Chapter Five
Ione
“River’s not going to be very happy with this,” Cynthia warned her as she ensured that nothing would hinder Ione’s stride in the busy market. Or trip her, which was just as likely.
Ione squinted at the shapes and colours of today’s shoppers. “River is never happy, gods love him.”
“Your mother won’t be happy, then.”
Ione’s sandal caught on a cobblestone, making her swallow a curse. “Same answer.” Bodies swarmed around the fishmonger’s stall; the scent of fish and people half-cooked by the summer sun made Ione’s nose wrinkle. “But at least with Mother, I don’t care what she thinks.”
Cynthia jutted her chin, granting her that.
Ione stood on tiptoe, searching, seeing nothing and everything at once: churning, people-shaped blobs garbed in priesthood white or twilit blues, violets and pinks from shellfish dye; flags shaped like sparkling koi undulating overhead, indicating special offers; stalls laden with fruit and vegetables and goods she could scarcely make out.
No golden curls, caramel eyes. She was out, somewhere, according to the priest at the acolytes’ building – at every week’s end, the Caelosi enjoyed a free day – and where else on Oseidos would she be on a sunny afternoon but at the market?
Ione pressed her fingertips against her eyelids, growing annoyed with the noise and heat. “Be my eyes, please, Cynthia,” she grumbled. “Mine are playing up.”
She held out an arm, grateful when Cynthia took her wrist – Cynthia did not like touching others, even goddesses, unless necessary – and guided her to the quieter end of the market, the stalls here brimming with bolts of fabric and jewellery gleaming within locked cases.
They found her here, running her hands through a cascade of homespun cotton and cheap textiles hanging over a draper’s stall.
Lina pulled out a swathe of material the colour of golden wheat, bright and new compared to the faded yellow dress she wore, and had worn the last time Ione saw her.
She held it out for the woman beside her – Ami, Ione remembered – to inspect.
They contemplated it, chatted. And there it was again, that silvery laugh, joyful and bell-like and nauseating.
Menon shivered in response.
Ione held up a hand, stopping Cynthia from announcing her. Half-hidden beside a display of silk hair ornaments, she surveyed them, absently smoothing her dress.
It was unbecoming to be nervous. Ione poked at her heart, willing it, willing Menon, to quiet down. I know, she thought, huffing: Calm yourself, Menon. Don’t you dare flood this market.
She smiled, irked to feel her hands trembling, and marched out into the sun-bright path.
“Good morning – ” Immediate failure. “Afternoon, I mean.” Ione choked, her mouth going dry, when as one Lina and Ami turned to face her.
Lina froze, one hand pushing her curls off her shoulders. She smiled. They smiled. Everyone smiled.
Ione sensed Cynthia’s amusement beside her and yearned for death. “Shopping? Are we?”
Ami broke first, stifling a cackle. Ione chewed the inside of her mouth, her face burning.
It was Lina who saved them. Quick-thinking, just as she was with the warden. “We got some pocket money from the priesthood. For picking up extra chores.” Lina gestured, indicating the goldenrod fabric. “We’re going to make some new clothes.”
Without warning Ami half-shoved Lina towards Ione. “You’re going to. You’re the seamstress, after all. In fact – ” She pulled the bolt of cotton, as well as another in sea blue, off their hangers and all but slammed them onto the draper’s counter. “ – since you offered, let me pay for these.”
Lina whirled. “Ami – ”
“I don’t mind! I’ve to hurry back to the undercroft anyhow, remember?” She bundled the fabrics into one heap under her arm and clapped her free hand around Lina’s shoulder. “So,” Ami said, walking one, two, three steps with Lina.
Straight to Ione, whose heart fluttered.
“Relax for the rest of the day,” Ami finished, patting Lina’s shoulder. “Because you’re going to be sewing later.”
Lina hauled Ami back to her, whispering, although Ione could well hear her: “Ami, you are really subtle, you know that?”
Ami flitted out of her grasp, grinning. Before she made it far, Cynthia cleared her throat. “I’ll escort her,” she declared, “with your permission, Lady.”
Ione would buy a new book about sea creatures for Cynthia later. “Granted, Cynthia, thank you,” she said mildly, although her pulse hammered.
You’re Menon, Ione chanted inwardly as Cynthia disappeared with Ami into the crowd. You’re strong. You’re in control.
Ione summoned her best smile. “Will we walk?” She offered an arm, a wave of heat flickering through her when Lina threaded her arm through hers.
“There is a bakery on the next street – ” She pointed.
“ – and I was thinking of buying River this awful little seaweed tart he likes to cheer him up after I tell him what I’m going to tell you. ”
Lina sputtered. “That’s kind of you. Will I need cheering up as well?”
“I hope not. I mean, I hope this will be…” Ione took a breath and tugged Lina alongside her, the noise of the market falling away around them. “…good news, to you.”
Lina’s arm tightened in hers, but she stared straight ahead, letting Ione lead them out of the central plaza and down a quieter street of whitewashed storefronts and hanging plants.
A couple of blessed peacocks decorated the secluded lane, fluffing their feathery trains and scattering as Ione led Lina through.
“The high priests met this morning regarding the repairs to Caelos,” Ione said, forcing her voice to remain steady.
Careless, cheerful. “They’re going well, although if you were to ask my opinion, it’s all a bit rushed, which is no good when it comes to the safety of so many people. Rush makes mush, and all.”
“It’s – it’s haste makes waste.”
Ione smiled, warming. “You understand my point completely, then.” She pulled Lina to the edge of the cobblestoned street, protected by the shadow of a bushy hydrangea shrub climbing up the wall of an atelier.
“I consider it an honour to have housed the Caelosi here. Genuinely, I…” Ione shook her head.
She hadn’t come here to get choked up over everything she wished she could’ve done.
“Listen. The Archpriest wants to begin moving you all back to Caelos, but I don’t believe it’s safe yet.
Not fully, not without more time put into it. ”
Lina didn’t speak, her face pale. Finally, quietly, “Oh.”
Ione waited in vain for more. “If you like, you can return, of course,” she went on, edging closer, studying Lina’s face. Why did she look afraid? “I’m sure you miss it.”
Almost unnoticeably, Lina’s head moved. No, she said silently, her mouth bitten shut and head shaking from side to side.
Ione’s heart lurched. “No?” She stood on tiptoes, one hand braced against the rough plaster wall to keep herself balanced.
Apprehension – as she’d thought. Lina’s eyes darted, but there was no missing the chill in them, the bone-deep fear.
Rising beneath the ache of sympathy Ione felt for her was elation, heady and bright.
Lina did not want to leave Oseidos.
“You would be wise to stay,” Ione said, studying the bob of Lina’s throat when she swallowed. “You’ve seen the violence Sowelan’s armies can wreak. Stay with me, and I’ll see to it you’re protected.”
Lina emitted a short, disbelieving laugh; then looked down, contrite.
Ione clenched her jaw, her temper flaring. Even if Lina didn’t know, that was a laugh Ione had heard many times. The incredulous, unasked question, from Saros, her parents, the high priests: What can you possibly do?
“This isle is blessed by Menon,” was all Ione could say, her head high and shoulders thrown back. “Go where you like, then, but there is nowhere on earth you’ll be safer than here.”
“It’s not just my safety,” Lina shot back. “Wherever I go, he’ll – ” She covered her mouth, blanching, but Ione had already heard all she needed to know.
With one long stride she closed the distance between them and grabbed Lina’s hands. Held them between them, a promise. “I won’t demand it if you don’t want to talk about it,” she murmured, “but you have my protection, Lina. Not just from Moths – from anyone.”
Lina’s hands trembled in hers. “All I wanted,” she said softly, “was to be invisible. To live peacefully and… and make up for…” She shook her head, her face lowering.
Invisible. Ione fought the urge to press Lina’s hands against her heart, wishing Lina could feel the divinity thrumming there, reacting to her. You’re not invisible, Ione wanted to say. Menon sees you. Menon knows you, even if I don’t yet.
And somewhere, quietly, beneath that: I want to.
“Stay beside me,” Ione went on, “and become my attendant.”
“Attendant!” Lina repeated through a startled laugh. “That’s not exactly invisible.”
“But it’s safe.” Ione squeezed her hands, her pulse racing.
She wanted Lina to decide, naturally – and she was so close.
She inched nearer, spurred by Lina’s laugh, her surprised smile; her voice went low, conspiratorial, sharing a secret: “The high priests aren’t interested in keeping every mundane acolyte and handmaid willing to do chores, you understand. ”
Lina nodded, comprehending. “They want spellcasters.”
“Or wealthy patrons. People with connections. Anyone Saros thinks he can utilise later. Failing that, then anyone who can make themselves uniquely useful.” She lifted her chin.
“I’d like an attendant. I’d like you to be my attendant.
Agree, and you will be protected not only by my family name, but by Menon’s blessing, passed down from the Great Sage Llyr’s time. ”
Lina gazed above them, pensive, past the blue-green hydrangea leaves to the endless, cloudless sky. At the ward, humming like the faint and insistent whirring of wings.
“Yes,” Ione added tartly. “And by the ward.”
When Lina met her eyes again, her own were dark and wary, her brows knitted. “Why me?”