had packed extra food for her, so she ate well. It was her second ample meal in as many days, and already she could feel herself growing stronger. After they ate, they worked some more, until Cresenne couldn't sit still any longer.

"Where does T'Lisha work?" she asked abruptly.

F'Solya regarded her for several moments before responding. "Are you certain that's a good idea?" she asked.

"No. But doing nothing isn't helping matters either."

The woman shrugged, as if conceding the point. "She's often with the younger ones, caring for the children."

Cresenne's blood ran cold and she felt her face go white. "She wouldn't hurt Bryntelle, would she?"

F'Solya shook her head. "No. She's many things, but a brute isn't one of them. I assure you, your daughter is safe."

Cresenne exhaled, then nodded and climbed to her feet. "All right then. Wish me luck."

She started off toward the area where the older girls cared for the children, ignoring the stares of the other women. She'd been an object of curiosity during her imprisonment in Eibithar's great castle back in the Forelands, when she had actually done something wrong. This was easy by comparison. And the fact that T'Lisha was near Bryntelle gave her an excuse to approach the girl that she wouldn't have had otherwise. She needed to feed her daughter anyway.

As she drew near, Cresenne suddenly wondered if she'd recognize the girl when she saw her. They'd only spoken briefly, and the z'kal had been dim. As it turned out, she needn't have worried. She spotted the girl immediately, and T'Lisha saw her almost as quickly, stiffening noticeably, her eyes growing wide.

Cresenne didn't approach her at first. She found Bryntelle and once she had assured herself that her daughter was fine, she fed her. Only after she had returned Bryntelle to the girls who had been caring for her did she go to T'Lisha.

Even as she walked up to the girl, T'Lisha didn't look at her. She was standing with several other girls who appeared to be her age, but none of them said anything to Cresenne or to each other.

"I wanted to let you know that I'd be eating my evening meal with L'Norr again tonight. It's not by choice; the a'laq is making me do it. But I'm hoping that you'll be there, too, so that you can see that there's nothing more to it than a simple meal."

T'Lisha let out a short, disbelieving laugh, but still refused to say anything.

"I have a husband, T'Lisha. I love him, and only him. And L'Norr cares only about you. He doesn't want me."

T'Lisha glanced her way. "How do you know that? Did he refuse you when you tried to climb into his bed?"

Cresenne actually smiled. Had she ever been this young?

"No. I told you, I've a husband whom I love. But I've had other lovers in the past, and I know something of men and the way they behave when they're in love."

She didn't wait for a reply. She simply turned and started back toward the tanning circle.

T'Lisha didn't call for her to stop or come after her. She could only hope that the girl would give some thought to what she had said.

"What happened?" F'Solya asked as soon as Cresenne took her place beside her once more.

"Nothing, really. I asked her to eat with L'Norr and me. We'll see if she does."

That evening, though, she and Bryntelle found L'Norr alone in his z'kal, roasting rilda meat over his fire.

"Did you speak with T'Lisha today?" he asked, as Cresenne sat across the fire from him. He sounded angry.

"Yes, I did," she said mildly.

"I warned you against doing that."

"Yes, I remember. I did it anyway."

"You had no right! I told you not to speak with her."

"Did you speak with her?" she demanded.

He hesitated.

"Did you plan to any time in the near future?"

"Of course!" he said.

"I'm not certain I believe you. I didn't want her spreading any more rumors about me than she had already, so I did something about it. If that bothers you… well, too bad. Someone had to do something, so I did."

"You had no right," he said again, sounding sullen this time, like a chastised boy.

"What did she say to you? Was she angry with me?"

"She was…" He shook his head. "Just what did you say to her?"

"I said several things. Nothing that should have disturbed her. I told her that I have a husband, and that I love him, and that I'm not interested in any other man. I also told her that you weren't looking for another concubine."

His face turned bright red. "Did you tell her… did you make it sound like…?"

She suppressed a grin. "What's the matter, L'Norr?"

"She seems to think now that I'm in love with her."

Cresenne widened her eyes in mock surprise. "Really?"

The young Weaver scowled at her.

"Did you tell her that you're not?"

"Of course I didn't."

"Are you in love with her?" she asked.

His face colored again. "That's not… I'm not going to answer that." Seeing him so flustered, she nearly laughed aloud. "Would you have preferred that she remained angry with you?"

He twisted his mouth sourly. "No."

"Then you have no cause to complain." She leaned closer to the fire and peered at the cooking meat. "That looks nearly done. Unless you were planning to burn it."

He took the meat off the fire, cut several slices for her, and handed her a shallow bowl that held the meat and some boiled root.

"Thank you," she said, starting to eat. The rilda was excellent and the root, which she'd never tasted before, was tender and slightly sweet. "This is good," she told him after several bites. "Thank you for sharing your meal with me."

He nodded, avoiding her eyes. He no longer seemed angry with her, merely embarrassed. They spoke little for the rest of the meal, and when it came time for her to leave, he said "good night," but nothing more.

Emerging from his shelter with Bryntelle in her arms, Cresenne saw that several people were watching her, including T'Lisha. Their eyes met briefly and then the girl looked away. But the hostility Cresenne had sensed in her earlier in the day and the night before seemed to have vanished, or at least abated.

No doubt most of the people to whom T'Lisha had spoken the night before still thought the worst of her; it would take a few days before they realized that the girl had been mistaken. But it seemed that T'Lisha herself no longer wished her ill. Perhaps the notion that L'Norr truly loved her had been enough to make her forget her jealousy.

Cresenne made her way back to her z'kal, put Bryntelle to bed, and then went to sleep herself. Her slumber this night was far more restful than it had been the night before. And at one point Grinsa came to her, as a Weaver could, to walk in her dreams and speak with her and hold her. He looked tired and pale, but he was well, and he told her of his travels and of the Mettai men his company had encountered.

"They killed her?" she said, when he informed her of the witch's fate. "Yes."

"But E'Menua wanted you to kill her."

"I know," Grinsa said, holding her hand and brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. "There's nothing to be done about it now. We're going to try to keep the baskets she sold from reaching any more villages, and then we'll return to the sept."

"He won't be happy," she said. "The a'laq, I mean."

He shook his head. "I don't care anymore. He can try to keep us there, but it won't work. We're leaving Fal'Borna lands as soon as we can. You have my word."

She rested her head against his chest, feeling his heartbeat. "Good," she whispered.

"Are you and Bryntelle all right?" he asked, sounding concerned. "You look thin. Have you been eating?"

"We're fine," she said. She looked up into his eyes and kissed him. "Really. We had a bit of trouble, but it's all right now."

"What kind of trouble?"

"It doesn't matter. Nothing serious." She smiled. "I can handle it."

And she meant it. Before he left she'd told Grinsa to do what he had to do and return to her. She'd told him that she and Bryntelle would get along without him. Brave words. But at the time that was all they'd been. Now, though, finally, she actually believed them.

"You're certain?" he asked her, still looking worried.

"Yes. I'm not sure the Fal'Borna will ever accept me as one of their own, but I think I'm starting to figure out how to live among them."

He smiled, though he looked puzzled. "Someday you'll have to explain what you mean."

"I'll try." She grinned. "It might take a while."