rotation."
"You must let me prepare the mixture," she said. "If you've done it incorrectly, the vapors could harm me. I would be useless to you then."
"Not to worry," Torrant said, smiling in what he probably thought was a reassuring manner. He liked to maintain eye contact; she was not sure if he meant to intimidate her, seduce her, or both. "The powders and herbs are in the correct ratio, more or less. Tomari, the water, if you please?"
"I am not your servant," he said.
"In this matter, you are," Torrant said.
Muttering, Tomari fetched the pitcher from her washbasin, then dumped the entire contents into the bowl. Water sloshed over the side, spilling onto Tolaria's dress; the mixture of powder and herbs fizzed and bubbled, making her knee tingle.
"You fool!" Torrant cried. "That was too much!"
"But you said—"
"You were to use the bottle, not the pitcher!" Torrant pointed at the bed, where her flask lay on its side, unopened. "We must untie her! There will be too much vapor!"
Fumes had begun to billow out of the bowl; Tolaria held her breath, blinked away tears as the miasma stung her eyes.
"There's no time," Tomari said. "We must go before we're affected as well." He seized his brother's arm and dragged him toward the door.
"You had better pray she survives the exposure intact," Torrant said, "or Father will have your head."
They exited, slamming the door behind them.
Tolaria struggled against her bonds, but they held her fast. She couldn't hold her breath any longer and gulped for air, inhaling a draught of the vapor. It made her lightheaded and dizzy; it made her want more. She inhaled again, deeply, then tried to stop herself; but it was already too late, she was slipping away from consciousness, sliding into a strange, shadowed hall where past, present, and future flowed together like the three rivers joining at the Crosswaters. She could still perceive the room around her, but it seemed false and faint, the palimpsest of an old drawing that had been erased and covered with something new.
At length she heard the door open. Footsteps hurried across the room. She heard the shutters bang open, felt a cool draft; then the footsteps retreated and the door slammed shut.
Some time later, the door opened again, then closed. Two men approached. Their movements were strange, slow and jerky, like figures in a sketch book that danced as the pages flipped by. She knew them, she thought. They looked the same as each other. Who were they? What were their names?
One of them said: "Tolaria? It's Torrant." His voice sounded slow and thick, like honey on a cold morning. "Can you hear me, Tolaria?"
"Yes."
The other one said: "Are you all right?"
She said nothing.
"I asked if you were all right."
Still, she said nothing.
"Why does she answer you but not me?"
"Perhaps she dislikes you," Torrant said. "Or perhaps it's because your first question was not explicitly directed at her, and your second question was a statement. Tolaria, who will be the first to return with the stones?"
"The steward, Dosen."
"Tolaria, when will Dosen arrive with the stones?"
"Before the sun reaches its apex, Dosen will have been and gone."
"Gone?" Tomari said. "Why will he be gone?" Pause. "Tolaria, why will Dosen leave again after he arrives?"
"He has unfinished business in the mountains."
"Unfinished business? What sort of—"
Torrant cut his brother off. "That can wait for Dosen's arrival. Tolaria is here to help with larger issues than his slipshod performance."
"Fine," Tomari said. "Let's ask her if we'll win, then."
Torrant rolled his eyes. "She won't answer that, Tomari."
"Why not?"
"I explained this already. She's directly involved in the outcome. They can't accurately forecast events that are tied so closely to themselves."
"Nonsense," Tomari said.
Dropping their voices, the two of them started squabbling; then Tomari turned to her and
"You must let me prepare the mixture," she said. "If you've done it incorrectly, the vapors could harm me. I would be useless to you then."
"Not to worry," Torrant said, smiling in what he probably thought was a reassuring manner. He liked to maintain eye contact; she was not sure if he meant to intimidate her, seduce her, or both. "The powders and herbs are in the correct ratio, more or less. Tomari, the water, if you please?"
"I am not your servant," he said.
"In this matter, you are," Torrant said.
Muttering, Tomari fetched the pitcher from her washbasin, then dumped the entire contents into the bowl. Water sloshed over the side, spilling onto Tolaria's dress; the mixture of powder and herbs fizzed and bubbled, making her knee tingle.
"You fool!" Torrant cried. "That was too much!"
"But you said—"
"You were to use the bottle, not the pitcher!" Torrant pointed at the bed, where her flask lay on its side, unopened. "We must untie her! There will be too much vapor!"
Fumes had begun to billow out of the bowl; Tolaria held her breath, blinked away tears as the miasma stung her eyes.
"There's no time," Tomari said. "We must go before we're affected as well." He seized his brother's arm and dragged him toward the door.
"You had better pray she survives the exposure intact," Torrant said, "or Father will have your head."
They exited, slamming the door behind them.
Tolaria struggled against her bonds, but they held her fast. She couldn't hold her breath any longer and gulped for air, inhaling a draught of the vapor. It made her lightheaded and dizzy; it made her want more. She inhaled again, deeply, then tried to stop herself; but it was already too late, she was slipping away from consciousness, sliding into a strange, shadowed hall where past, present, and future flowed together like the three rivers joining at the Crosswaters. She could still perceive the room around her, but it seemed false and faint, the palimpsest of an old drawing that had been erased and covered with something new.
At length she heard the door open. Footsteps hurried across the room. She heard the shutters bang open, felt a cool draft; then the footsteps retreated and the door slammed shut.
Some time later, the door opened again, then closed. Two men approached. Their movements were strange, slow and jerky, like figures in a sketch book that danced as the pages flipped by. She knew them, she thought. They looked the same as each other. Who were they? What were their names?
One of them said: "Tolaria? It's Torrant." His voice sounded slow and thick, like honey on a cold morning. "Can you hear me, Tolaria?"
"Yes."
The other one said: "Are you all right?"
She said nothing.
"I asked if you were all right."
Still, she said nothing.
"Why does she answer you but not me?"
"Perhaps she dislikes you," Torrant said. "Or perhaps it's because your first question was not explicitly directed at her, and your second question was a statement. Tolaria, who will be the first to return with the stones?"
"The steward, Dosen."
"Tolaria, when will Dosen arrive with the stones?"
"Before the sun reaches its apex, Dosen will have been and gone."
"Gone?" Tomari said. "Why will he be gone?" Pause. "Tolaria, why will Dosen leave again after he arrives?"
"He has unfinished business in the mountains."
"Unfinished business? What sort of—"
Torrant cut his brother off. "That can wait for Dosen's arrival. Tolaria is here to help with larger issues than his slipshod performance."
"Fine," Tomari said. "Let's ask her if we'll win, then."
Torrant rolled his eyes. "She won't answer that, Tomari."
"Why not?"
"I explained this already. She's directly involved in the outcome. They can't accurately forecast events that are tied so closely to themselves."
"Nonsense," Tomari said.
Dropping their voices, the two of them started squabbling; then Tomari turned to her and
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