“Ever been to Cholla Bay?” asked the general.
“Eh? Oh. Once, yes.” My father had been checking on his warehouse there. Smaller ships can get into the bay, so they mostly carry small high-value goods, like ivory and opium.
“Then you know you’re not missing much,” he said, and laughed.
I managed a laugh and tried to focus on the conversation, eventhough my chest was tight with the feeling that I was running out of time before I’d even arrived.
“Dingy little place,” said one of the people on the king’s right.
“Some parts of it are pleasant enough,” someone else argued.
“But even those parts smell like fish.”
More laughter. My head hurt.
“Are you feeling all right, my dear?” asked the general.
“I’m fine,” I said. What had we been talking about?Fish. Cholla Bay. Say something.“There’s a species of stonefish there that’s so venomous, they’re called feedsharks. Because if you step on one, you’ll feed yourself to a shark to make the pain stop.”
Silence descended on the table like a diver’s foot on a stonefish. I closed my mouth on a further dissertation about how they stored venom in glands at the base of their spines.
“Is there a cure?” asked the king, as mildly as if discussing the weather.
“A treatment only.” I had to take a gulp of water to keep my voice from cracking. “Hot water and vinegar applied to the wound. Tonic to strengthen the choleric humor. Laudanum for the pain.”
And then, the saints bless him, the general came to my rescue. “Now, I don’t know about fish, but I tell you, up in Mindigal, they had a frog in the swamp there that would make your whole arm go numb…”
The other diners relaxed, and someone else told a story about a scorpion sting that was completely inaccurate, and I pried my fingers from the handle of my cup and fled as soon as I was able.
I was so sore the next morning that Javier had to help me onto my horse. He did so with a commendable lack of conversation and only grunted when I thanked him. I felt as if someone had filled my lower back with angry cement.
I was no longer surprised when I was summoned to the front of the column. Lacking any illusions about my conversational skills,I wondered why the king was bothering to ride with me at all. Then I looked at the guards around us and behind us, and it finally occurred to me that they were still worried about the hypothetical poisoner having me killed. If you have to protect two people from assassins, it’s probably easier to have them both together.
Fortunately the king seemed to realize that I was suffering and didn’t require conversation. The general from last night’s dinner rode on his other side, and the two of them talked. I clung to the reins and took a surreptitious slug of laudanum when we stopped.
The day lasted forever. I didn’t notice when the rest of the cavalcade left us. I just looked back and saw that they were gone. The general had gone, too. Bands of red crawled up the sky in the west and came down the other side as indigo.
The last hour of our ride was almost dreamlike. I was not thinking about poison or assassins or anything else. I wasn’t even thinking about how much my legs hurt or how much longer the ride was. I clung to the saddle and fell asleep between Ironwood’s strides, only to be jolted awake as each hoof came down.
At some point, we reached Witherleaf. Torches had been lit on either side of the broad brick avenue that led to the front gate. We made our way up it, still on horseback. I could hear horseshoes clicking on the bricks the way that they hadn’t on the road. I started to reach for Ironwood’s reins, only to discover that I didn’t have them. Javier had dismounted and was leading him. I thought about offering to dismount, too, then realized that I didn’t know if I could walk.
Massive agaves flanked the avenue, draping stiff leaves across the bricks. They looked like strange sea creatures in the torchlight. Insects circled the flames in a disordered halo, and once I saw a bat swoop down and take one out of the air.
Witherleaf itself loomed before us. Three stories tall, it was a villa in the traditional style, with white stucco walls and a red-tiled roof. Covered balconies studded the upper stories, and I saw the glint of glass doors. The part of me that would always be amerchant’s daughter began calculating the cost of so much glass, hit an appallingly high number, and gave up.
The double doors in front had been thrown open, revealing an enormous interior courtyard. Finally we stopped, and Javier helped me down from my horse. I hit the ground and hissed like the chime-adder. My bodyguard stood patiently while I clung to his forearms and my legs asked if I was certain that I wanted to walk after all. Perhaps I could roll along the ground to my room.
There were people there, talking to the king. The only one who made an impression was the housekeeper, who was a tiny, sweet-faced woman with the eyes of a tyrant. Javier stood beside me the whole time, saying nothing.
I was both relieved and oddly bereft to learn that while my guards would be staying at Witherleaf, they would not be standing guard outside my door. Apparently the king felt that such things weren’t required here. Instead they would be available if I wanted to ride out into the desert, and would otherwise be taking shifts with the rest of the estate’s guards, until it was time for me to return to Four Saints. I devoutly hoped that they wouldn’t have time to unpack.
The housekeeper assured me that my equipment chests would be taken to a workroom, and tried to convince me to go directly to my room. That lasted until I explained about my chime-adder, who probably shouldn’t stay in my bedroom. Suddenly it was eminently reasonable that I visit the workroom, even at this late hour. I limped down there, trying to pretend that I always walked like I was holding an invisible barrel between my thighs.
It wasn’t a bad space. A long room on the first floor, with stone floors instead of tile. I suspect it had originally been used for cheese making or something of the sort. It was cool and dim and had a big table in the middle that would be useful. There were windows, but they were the small kind cut into thick walls that you find in older buildings. The manor house seemed to be builtup and around a small core of rooms like this, which were probably original. All the fancy stuff had come later.
I dropped off the adder, made sure she had water, then handed myself back over to the housekeeper. I don’t think she approved of guests who carried venomous snakes with them, but she clearly would rather die than criticize one of the king’s guests, so we smiled awkwardly at each other, and then she called for a maid.
The maid who showed me to my room had hair that looked as if it was about to devour her head and go in search of other prey. I kept an eye on it as she led me up a wide flight of stairs and along a broad hallway lined with doors. Occasionally the hall would pass under a beautifully tiled arch, for no apparent reason except to show off how many arches the owner could afford.
