choose the color in which she would be married. The matter was important because the groom was obliged by convention to wear a man's cloak in a properly contrasting color.
Traditionally, brides chose pale colors from the Light end of the Spectrum, making it easy for their grooms to find a suitable counterpoint. But Kalena thought this was as good a time as any to begin her permanent break with tradition.
"Something in red," Kalena said smoothly, a perverse sense of humor making her finger a piece of scarlet sarsilk. Red was an assertive choice. There was little that could counter it. Kalena looked forward to seeing how Ridge met the challenge.
The shopkeeper raised one eyebrow but said nothing. The scarlet sarsilk was very expensive and she was not about to kill a good sale by reminding the bride that she was flying in the face of convention. "I have no cloak available in this fabric, but I can have it made up by tomorrow afternoon. When is the wedding?"
"The day after tomorrow," Kalena said, moving along the counter to examine a bolt of green Risha cloth.
"Have the cloak sent to the House of the Gliding Fallon. And send the bill for it and the riding clothes to the man named Ridge who works for the lord of that House. I will pay for everything else."
"The House of the Gliding Fallon?" The interest in the shopkeeper's eyes quickened. "You are to be married to an employee of Trade Baron Quintel?"
Before Kalena could respond, the wooden door of the shop swung open and a familiar voice answered the question. "I saw the contract, myself, Melita. This farmer's daughter is indeed going to marry a man who works for Lord Quintel, and her groom is no mere servant of the House, believe me. Ridge is almost a son of the House." Arrisa turned, a brilliant smile of greeting on her face. "Hello, Kalena."
Kalena returned the other woman's smile tentatively. "I wish you good morning, Arrisa. Are you shopping on Weavers Street today?"
"Umm," Arrisa murmured offhandedly. "I need a new pair of boots but I thought I saw you come in here and I decided to see how things went yesterday. What do you think of your future trade husband?"
Kalena hesitated briefly, remembering the scene in the moonlit garden. "I found him formidable in some respects," she admitted dryly.
Good-natured laughter burst from Arrisa as she sauntered over to the counter. "Formidable. I like that.
What a pretty way of putting it. It would be most amusing to discuss the matter with you on the morning after your wedding night when you are serving your husband his yant tea."
Kalena smiled politely, hiding her embarrassment. It seemed that almost any subject was acceptable on the streets of Crosspurposes. She was aware of the old custom of a wife rising in the morning to brew and serve yant tea to her husband before he left the pallet. Kalena had vague memories of her mother performing the small ritual for her father. No matter how rich a House or how many servants it employed, the wife alone made her husband's morning tea. The standard joke among married men was that they judged the mood of their wives by the bitterness or sweetness of the drought that was served.
"Has anyone told you yet why Ridge is called Fire Whip?" Arrisa asked conversationally.
"You told me yesterday that he is called Quintel's whip because the trade baron uses him to clear up trading difficulties on the routes," Kalena answered carefully.
Arrisa waved that aside. "I am referring to the fire part of his name, not the whip. Has no one told you the rumors?"
Kalena's mouth curved downward. "I get the impression gossip is not encouraged in the House of the Gliding Fallon. The servants are a very silent lot."
Arrisa grinned. "That doesn't surprise me. Quintel can afford anything, even silence from his servants.
Well, Kalena, since you are going to be sharing a sleeping pallet with Ridge, perhaps you should be told why there is fire in his name. I feel a sisterly obligation to warn you. Women have
Traditionally, brides chose pale colors from the Light end of the Spectrum, making it easy for their grooms to find a suitable counterpoint. But Kalena thought this was as good a time as any to begin her permanent break with tradition.
"Something in red," Kalena said smoothly, a perverse sense of humor making her finger a piece of scarlet sarsilk. Red was an assertive choice. There was little that could counter it. Kalena looked forward to seeing how Ridge met the challenge.
The shopkeeper raised one eyebrow but said nothing. The scarlet sarsilk was very expensive and she was not about to kill a good sale by reminding the bride that she was flying in the face of convention. "I have no cloak available in this fabric, but I can have it made up by tomorrow afternoon. When is the wedding?"
"The day after tomorrow," Kalena said, moving along the counter to examine a bolt of green Risha cloth.
"Have the cloak sent to the House of the Gliding Fallon. And send the bill for it and the riding clothes to the man named Ridge who works for the lord of that House. I will pay for everything else."
"The House of the Gliding Fallon?" The interest in the shopkeeper's eyes quickened. "You are to be married to an employee of Trade Baron Quintel?"
Before Kalena could respond, the wooden door of the shop swung open and a familiar voice answered the question. "I saw the contract, myself, Melita. This farmer's daughter is indeed going to marry a man who works for Lord Quintel, and her groom is no mere servant of the House, believe me. Ridge is almost a son of the House." Arrisa turned, a brilliant smile of greeting on her face. "Hello, Kalena."
Kalena returned the other woman's smile tentatively. "I wish you good morning, Arrisa. Are you shopping on Weavers Street today?"
"Umm," Arrisa murmured offhandedly. "I need a new pair of boots but I thought I saw you come in here and I decided to see how things went yesterday. What do you think of your future trade husband?"
Kalena hesitated briefly, remembering the scene in the moonlit garden. "I found him formidable in some respects," she admitted dryly.
Good-natured laughter burst from Arrisa as she sauntered over to the counter. "Formidable. I like that.
What a pretty way of putting it. It would be most amusing to discuss the matter with you on the morning after your wedding night when you are serving your husband his yant tea."
Kalena smiled politely, hiding her embarrassment. It seemed that almost any subject was acceptable on the streets of Crosspurposes. She was aware of the old custom of a wife rising in the morning to brew and serve yant tea to her husband before he left the pallet. Kalena had vague memories of her mother performing the small ritual for her father. No matter how rich a House or how many servants it employed, the wife alone made her husband's morning tea. The standard joke among married men was that they judged the mood of their wives by the bitterness or sweetness of the drought that was served.
"Has anyone told you yet why Ridge is called Fire Whip?" Arrisa asked conversationally.
"You told me yesterday that he is called Quintel's whip because the trade baron uses him to clear up trading difficulties on the routes," Kalena answered carefully.
Arrisa waved that aside. "I am referring to the fire part of his name, not the whip. Has no one told you the rumors?"
Kalena's mouth curved downward. "I get the impression gossip is not encouraged in the House of the Gliding Fallon. The servants are a very silent lot."
Arrisa grinned. "That doesn't surprise me. Quintel can afford anything, even silence from his servants.
Well, Kalena, since you are going to be sharing a sleeping pallet with Ridge, perhaps you should be told why there is fire in his name. I feel a sisterly obligation to warn you. Women have
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