Chapter Sixteen A Poet’s Gift
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
A POET’S GIFT
A S SUMMER THICKENED over Setgad, the sun turning unbearably oppressive with every new dawn and the heat deepening into a wretched humidity that saw them constantly soaked with sweat, Lythlet doubled her efforts in studying the bestiary.
She read and she read, from dawn until dusk by the sun, then by hivelight until sleep claimed her.
She read at home, she read at work when she could escape notice, she read while eating at The Steam Dragon.
She sorted the beasts into little rooms in her mind to keep them tidy, drafted mnemonics to make sense of them, and recited their entries word for word as if she were a living compendium.
Desil teased her obsessiveness, but the wardens had bestowed upon her this rare opportunity to uplift herself, and she was not about to squander it.
There had been no delay in their response to the fourth invitation. In a match dedicated to Nalepos, warden of still waters and deep meditation, the match-master had dredged a redivira from the wetlands.
“Cut off the hands quickly,” Lythlet had whispered to Desil, and they had done just so, avoiding its deceptively short and blunt claws as recommended by the bestiary.
Beneath those claws were needle-thin hooks that could grapple them and tear their skin into shreds, but dismembering the monster rendered it harmless.
Hoo-rah! The Rose and the Golden Thorn! Hoo-rah!
Lythlet carried the echoes of those cheers home, letting them ring in her ears and mute the memories of those who had cursed her, belittled her, and beaten her over the years.
But nothing could compare to the joy she took in handing over the last five white valirs to Tucoras—and in him once again trying pathetically to curry their favor.
She went a few nights later to The Steam Dragon, bestiary squeezed into a haversack. Right as her foot was about to cross the threshold through the moon-shaped entrance, a man stopped her.
“Saevem?” she said, surprised.
“I was hoping to catch you here,” he said, towering over her. “How fare your matches?”
“Very well, thanks to your gift,” she said with a bright smile, bowing before him. “It’s kept us alive for two matches now. I’ve gotten very good at swiftly coming up with lies of how I’d deduced the beast’s weakness whenever the match-master inquires what inspired the killing blow.”
He looked pleased. “Wonderful. Has Master Dothilos begun introducing you to anyone?”
She raised a brow at the odd question. “No. Why?”
“Oh,” he said with a disappointed pinch to his lips. “I’ve heard that when Master Dothilos takes a liking to a conquessor, he becomes keen on introducing them to his circle.”
“Be that as it may, he has made no introductions on my behalf,” she answered. Who could she possibly meet through Master Dothilos that would help Saevem avenge the death of his friend? “If you’re interested in his connections, why haven’t you tried cozying up to the match-master yourself?”
Saevem shook his head. “I am aware the man has spies of his own—he’s a cunning fellow who’d be sure to root out my links to the Coalition of Hope quickly, try as I might to keep my identity private.
Anyhow, I hope you continue your winning streak, Miss Tairel.
And when the time comes, please—remember me. ”
Remember the debt you owe me , she interpreted.
She nodded, bowing as he took his leave, then finally crossing The Steam Dragon’s threshold. Schwala wagged his tri-colored tail at the sight of her, waiting by her side as she scanned for an empty spot.
“Miss Tairel!” Ilden greeted, startling her. “What a coincidence! Grab a seat, won’t you?”
He sat at a stone table in the center of the room filled with two pots of tea and a few side dishes, most already empty.
Shunvi was by his side. Apropos of the summer’s high fashion, his silken robes had been retired after spring, and he now wore a loose thigh-length apricot-colored cotton robe for the evening, black Ederi-style breeches covering his legs.
Lythlet pulled up a chair. She had envisioned a quiet, intense session reviewing the bestiary with Desil during his break, but it seemed unlikely she’d have that opportunity with these two around.
Immediately, the men leaned in.
“That fellow you were talking to just now—do you know who he is?” pried Shunvi.
“He came over to Shunvi’s teahouse months ago, and he hounded us with some odd questions,” said Ilden.
“We couldn’t make head nor tail of what he wanted from us.
He seemed curious if we were close to Master Dothilos, and when he found out we haven’t had much contact with the man since our matches, he left with a glum look. What’s he after?”
“I don’t know,” stammered Lythlet. The first part of Saevem’s bargain flooded her mind—she was to keep this confidential. “He’s simply a bullish spectator, as far as I know. He recognized me and had some nice things to say.”
“Is that so?” said Ilden, looking slightly disappointed. “Well, no matter. We came down to give Demothi a surprise. He’s rushing around now, but he says he’ll join us later.”
Glimpses of Desil’s unruly brown ponytail could be seen bobbing around the kitchen.
Shunvi prodded an empty plate. “Shall we order more dishes? I’m partial to the soy roasted mushrooms myself. Perhaps some balsamic plum pork?”
“More sea urchins!” Ilden demanded, scanning the metal menu grafted onto the wall to the right. “Order what you’d like, Lythlet. We haven’t celebrated your recent victory yet, so let’s get to it now. Our treat tonight!”
“He means my treat, seeing how he’s conveniently forgotten his coin purse,” said Shunvi with an eviscerating side-eye. “But please, help yourself. We’ve a pot of broken jasmine here. Care to try a cup?”
“Say no,” warned Ilden. “The tea’s as pungent as the pit latrine back in Tresta Ward.”
“You uncultured swine.” Shunvi punctuated his words with a deep sip from his cup.
She smiled. “I’ll try some. You lads order what you want. I’m fine with anything.”
As Shunvi flagged down an apron-clad boy and ordered more dishes, with many suggestions front-loaded by Ilden, the latter suddenly became distracted by Lythlet’s boots.
“Those are new, aren’t they?” Ilden said, wide-eyed. “That starry etching on the side—they’re one of Master Sayino’s goods! Those cost a bloody fortune! Can’t believe you even managed to snag a pair before they sold out. Sunsmith, I’d kill for a pair of Sayino boots.”
She flushed happily, gratitude toward Master Dothilos swelling.
Moments later, Desil appeared from behind, shunting plates of Shunvi’s recent order onto the table, then seating himself with a relieved groan. He lifted the apron over his neck to officially signal his rest.
“Welcome,” said Shunvi, clapping Desil on the back. “It’s been ages since we were last gathered. We didn’t get to catch your fourth match.”
Ilden added, “I heard it was quite the show, but Shunvi and Naya would’ve roasted me alive if I left them alone in the Homely Home with all those tykes. Their guardians are all busy building the flats along the river, so we’re helping Naya look after the young ones.”
“ I’m helping,” said Shunvi wryly. “You spend most of your time bothering Naya.”
“Lies and slander. I expected better of you, Shunvi Tanna.”
Shunvi ignored him, turning back to Lythlet. “I was very stirred by what Master Dothilos shared of your past at your third match. Knowing the match-master, it’s a story that’s been embellished—but the root of it is true, isn’t it? You really did go around stealing books?”
She nodded with a small, embarrassed laugh.
He grinned and leaned behind to fetch something from his bag. “I happened to pass by a bookshop recently and thought of a gift for you and Desil.”
“A gift?”
“One for your cultural enrichment, book thief. Mot chin soe nak —‘flowers fade quickly, but a well-bound book will last you decades.’ I thought someone like you would appreciate this.” His smile broadened at her surprise as he thrust a thick leather-bound book before them.
“‘ Five Classic Oraanu Legends — A Vasté-Oratha Bilingual Edition for Young Scholars ,’” Desil read the cover aloud, a grin on his face.
Lythlet flipped through it, excited. One page would be written in common Vasté, and the next would be in the dense logographs that made up the Oratha tongue.
This brand-new book was nothing but pure amusement—a luxury she hadn’t been allowed for a long time.
“It has the tale of Atena,” she said, delightedly skimming the pages of the first story.
“Do you like her, too?” Shunvi said brightly. “Her and General Lauturo were some of my favorite stories to read.”
“Oh, yes, very much. Atena the Huntress and Rentavos the Gentleman Thief are my two favorite characters.”
A light entered Shunvi’s dark eyes at the mention of the latter.
“ To be noble of mind and honest of heart, and to stand evermore on the side of justice! ” The Poet, ever composed compared to Ilden’s feral nature, began chattering excitedly like a child discovering a kindred spirit.
“I love all of Master Vidana’s works. I attended a public reading of his at the Library of Athernara a year ago, and he was brilliant.
Apparently, he’s taken a break from the Gentleman Thief series and has been working on a war epic releasing next year or so, though he was awfully secretive about the details.
Man has the presence of a mountain. He must have been a menace back in his military days!
Did you ever read Rentavos’s escapades in Bizarre-Naeveri, by the way? Those were my favorites.”
All at once, an eager discussion broke out between the two.
Beside them, Ilden and Desil cast awkward glances at each other.
“Shunvi’s going to be at this for a while,” said Ilden with a sigh. He nudged Desil in the side. “You another lover of those booky-books?”
“I much prefer being read to than reading,” Desil admitted.
“Attaboy. Shunvi’s all about that la-di-da nonsense he digs out of old books.
Thinks they enrich his spirit and broaden his mind or whatever.
What a dull boy. I haven’t an inkling what all the girls see in him, but women can be blind.
Hand me that plate of sea urchins, would you, Fair Rose?
I could eat a whole bowl of these babies. ”
“Not with my coin purse, you won’t,” Shunvi interrupted with a scowl. “You always order them whenever I’m the one paying.”
“Oops,” said Ilden, not even feigning an ounce of contrition as he made a grabbing motion for the most expensive plate on that table.
Desil pushed it toward him. “Have at it.”
“I like how you’re not even blinking at the name, Fair Rose,” said Ilden impishly, scooping a generous mound of sea urchin onto his fork.
Desil sighed, beleaguered. “Haven’t had much choice but to get used to it. The Rose itself was plenty embarrassing on its own, but now half the crowd’s added Fair to it for reasons beyond me.”
“Your fanatics are indeed obsessive,” Ilden concurred, laughing without the faintest hint of sympathy.
“Just the other day, I was speaking to quite the enthusiastic fellow who seems intent on proposing courtship to you any day now. Shall I introduce you to him? You’ve mentioned having acolyte-leanings before, so if you’re all right with men, I may very well be introducing you to your future husband. He’s quite handsome—if you squint.”
Laughing, Desil offered a noncommittal nod. “With such high praise, how could I possibly say no?”
“Wonderful! I’ll set something up,” Ilden said, merrily shoveling more than his fair share of sea urchins into his mouth. Lythlet felt quite confident that he would most certainly forget to arrange anything.
Shunvi leaned behind to reach for something. “Have you seen your handbills, Lythlet? They’re starting to go up around the city. We spotted one in Inejio.”
“Oh!” Her hand was trembling as she took it. “I didn’t know they were done. Master Dothilos said it’d take some time for the inkmaster to make enough copies.”
Large flamboyant handwriting headlined the poster: THE ROSE AND THE GOLDEN THORN — A GOLDEN BET TO MAKE! Beneath was the inkmaster’s rendition of Lythlet and Desil, a precise likeness with bold lines and vivid colors done by hands that had spent decades practicing their craft.
Desil leaned over to peer at the handbill, bursting into a laugh at his portrait. “I really am long due for a haircut.” He rubbed self-consciously at the messy ponytail he’d recently started sporting to keep his curls out of his face.
“I’ll give you a trim later,” she promised, smoothing out the creases of the handbill carefully. She stared at the poster, and her own face stared back, a face that had never held much meaning before—now reproduced on parchment for the city to know she was a person worth taking note of.
“May I keep this?” she asked shyly.
“No,” returned Ilden immediately, a cheeky smile curled on his jaw.
“Ignore him,” spoke Shunvi kindly. “It’s yours now. You’ll see plenty more, I reckon. Half the city will be coated under these.”
She smiled appreciatively, continuing her efforts in smoothing out the creases.
Desil’s debt had been repaid in full, and now she was free to dream of what she could do with her future jackpots and fame.
Her mind was reeling with all the possibilities her life was about to take next, the horizons of her ambition shifting as she indulged in it.
“I know it’s silly, but somehow this feels as precious to me as a jackpot. ”
“Not silly at all,” Shunvi assured. He raised his teacup at her, and she toasted him back.
But as she stared at the poster, at the curl of red paint around her lips, the haphazard spackling of brown dots over her cheeks, and the shaded concave of her bony cheeks, she felt something tugging her back to reality.
Gray-watercolor memories weighed her down.
Father, Mother, and the haunting notion of home they had always represented throughout the years, dispossessed as they now were—hollow and ramshackle, yet ever-damning her for her failure to surpass them.
Yet filial piety seemed less like a prison sentence now—it took on a new shape in that moment, transforming into an opportunity to prove herself.
She could not keep looking forward without looking back even once.
Tentatively, fretfully, she thought for the first time in many years: Perhaps it’s time for my long-awaited homecoming.
And then hopefully—a quiet, desperate hope: Perhaps I won’t be a burden to them this time.