very few secrets in Ravenblack,” Mara explained. “Especially in Rikiar’s circle. Rikiar does not like secrets, so he does not keep them or make them. He is what he seems to be.”
Aisling was glad to hear that, though she had sensed it all along. Rikiar did not have much in the way of artful diplomacy about him. A strong man did not need to hide the truth or coat it in velvet and suede. And Rikiar was strong. The strongest man Aisling had ever known.
“Shall we purchase some fabric now? Have we grown fat enough?”
Aisling agreed to return to the fray, so they went forth into the market.
“This is fun,” Mara said, winding her arm about Aisling’s waist. “We can spend as much gold as we like and Rikiar will pay for it.”
“We only have the pouch of gold he gave us,” Aisling pointed out pragmatically.
“The merchants will take our word that Rikiar will pay them. And he will,” Mara beamed. “We could buy this entire market if we liked.”
“I don’t think we could carry it all,” Aisling smiled.
“There’s a fabric stall,” Mara said. “Ooohh, look at the ones with the gold thread!”
The fabrics with the gold thread were pretty, but strangely, Aisling found herself most attracted to the weapons stall. Perhaps it was because all the blades were so shiny, or perhaps it was because she’d always been curious about weapons, which she had never been allowed to touch. The most dangerous thing Aisling had ever laid hands upon was a needle. She walked right past all the pretty cloth and instead went to look at the daggers and swords laid out on sable planks of wood. Mara followed after her, regretfully abandoning the cloth in favor of her mistress.
“Hello, your ladyships,” the friendly vendor said. “What might I interest you in today? Something delicate for your belt?” He picked up a short dagger with a hypnotically gorgeous pearl handle and a sheath carved in two different kinds of wood. It was the most beautiful thing Aisling had ever seen, so pretty it was almost more ornament than knife. He handed it over to Aisling, who cradled it in both hands, running her fingertips over the hilt.
“It’s pretty,” Mara said. “We’ll take it. Send your note to Chief Rikiar. Oh, and this is Aisling,” Mara introduced her as something of an afterthought. “Aisling, this is Derwent. He is the most talented smith in these lands.”
“I believe it,” Aisling said, still quite captivated by her new possession. She turned it over and over in her hands a dozen times, admiring the craftsmanship. The sheath was quite stunning, chevrons of alternating color and texture all laid together so closely there was no visible seam between them.
“We’re not here for daggers,” Mara reminded her. “We’re here to get you some pretty dresses.”
“I know,” Aisling said, still staring at her treasure. Slowly, she slipped the hilt away from the sheath and the silver glow of the blade slid free. It was gorgeous, about three inches long and so sharp that blood appeared on her fingertip when she accidentally touched the edge. “Ouch,” she said, sticking her fingertip into her mouth and sucking on the little wound.
“Knives are sharp,” Mara said dryly. “Are you sure you’re going to be safe with that?”
“I’ll keep it in the sheath,” Aisling promised, loath to think Mara might take it off her.
“Very well,” Mara said. “Now can we find some fabric?”
Aisling assented and soon they were choosing between many beautiful skeins of cloth. There were blues and reds and greens and even a purple that Mara insisted on purchasing, but the entire time Aisling was actually thinking about her pretty knife, which was sheathed and safely tucked between her breasts.
“I think that is enough for one day,” Mara eventually said. “We’ve enough fabric for a dozen dresses.”
“Hmm? Yes,” Aisling agreed.
“You want to play with that knife, don’t you?”
“It’s so pretty,” Aisling
Aisling was glad to hear that, though she had sensed it all along. Rikiar did not have much in the way of artful diplomacy about him. A strong man did not need to hide the truth or coat it in velvet and suede. And Rikiar was strong. The strongest man Aisling had ever known.
“Shall we purchase some fabric now? Have we grown fat enough?”
Aisling agreed to return to the fray, so they went forth into the market.
“This is fun,” Mara said, winding her arm about Aisling’s waist. “We can spend as much gold as we like and Rikiar will pay for it.”
“We only have the pouch of gold he gave us,” Aisling pointed out pragmatically.
“The merchants will take our word that Rikiar will pay them. And he will,” Mara beamed. “We could buy this entire market if we liked.”
“I don’t think we could carry it all,” Aisling smiled.
“There’s a fabric stall,” Mara said. “Ooohh, look at the ones with the gold thread!”
The fabrics with the gold thread were pretty, but strangely, Aisling found herself most attracted to the weapons stall. Perhaps it was because all the blades were so shiny, or perhaps it was because she’d always been curious about weapons, which she had never been allowed to touch. The most dangerous thing Aisling had ever laid hands upon was a needle. She walked right past all the pretty cloth and instead went to look at the daggers and swords laid out on sable planks of wood. Mara followed after her, regretfully abandoning the cloth in favor of her mistress.
“Hello, your ladyships,” the friendly vendor said. “What might I interest you in today? Something delicate for your belt?” He picked up a short dagger with a hypnotically gorgeous pearl handle and a sheath carved in two different kinds of wood. It was the most beautiful thing Aisling had ever seen, so pretty it was almost more ornament than knife. He handed it over to Aisling, who cradled it in both hands, running her fingertips over the hilt.
“It’s pretty,” Mara said. “We’ll take it. Send your note to Chief Rikiar. Oh, and this is Aisling,” Mara introduced her as something of an afterthought. “Aisling, this is Derwent. He is the most talented smith in these lands.”
“I believe it,” Aisling said, still quite captivated by her new possession. She turned it over and over in her hands a dozen times, admiring the craftsmanship. The sheath was quite stunning, chevrons of alternating color and texture all laid together so closely there was no visible seam between them.
“We’re not here for daggers,” Mara reminded her. “We’re here to get you some pretty dresses.”
“I know,” Aisling said, still staring at her treasure. Slowly, she slipped the hilt away from the sheath and the silver glow of the blade slid free. It was gorgeous, about three inches long and so sharp that blood appeared on her fingertip when she accidentally touched the edge. “Ouch,” she said, sticking her fingertip into her mouth and sucking on the little wound.
“Knives are sharp,” Mara said dryly. “Are you sure you’re going to be safe with that?”
“I’ll keep it in the sheath,” Aisling promised, loath to think Mara might take it off her.
“Very well,” Mara said. “Now can we find some fabric?”
Aisling assented and soon they were choosing between many beautiful skeins of cloth. There were blues and reds and greens and even a purple that Mara insisted on purchasing, but the entire time Aisling was actually thinking about her pretty knife, which was sheathed and safely tucked between her breasts.
“I think that is enough for one day,” Mara eventually said. “We’ve enough fabric for a dozen dresses.”
“Hmm? Yes,” Aisling agreed.
“You want to play with that knife, don’t you?”
“It’s so pretty,” Aisling
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