“I hear Yeoman Percivus is looking for a wife.” Glauca made the announcement as she refilled jars with dried herbs Emerence had sorted for her. “He’s a wealthy farmer. He just bought his neighbor’s holdings to increase his own.”

Emerence sighed inwardly as she weighed dried rosehips on a scale. Her cousin was an unashamed matchmaker. A relentless one as well. “I wish him well. His income will guarantee no lack of candidates interested in becoming the third Madam Percivus.

Glauca clucked her disapproval at Emerence’s obvious disinterest. “I’ve met him. He’s pleasant and his children well-behaved. Both of his wives seemed happy. A shame one died in childbirth and the other from lung fever. But that wasn’t his fault.”

Emerence paused in her task to stare at her with a raised eyebrow. “If I didn’t already know you were happily married, I’d think you were considering throwing in your ribbon for a chance at becoming the newest Percivus bride.”

This time Glauca sniffed, as if Emerence’s teasing carried a bad scent. She closed the lid on the jar she’d filled and reached for another. “I would but as you say, I’m married. You, however, are not, nor are you getting any younger. Yeoman Percivus would be perfect. He isn’t in his dotage, already has several children, and has a purse fat enough to keep you comfortable for the rest of your life with no need to birth more children for him.”

“Sounds glorious,” Emerence said dryly. She loved her cousin and knew Glauca loved her in return. It was why she remained so persistent in her quest to see Emerence married even after others had given up their matchmaking attempts years earlier. Still, there were times, like now, when Emerence found her efforts more annoying than endearing.

“I’m perfectly content with my life as it is, cousin. I manage two shops, own my own home, and control my time as I see fit.” Emerence sometimes envied the companionship other women of her acquaintance shared with their spouses and offspring, but she’d seen a similar envy of her in the eyes of some of those wives and mothers shackled by the demands of marriage and parenthood. She wasn’t afraid of such bonds; she just had no intention of rushing toward them just for the sake of avoiding the stigma of spinsterhood.

“But you’re almost seven and thirty,” Glauca all but wailed, as if such a ripe old age heralded Emerence’s impending doom.

Emerence couldn’t help it. She laughed and continued laughing despite Glauca’s glare. Once her spate of humor subsided, she wiped the tears from her eyes. “You say that as if I’m at death’s door. I assure you my life will not end at the arrival of seven and thirty.” She uttered the last in a voice pitched low as if another year in her lifespan would thunder past her instead of breeze by as every year always did, hardly marked, barely noticed.

“Don’t you want a husband?” Glauca wrenched the lid closed on the jar she held and yanked another empty one toward her. “You can’t live with your father and Linnett forever.”

Emerence shrugged, dividing her attention between Glauca’s task and her own of pulverizing a batch of nightshade in a mortar with a pestle. “I don’t live with them,” she said. “I live next door as you well know, and I never said I didn’t want a husband, only that I won’t settle for one.”

“Same thing, Emerence.”

“No it isn’t.” She had no illusions regarding the existence of the perfect man. She just preferred to wait for one who was perfect for her. If he never showed, well that was a risk worth taking in her opinion.

The two women fell silent as they continued to work. These were the darkest days of winter, just before the Festival of Delyalda, and those citizens of Timsiora sick with coughs and other lung ailments were numerous. One of the shops Emerence’s father owned was this apothecary, and this was its busiest season. Emerence and Glauca had worked long hours already restocking the shelves from the rapidly diminishing inventory of herbs and spices while in the front room where products were displayed and sold, a small army of clerks dealt with a steady stream of customers.

“I just don’t want you to be unhappy,” Glauca finally said, breaking the silence. She opened a jar of glue and fished a paintbrush from her apron pocket.

Emerence slid her a stack of labels with the names of various concoctions and other herbal combinations written on them. “Do I look unhappy to you?” She was restless at times, more so each year while she lived and worked in the Beladine capital and never went more than a league beyond its walls, but she wasn’t unhappy.

Her question made Glauca frown. “No, but we all hide things from each other.” She lined the labels up in front of their matching jars, turning the first one to paint glue on its surface and affix a label. “I don’t want you to be lonely either. All by yourself in your house at night with no one to talk to.”

If Glauca only knew how much Emerence treasured those hours, she wouldn’t worry so much. “I deal with people all day, every day, Glauca. Customers, suppliers, caravans, other merchants. By the time I can escape to my house, I’m desperate for the solitude. You worry for nothing.”

She hadn’t denied being lonely, but everyone experienced loneliness. It wasn’t synonymous with solitude. Emerence dealt with her bouts of it by staying busy, so busy that exhaustion kept it at bay, even on those nights when she fell into bed and wondered what it might be like to share the space with a lover and wake to his presence at dawn.

Thankfully, Glauca let the matter of Yeoman Percivus’s bride search drop, and their conversation turned to the idle chatter and gossip that made the drudgery of inventory replenishment less wearisome. They were interrupted not long after by a harried clerk who burst into the stock room, eyes wide, face flushed. “Mae Ipsan,” he sad on a gasp, using the informal title instead of the more formal “madam” to address Emerence. “Culkhen Goa is back making trouble out front, and there’s a group of Quereci here asking for you.”

Emerence growled under her breath. Her pity for Culkhen’s drunkenness had evaporated when his snake-oil concoctions, sold from the back of his cart, had poisoned a half dozen people. She’d warned folks of the dangers in buying from him, not because he was a competitor but because he was incompetent and dishonest. He blamed Emerence for the loss of his business and had sworn revenge.

“This is the second time in a week he’s come calling,” Glauca said. Her eyes rounded as did the clerk’s when Emerence snatched one of the grabber poles leaned against the corner. “What are you going to do with that?”

“Get rid of a loiterer.” Emerence strode out of the stockroom with her clerk tight on her heels.

The clerks and customers in the apothecary’s storefront only glanced at her as she passed them with her weapon of choice. The apothecary boasted floor-to-ceiling shelves displaying a large selection of jars filled with herbs, unguents, and tinctures. Those who worked in the store often used a grabber pole to reach the items on the highest shelves. This was the first time Emerence had armed herself with one to do battle with a nuisance.

“Go fetch Guzman,” she instructed the clerk who’d brought her the news of trouble and visitors. “Tell him I’ll give him a day’s wage for a half day’s door duty if he comes now.”

The boy nodded and shot past her out the door. Emerence followed, nodding and smiling to a few customers who greeted her. She didn’t linger, and her hand clenched tighter on the pole as the sound of Culkhen’s slurred haranguing reached her ears.

He stood in the middle of the cobblestone walkway, between the apothecary and the drapery, also owned by Emerence’s father. He had his back to the apothecary’s doors while he bellowed his complaints to passersby and those who sought to enter the shops. “You’ll not want to buy from these thieves,” he yelled into the street. “These Ipsans will take your hard-earned coin and sell you toad guts for a cough and moth-eaten blankets to keep you warm on a winter’s day like today.” His glassy gaze returned to Emerence. “Isn’t that right, Madam Ipsan?”

She rolled her eyes. The Ipsan family’s reputation as honest traders of quality goods was well-established. A drunkard’s claims to the contrary wouldn’t harm that reputation. Except for a few gawkers, most people ignored Culkhen and went about their business, but his bellowing presence kept potential customers from their doors, and when he clutched the arm of one bolder, would-be visitor she took action.

Flipping the pole in her hand so that she held it like a washing bat, she swung, striking Culkhen’s backside hard enough to throw him forward. Caught by surprise, he pinwheeled into the street and fell into the muck churned up by wagons, riders, and foot travelers. Those who witnessed Emerence’s attack laughed. She did not. Instead, she glared at Culkhen when he flipped over to stare at her with a bewildered expression that swiftly turned ugly.

“You bitch,” he snarled, rising unsteadily to his feet, his front caked in filth from neck to feet. He took a menacing step toward her.

Instinct warned her she no longer faced a loud-mouthed albeit harmless drunk, but she gripped the pole tighter and held her ground. If she fled inside, backed away, or showed any hint of weakness or fear, he’d take it as a signal and only increase his harassment.

“You get one warning, Culkhen,” she said. “Plant yourself here again to disturb the peace, and I’ll see to it you take up residence at the Zela. Again.” She had no idea how she’d make such a thing happen, but Culkhen didn’t need to know that.

She must have sounded convincing if the sudden flash of fear in his eyes was any indicator. Her triumph was short-lived. His lips peeled back in a feral baring of yellow teeth, and his hands clenched into fists. He took two steps toward her. Emerence gasped to suddenly find her view of her opponent partially blocked by a tall, broad-shouldered figure.

“You heard Madam Ipsan,” her defender said in accented Beladine. “Go your way and don’t return.”

Stepping to the side for a better view of both Culkhen and this man, Emerence watched as Culkhen swayed on his feet, blinked slowly and executed an unsteady pivot before lurching away. The show over, those who who’d stopped to watch the confrontation continued on their way, a few going into the apothecary and the drapery just as Emerence had hoped.

She released the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding until now and addressed her companion. “I thank you for the intervention, sir. Culkhen is troubled and troublesome.”

He turned fully to face her. She caught and held a second breath, this time for a very different reason.

A Quereci nomad. A strikingly handsome one at that. Swarthy skin made even swarthier by the mountain sun and sharp features that reminded her of a raptor bird, he stood out among the pallid, sun-deprived Beladine crowds like a memory of summer, beautiful and brief in these climes. She guessed him to be in his late twenties, though it was hard to tell. The sun had carved small fans into the skin at the corners of his black eyes. His eyes too seemed older, ancient even, as if he’d witnessed the passing of centuries or stared into a darkness that stared back and showed its fangs.

Those eyes narrowed as his gaze took in her stance and the grabber pole in her grip. “Have you faced him alone before?”

She liked his voice, soft around the edges, deep in the middle, as if he rarely spoke loudly, and if he did, others sat up and paid attention. “No, He hasn’t been this bold until now. I suspect he learned my father and half our staff are working at the palace today. He must have assumed he’d only have me to deal with.”

“More fool him then.” The Quereci tipped his chin toward the grabber pole. “You’re good with that stick.”

Emerence felt the hot waterfall of a blush descend from her scalp to paint her cheeks and stain her neck and was horrified by her reaction to a polite compliment. The memory of her clerk’s words when he first warned her about Culkhen saved her from an awkward response. “I was told a group of Quereci were waiting to see me. I’ll risk a guess and say that’s you?”

Her champion nodded. He gestured to where a trio of women waited just outside the entrance to the drapery. Bundled for winter weather, they waved with gloved hands. Emerence recognized the one who held up a stack of packages to show her.

“Dahran Omeya!” She strode to the women, leaning in to gently kiss the elderly woman’s cheeks and have same done to her.

The Quereci woman perused Emerence from head to toe, finally declaring with a frown, “You shouldn’t be fighting men in the streets in this weather dressed like that, Mae Ipsan. At least wear a shawl and cap.”

Emerence laughed. In the many years her father had traded with the Quereci, she’d learned of and grown to admire the fiercely independent mountain nomad women. Dahran Omeya had been their principle contact, and Emerence was always glad to see her. The reminder she stood outside in a harsh winter wind with the threat of snow hanging in the air made her shiver.

“Come inside,” she said, gesturing toward the drapery’s entrance. “There’s a fire going in the parlor, and if you’ve time, I’ll serve tea so you can warm up and rest for a time.”

They followed her into the shop, past the customers inspecting bolts of cloth and tailors either cutting lengths to order or taking measurements, to the very back of the store. Unlike the apothecary, the drapery’s stockroom was a two-story building with its stockroom upstairs. The back had been turned into a parlor where more genteel business negotiations were made over pots of tea or glasses of spirits Emerence’s father Tocqua served to his clients.

The drapery had preceded the apothecary. Tocqua Ipsan was a tailor by trade and expanded his trade from working with cloth to importing it and selling it, concentrating on high quality woolens as well as luxury silks and velvets that appealed to the wealthy Beladine citizenry. While the apothecary was redolent with the scents of herbs, spices, and infused oils, the drapery smelled of wool. It was also a warren of smaller rooms with the walls padded in bolts of cloth stacked atop each other to the ceiling.

The parlor Emerence led her guests to was a comfortable room, kept warm by a fire burning brightly in the hearth, a thick rug on the floor and tapestries on the walls to ward off the cold seeping through wood and stone. Comfortable chairs had been placed about the room, along with a pair of tables. She invited her visitors to sit and took Dahran Omega’s packages to set them on one of the tables.

The shop’s all-maid darted inside before Emerence could call for her. Her glance swept the room, and she raised five fingers in silent question. Five for tea? At Emerence’s nod, she disappeared, closing the door behind her.

“We’ll have tea very soon,” Emerence said, growing increasingly uncomfortable under four intent gazes. She nodded to those women seated on either side of Omeya and to their fierce-looking escort with the golden voice who stood behind the elder’s chair. “Dahran Omeya may have already spoken of me, but if not, I’m Emerence Ipsan, the daughter of Tocqua Ipsan who owns this shop and the apothecary next door. I was the one who placed the order for a bolt of amaranthine-dyed wool.”

The order hadn’t been for her but for the future aristocratic bride of a high-ranking nobleman who wished to include the costly bolt of purple fabric in his bridal gift to her. The Quereci were renowned for their weavers. Her father hadn’t trusted anyone else to make good use of the expensive skeins of amaranthine-dyed wool he’d managed to get his hands on from a merchant who traded with the non-human Kai. He’d almost worried himself into an early grave wondering if he could deliver the promised gift on time. Fortunately, the Quereci had arrived, and if Tocqua’s luck held, one of those packages Dahran Omeya had brought contained the prized bolt.

The two women who’d accompanied Omeya smiled when she translated Emerence’s introduction to them. “This is Dahran Sulti and Dahran Bulava,” she said. She pointed to Emerence’s erstwhile defender. And that is Gaeres, fifth son of the Kakilo clan’s chieftain. Sulti here is his aunt. He’s being considered for the position of council sarsen.” A proud note entered her voice when she included that last bit of information. She looked as if she wanted to say more but Gaeres’s warning glance stopped her.

Emerence wondered at the interaction but didn’t comment. Whatever silent communication was exchanged between the two, it was neither her business nor her concern. She gave them all a swift bow. “You were very kind to intervene on my behalf earlier,” she told Gaeres. “I thank you.”

His hair, revealed once he removed his fur-lined hat, was as black as his eyes and fell around his face in tousled waves, tamed at the temples by small braids woven with tiny coins. She’d heard the Quereci people valued their women so greatly it was difficult for a Quereci man to obtain a wife. Emerence doubted this one had any trouble at all and likely had more than one wife waiting for his return to the camps currently wintering on the plains at the base of the Dramorin mountains.

He returned her bow, his gaze never wavering from her face, his expression solemn. “It was my privilege, Madam Ipsan.”

Once more the annoying blush she couldn’t seem to control heated her face. For the gods’ sakes, she was no green girl to turn red under a man’s admiring eye, not even a man as handsome as this one. Surely, she must be coming down with one of the fevers that tended to crop up this time of year.

Before she could ask about the packages Omeya had brought, a quick tap at the parlor door signaled the all-maid’s return with the promised tea. She let her in and helped her clear the tray of cups, teapot and plate of small pastries, setting them on the table in front of the Quereci women.

Emerence gave the girl instructions before she left. “Go next door and tell Glauca I’ll be gone for sometime. She’ll have to manage the stores until Papa returns or until I do.”

The maid nodded and left. Emerence set to filling cups, waving away Gaeres’s surprising offer to help. He insisted on delivering the cups to the women once Emerence had doctored them to their liking with honey, milk, and turmeric and waited until they’d all taken a first sip—including Emerence—before partaking from his own cup.

His actions were so strange to her, she couldn’t help but stare. Beladine society was distinctly patriarchal and in the more orthodox families, men weren’t only heads of their households, they were small gods. Emerence’s father followed a more balanced philosophy, his business acumen overriding any belief of male superiority, at least when it came to running his shops. He’d put Emerence in a supervisory role the first time she turned a profit for him years earlier. Still, he’d never displayed this sort of deference to the women of his family, not even his mother when she was alive. It seemed the rumors that the Quereci were ruled by women might well be true.

Beladine men would sneer at Gaeres’s actions and call him weak. Emerence suspected that would be a life-threatening mistake.

“We’re different from the Beladine in many ways,” Omeya said, her knowing half-smile hinting she’d guessed at her host’s thoughts.

“But the same in others.” Emerence raised her teacup in a quick toast. “To fine tea, a warm fire, and good company.”

Tocqua Ipsan had always believed a client made welcome was a repeat client and a vendor made to feel the same gave one the best workmanship, first pick from a shipment, and the best goods from a coveted lot. He’d built this parlor for that purpose. Hot tea, comfortable chairs, and an inviting fire remained in memory long after negotiations were over, and the return on hospitality was great.

Emerence employed that philosophy every chance she got. In this instance though she simply enjoyed her Quereci guests’ company and Dahran Omeya’s conversation. Watching Gaeres over the rim of her cup while he drank his tea wasn’t a hardship either.

“Tell me of your trip to see us,” she told Omeya. “Did you encounter much snow?” She refilled teacups and offered tiny, coin sized pastries to eat.

With Omeya translating at times, the three women took turns describing their journey, which consisted mostly of cold days, colder nights, a great deal of snow, and a small avalanche.

“Gaeres saw the warning signs before it was upon us,” Dahran Bulava said. “We managed to get out of the way in time.” She gave Gaeres a wide smile. He returned it with a smaller one and the touch of his fingers over his heart in salute to her.

Playing savior obviously came naturally to him, and Emerence liked the fact he didn’t crow about it. There was charm in humility.

“It’s dangerous this time of year to travel here to Timsiora. My father and I appreciate your willingness to deliver the order, especially with the festival about to start and no lodgings to be found in the city.”

Gaeres spoke this time, once more treating her to the sound of his fine voice. “We’re camped outside the city walls. We prefer it anyway. Fewer people. Better smells.”

He wasn’t wrong about that. Timsiora’s reek wasn’t so bad in the colder months but in summer it was choking. “Will you stay for the Festival of Delyalda?”

Omeya nodded. “For a few days. A dozen of us traveled here. The younger ones want to attend the events as well as the market. Those of us who prefer quiet and an early bed will stay in the camp.”

“And I will play escort to my cousins to some of the celebrations,” Gaeres said without resentment.

Emerence, who attended a few of the smaller Delyalda parties each year but eschewed the bigger events, suddenly found renewed interest in the annual celebration. Foolish, foolish old maid, a voice inside her admonished. She ignored it.

“Have you attended Delyalda before?” Gaeres shook his head. “Then you’re in for a treat. There are far more events going on than you can possibly attend even were you to stay for the entire festival. I can assure you that neither you nor your cousins will lack for things to do.”

“Will you also be attending these celebrations, Madam Ipsan?”

His question took her by surprise, as had many of his actions and statements in the short time since they’d crossed paths. Emerence glanced at Omeya who returned her look with a shrewd one of her own but said nothing. Surely Gaeres wasn’t hinting at wanting her company? Then again, she was a logical choice for such help. She was local with in-depth knowledge of the city and the festival, the perfect guide for newcomers looking to attend the best events. Were she not so buried in work, she might have offered to take on the role.

“I’ve grown too busy and too dull over the years to take part in all but a handful of festival gatherings,” she said, giving him a smile so he’d know she didn’t really mind that fact. “If you’d like to know the best things to attend, my clerk Kaster is a font of knowledge. I can send him to your camp once his work shift is done and he can give you his recommendation of the best gatherings to visit.”

Their respite ended with the emptying of the teapot, and they all turned tot he business at hand. Gaeres opened the packages Emerence had set on the second table in the room, spreading their contents across its surface.

Swaths of wool dyed in both vibrant and muted colors, the weaves tight and durable while still being soft, warm, and light as spiderweb were laid out for Emerence’s inspection. Tocqua had ordered several bolts of dyed wool from the Quereci, not just the extravagant amaranthine. Emerence exclaimed over the beauty of each item, imagining shawls and scarves, head wraps and cloaks edged in fur or lined with tiny, semi-precious stones and carved beads.

Omeya opened the last package herself. This was why they’d made the cold, arduous trip from the plains to the canyon in the dead of winter.

“My gods,” Emerence exclaimed in a reverent voice at her first sight of the rich purple cloth, nearly black in places where the folds created pockets of shadow.

The Kai made amaranthine, and the skeins they dyed and exported to the Gauri in the south commanded a high price, even higher now as that kingdom still reeled from the aftermath of a demon attack on a massive scale. Tocqua refused to tell Emerence how he’d gotten his hands on the costly skeins this far north, but he’d put them to good use, commissioning the Quereci, renowned weavers, to make this stunning cloth.

“Once more the Quereci prove their prowess at weaving,” she said, sliding her fingers along one of the cloth’s edges. “This is extraordinary.”

Omeya beamed. “You’re pleased then?”

“Thrilled,” Emerence assured her. “As my father will be. As the lucky bride will be, and her groom as well. Shall we settle accounts?”

She left them to retrieve her accounts ledger and quill and ink. When she returned, they’d already cleared the table and stacked the bolts of cloth neatly to one side, the amaranthine bolt carefully folded and placed atop the stacks.

Once the sale was recorded and money exchanged, she escorted the Quereci back through the shop and onto the street. Evening came early these days and the air had turned even more brittle. The heavy sky was darker, grayer, and Emerence smelled snow.

“You’ll not want to linger behind the walls,” she told them. “Or you’ll end up trudging through a snowfall to reach your camp.” Making your way anywhere in the dark under a heavy snowfall made for a miserable, half-blind journey, no matter how short or long.

Still, the Quereci hesitated. It was Gaeres who explained their hesitation. “The man in the street earlier. Is he a danger to you? Will he return?”

It was thoughtful of them to ask, and while she couldn’t guarantee Culkhen wouldn’t return to plant himself on the walkway to harass passersby and slander the Ipsan name, Emerence didn’t think him a danger. “Culkhen is a nuisance who finds courage at the bottom of a spirits glass. I’ll be fine.” She tilted her head toward the shops behind her. “And I’m not alone. We’ll manage him together if necessary.”

Assured by her words, the Quereci women bid her farewell and left to join the diminishing throng in the street. Gaeres lingered, his regard intense, those black eyes reminding her of a bolt of black velvet her father had once presented to her mother as a gift. “Where is your husband to guard you from the likes of this Culkhen, Madam Ipsan?”

Emerence sighed. It always came down to this. She didn’t fault him for the assumption. Most women her age were or had been married for years. Those who weren’t were widows or embraced partnerships outside the accepted bonds of marriage. Never married, with no prospects in sight or a wish to pursue any, she was an oddity in Beladine society, sometimes ridiculed, often pitied.

“I have no husband,” she said without apology. “I’ve yet to meet one worthy of that role.” She smiled to take the sting out of her words though she meant every one. “And you, Gaeres? Does your wife wait for your return?” If he felt entitled to ask about her marital status, then she’d return the favor and ask about his. She tried not to pay attention to the flutters of anticipation and dread in her belly as she waited for his answer. Not that it mattered either way.

A smile curved his mouth, enhancing the prominence of his high cheekbones. “I have no wife,” he admitted. “I’ve not yet been deemed worthy enough for one.”

Those flutters in her belly burst into flight. Mortified by her reaction to his words, Emerence thanked almighty Yalda that she was good at hiding her thoughts, though the way Gaeres watched her made her doubt her ability.

“I’ve no doubt that will be rectified very soon,” she told him. “Especially if you’re about to be made a council chief as Dahran has said.” She glanced over her shoulder to see the figures of the women disappearing into the crowd, obviously not concerned that Gaeres wasn’t with them. “You should hurry,” she said. “Before they leave you behind.”

“And you have a shop to attend to.” He bowed to her. “It was my honor and my pleasure to meet you, Madam Ipsan.”

The way he said it made it seem more than just a polite, perfunctory farewell. Impassioned almost with the hint of hope they’d meet again. The awful blush plagued her yet again, and she returned Gaeres’s bow to hide the fire licking at her cheeks. “Likewise, sir. May you and yours enjoy Delyalda while you’re here.”

She watched him sprint after the Quereci women, his tall figure fleet as he maneuvered through the crowd to catch up. He was handsome, intriguing, courageous, and courteous. And young. At least too young to consider a woman like her anything more than the role she fulfilled: Beladine merchant. She shrugged. His presence had afforded her a pleasant interlude for a short time, and if she’d imagined the admiration in his eyes, that was fine too. It was good to dream.

She shivered in the blustering wind and retreated to the drapery where fine cloth dyed by an Elder race and woven by mysterious nomads waited to be repackaged and stored for her father’s return and inspection. The work day didn’t stop, not even for daydreams of future Quereci chieftains.

She didn’t see Gaeres the following day or any days after, though Kaster said the Quereci had returned to the drapery to inquire after her and ask questions about the festival. Gaeres had also spoken to her father who’d been in raptures over the amaranthine wool and regaled Emerence over supper one evening with gossip from the royal palace.

When he left for the kitchen to refill his tankard from the ale ask, his wife Linnett gave Emerence a pitying look. “You realize you’ll hear all of this at least three times?”

“How many times have you heard it so far?”

Tocqua’s second wife was much like Emerence’s deceased mother in character if not in looks. Pragmatic to the bone and just as patient. Emerence had liked her from the first moment they’d met.

Linnett huffed. “Four, and I was there with him, mind, so I saw and heard the same things he did firsthand.

Emerence smothered her laughter when her father returned with his ale and continued with his stories of palace chaos and intrigue as the royal family planned to open the festivities for Delyalda and host a mob of nobles attending the winter celebration as well as the wedding of Lord Sodrin Uhlfrida to King Rodan’s niece.

He and his assistant tailors had been run ragged with seeing to the wardrobes of the many lords ordering new finery at the last minute or updating what they already owned. He turned to more serious matters after exhausting the subject of palace gossip. “I was told by more than a few people about Culkhen Goa making an ass of himself, and that Gaeres had to stop him when he threatened you. You should have told me yourself, Em.”

Linnett nodded. “Keeping quiet doesn’t help anyone.”

Emerence pushed her food around her plate. “I’m sorry to you both, but there really was nothing to tell. Culkhen was deep in his cups and spouting nonsense. I dealt with him and Gaeres convinced him not to linger. I didn’t mention it because you would have worried needlessly as this conversation proves.”

“You’re my child. Of course I’ll worry.”

“I’m a long way from childhood, Papa.”

“But still my daughter,” Tocqua insisted. “I’ll walk you home when you’re ready to leave.” His expression brightened. “Or you can just stay the night here and return home in the morning.”

“Papa, I live next door. I’ll be fine.”

Nevertheless, he ended up watching her from his doorway, refusing to budge until she unlocked her door and waved to him before going inside. Culkhen was becoming even more of an annoyance than anticipated if he was motivating her father to treat her like she was five years old.

Her tiny house was a cozy refuge, perfect for one person, two at most if the pair were enamored with each other. The corner hearth was barely large enough to hold a decent size cook pot but when lit, it kept the main room and the alcove serving as her bedroom warm. The rug underfoot, the blankets on her bed and the curtains at the single window near the door worked as barriers against the cold as well. A humble, comfortable home, and most important of all, entirely hers.

She shed her outer garb and cap, lit the hearth and set a pot of tea to boil. She added a warming pan as well to glide over her bed linens once it got hot enough to do the job. She caught a flicker of motion in the corner of her eye and rose from her crouch by the fire to twitch back the window curtains. The window pane’s glass was frigid under her touch with a line of frost already painting the edges. The street was mostly dark except for a few puddles of light cast by lamps placed in windows of houses across from her.

People were awake later than usual. Delyalda would start in another day, and many prepared to either host or attend private parties as well as the public festivals. Soon enough the streets would remain brightly lit, crowded, and noisy until dawn.

Every year Tocqua groused about the noise and crowds though he didn’t complain about the increase in business. Emerence loved it all. The festival provided a much-needed break from the dreariness of deep winter and the seemingly endless days of bone-chilling temperatures and leaden skies. The Festival of Delyalda bid farewell to the longest night of the year, with an eye toward the preeminence of the longest day, still months away but getting closer with every sunrise.

She finished her tea, dressed for bed, and by the time she banked the fire, her house was toasty. The warming pan turned her bed from a mortuary slab to a cozy haven that invited her to snuggle in and pull the covers over her head, content.

Mostly content, a small voice niggled in her mind. Memories and images played across the backs of her eyelids. Gaeres, tall and burnished, with his hawkish features and black eyes whose expression belonged to an old veteran of brutal wars instead of a young man still sliding into his prime.

She’d found him beautiful. Even his voice, with its rich quiet tones and the half smile he often bestowed on the Quereci women he guarded, enchanted her. He did indeed remind her of summer with its promise of warmth and the sultry play of sunlight on smooth skin and dark hair.

Drowsiness encroached on her visions, and she welcomed it. To dwell too long on those things not hers, and never would be, invited melancholy. She wanted to fall asleep happy not sad. Still, her last image before slumber overtook her was of Gaeres as he took his teacup from her hand, his brown fingers slender and elegant, their tips the whisper of a caress against her own.

As it was every year, the days designated for celebrating Delyalda were defined by crowded streets and a city swelled to thrice its usual size in population. The weekly outdoor market reflected the same as it crept beyond the edges of neighborhoods, and enterprising citizens with an item to sell or a skill to trade set up shop in their doorways, their parlors even, and earned coin from visitors arriving hourly to celebrate the winter festival.

Emerence split her time between the apothecary and the drapery, helping her father and Linnett manage both. She’d intended to balance the accounts for both shops this day, but the crush of customers kept her far too busy. Tocqua was in his glory, he and his army of tailors frantically plying needle and thread to festival finery while Linnett handled the apothecary and Emerence kept the harried staff of both stores from dropping with exhaustion.

Summer came unexpectedly to the apothecary near noon, golden and warm and dusted with snow. She glanced up from measuring a packet of ground willow bark for a client to see Gaeres standing at the counter watching her. She offered him a wide smile, inordinately happy to find him here but worried for the reason. Those who visited this shop did so seeking relief from or a cure for ailments.

She scraped the order of willow bark into a small cloth bag, gave instructions for dosage to her customer and took payment. She signaled one of the clerks to take her place at the counter so she could concentrate on her Quereci visitor.

“What a pleasure to see you here, sir,” she said, meaning every word. “Though I fear why. Is Dahran Omeya ill? The others?”

Gaeres shook his head, flinging droplets of melted snow from his hat onto the floor. “We’re mostly well, Madam Ipsan. I’m here for two purposes. Two of my cousins are next door looking at ribbon, and I’m to escort them to the open market later for one of the daytime events. My other cousin woke this morning with a sick stomach. I’ve been instructed to return to the camp with something to settle it fast so she’ll feel well enough to attend tonight’s festivities with her sisters.” His black eyes warmed. “It was a good excuse as any to see and speak with you once more.”

The surprise jolting her at his forthright statement was only surpassed by the heat suddenly coursing through her veins. She didn’t doubt his sincerity. A lifetime as a shopkeeper’s daughter had trained her ear to know when someone spoke truly or simply tried to charm her into giving them something for free. Even if she weren’t so immune to such false wiles, she’d believe him. Her impression of Gaeres thus far had been of a man of upstanding character, and Emerence trusted her judgment.

“I have just the thing,” she said and motioned to him to follow her toward the back of the shop and one of the floor-to-ceiling shelves crowded with jars and bottles. She went up on her toes to reach a small vial, swallowing a gasp when slender fingers curved around hers to grasp it.

Gaeres let go almost instantly, but Emerence’s hand still tingled from the brief touch as did the rest of her body, especially with him standing so close behind her. She turned to offer him the vial and almost collided with his chest. The apothecary’s small confines and the number of people currently shopping inside it enforced even closer proximity. In this instance, she didn’t mind at all, and if Gaeres’s expression was anything to judge by, he didn’t mind either.

She held the bottle up for his perusal. “Candied ginger, suspended in a little honey,” she told him. “Chew it or steep it in a hot tea. It’s guaranteed to ease the touchiest stomach.”

He plucked the bottle gently from her fingers. A clerk and three more customers sidled up next to them, squeezing them into a corner. If Gaeres was close before, he practically enveloped Emerence now. She savored the moment. He loomed above her, half in shadow, half in lamplight, the fur edging of his hat framing his angular face.

“I’m sorry it’s so crowded,” she said.

“I’m not.” His words caressed her. “What do I owe for the ginger?”

She was tempted to tell him it was gratis, a gift to repay his help with Culkhen days earlier, but she avoided that trap, listening to instinct that warned he’d find insult in that kind of gratitude for his nobility. Instead, she quoted him the price, to which he nodded then grinned. “If we can get out of this corner, I can reach my coin to pay you.”

Never before had Emerence been so reluctant to take payment from a customer.

His hands settled on her waist as he maneuvered her away from the corner toward the counter where customers made their purchases.

“Mae Ipsan,” a clerk called from the other side of the store. “Could I get your assistance please?”

A sigh of regret escaped her lips before she could stop it. She gazed up at Gaeres who towered over her, his hands a warm pressure on her waist even through her heavy clothing. “I’m needed,” she said. “Someone at the counter will see to your purchase.” She smiled. “It was a pleasure to see you again, sir.”

“Gaeres,” he corrected her. “Call me Gaeres, Madam Ipsan.” His hands fell away and he edged back enough to give her room.

“Then you must call me Emerence, Gaeres.” She liked the way his name fell on her lips. “I may be older than you, but it makes me feel like your mother or your aunt when you address me as madam.”

He frowned. “Of the many things about you that have crossed my mind since we met, a comparison to my mother or my aunt was never one of them.”

“Mae Ipsan!” The clerk sounded panicked now.

Emerence brushed Gaeres’s hand with hers. “Give my best to Dahran Omeya and to your cousin. The ginger and honey will help.”

His regard rested soft on her shoulders as she walked away. She watched from the corner of her eye as he paid for his purchase. She missed seeing him leave except for a glimpse of his hat as he passed through the doorway and onto the street.

The remainder of the day was defined by crowds, chaos, and Tocqua Ipsan’s glee over the many sales both shops made. Emerence managed to escape the madness shortly before they closed, explaining she couldn’t put off balancing accounts any longer.

She didn’t lie. The spike in business had delayed her monthly reconciliations and she’d sworn to herself she’d put in a few hours balancing entries before going home. Her stepmother brought her dinner while she worked alone in the draper’s office upstairs, and Emerence savored the quiet of the finally empty shop, even as her eyes itched with fatigue.

She finally set the accounts aside after adding a column of numbers incorrectly for the fourth time. Linnett had extracted a promise from her that she’d go home once she finished her meal. Emerence had broken that promise a good three hours ago.

The distant sounds of party-goers celebrating at some of the homes owned by Beladine nobility echoed through the market district’s deserted streets. Thick clouds obscured the moon and stars above, and snow fell in a gentle curtain onto the rooftops and cobblestone walkways.

She locked the drapery’s front door, checked the door to the apothecary for good measure and turned to walk home. Her heart vaulted into her throat at the sight of a hulking shadow standing across the street, silent, watching. She fumbled for the key she’d dropped into her apron pocket beneath her cloak, as well as the small knife she carried. A tool more than a weapon.

The streets of Timsiora were safe enough if one stayed away from the worst quarters of the city, and she had nothing on her to attract the attentions of a cutpurse or pickpocket, but one could never be too careful. The menacing figure watching her made her glad she carried even the smallest weapon and wish she’d kept her promise to Linnet to leave earlier.

Her small squeak of distress changed to one of relief when the shadow sharpened into details, revealing a familiar tall form. “Gaeres?”

He crossed the street, halting in front of her before offering one of his courteous bows. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Gladdened and puzzled by his appearance, she looked to either side of him wondering where his cousins might be. “What are you doing here? I thought you were escorting your relatives to one of the evening parties.”

“They’re attending it now, along with Dahran Sulti who’ll see to it they’re safe. I’m here to do the same for you.” Darkness hid his expression but not the concern in his voice. “Does your father not worry that you walk alone at night?”

Emerence slipped the shop key and knife back into her pocket. “He always worries, but I’ve done this many times. It’s mostly safe and I stay alert and don’t carry money or jewels on me.” While moments before her heart sat wedged in her throat, it now beat fast at the knowledge Gaeres had come to escort her home, worried for her safety. “How did you know I was still here?” The windows in the drapery’s second story were blocked by concealing curtains, and the light from her desk lamp wasn’t bright enough to penetrate their coverings and shine through.

“I didn’t. Not at first. I wished to see you again so I left Dahran Sulti and my cousins at the party and returned here. I saw your father’s wife bring food to the shop after it closed and assumed you were still working.”

She gaped at him. “You waited all that time? Why didn’t you just knock? I would have let you in.” And cheerfully abandoned battling numbers in favor of spending time with the handsome Quereci.

He shrugged. “I didn’t wish to disturb you.”

Astonished, Emerence could only stare at him before saying, “That’s a long time to wait for someone, especially when you weren’t really sure it was me still in the shop.”

Another shrug, this one accompanied by a lopsided grin. “Reason and good instincts served me well.” He sobered. “I would be honored to escort you to your home or to one of the parties if you so desire.”

As fatigued as she was, the last thing Emerence wanted was to spend the rest of an already long evening amidst loud, drunken crowds, no matter how entertaining the venue or luxurious the setting. “Home,” she said, delighted by the idea of spending a brief time in Gaeres’s company, even if the walk was no more than two streets over from the shops. Hopefully they’d leisurely stroll.

Their breaths fogged in front of them, mingling in a single cloud before dissipating in the frosty air. The snow fell harder, cladding rooftops and covering streets in white. Used to initiating conversation and carrying on small talk with customers, Emerence avoided the awkwardness that came with hunting for topics of conversation.

“The two biggest public parties during Delyalda are hosted by the Ganmurgen and Dolrida families. They’ve been in competition with each other for more than a decade as to who hosts the best party. Which one did you and your cousins attend?”

Snow crunched under their feet as they walked, and Gaeres held her elbow to steady her as they navigated across a slippery patch of road. “I don’t remember,” he said. “It was a great house built of white stone, filled with light, people, and music.”

Emerence couldn’t decide if she heard awe or horror in his voice or possibly both as he described the scene. She recognized his description of the house. “That’s the Dolrida estate. Your cousins will be having a fine time there as will Dahran Sulti. You’re missing out by keeping company with me.” She wasn’t fishing for a denial. A young, handsome Quereci warrior would garner a great deal of fawning attention at a Delyalda celebration and be far more entertained than acting as escort to a tired shopkeeper whose idea of the best ending to the night was to drink a cup of tea and fall into bed.

“I disagree,” he said. “I’ve hoped all day I’d find a way to speak with you again. My patience has been rewarded. There’s no other place I’d rather be at the moment.”

Emerence halted abruptly. Gaeres mimicked her action. “Why?” she asked.

“Why what?”

She held out her hands in a puzzled gesture. “Why did you want to speak with me again? I assure you I’m not known for my sparkling conversation or extraordinary wit.” She was just Emerence Ipsan, merchant’s daughter. A spinster as well. “How unfortunate,” many had clucked to each other, often within her hearing.

Gaeres’s expression remained maddeningly obscure in the shadows. Emerence wished the night were clear so the moon’s radiance might reveal his features better. “Because I find you interesting and would like to know more about you.” He frowned suddenly. “Is this walk of ours unacceptable in Beladine society?”

His question made her smile. Her days of being chaperoned under a matron’s eagle eye for the sake of propriety were long over. There were certain freedoms and perks afforded to spinsterhood, and she was old enough now to act as a matron herself. She chuckled and resumed walking, Gaeres keeping pace beside her. “For a woman of my age and status, it’s perfectly acceptable.” And worthy of at least a month’s supply of gossip among any of the crones who loved to mind everyone else’s affairs except their own.

“What is your age and status?” he asked.

A blunt question that might be considered rude were it asked by another Beladine citizen, but Emerence interpreted as Gaeres meant it – innocent curiosity and a wish to learn more about her just as he’d said. “I’m six and thirty,” she said. He really didn’t need to know she was staring seven and thirty hard in the eye. “And I’ve never been married.”

“Ah. I assumed you were a widow.”

Of course he did. Those who didn’t know her always assumed such when they learned she wasn’t married. “As it is with most unattached women of my age,” she said. “It’s a reasonable assumption.”

“But not why I make it,” he countered. “You’re beautiful, brave, and competent. What man wouldn’t want such a woman?”

Stunned by his compliment and made tongue-tied by it, she stayed silent. He continued with his line of questioning, no doubt emboldened by her silence. “Why have you never married?”

That was an easy question to answer and answer honestly. She wondered if Gaeres would be as startled by her answer as she’d been by his praise of her. “I haven’t yet met the person I’m willing to devote myself to. When I do, it will be for all my life, wholeheartedly and without reservation. They will have all of me, and I will demand all of them. It’s a great deal to ask of someone and a great deal to give them. Such a person may not exist but I’d rather be alone and content in my solitary state than unhappy in a marriage simply for the sake of being wedded.

If her response unsettled him, he gave no indication of it, and the night hid any tell-tale emotion in his gaze. Even if she had unsettled him, it didn’t matter. Gaeres was Quereci, not Beladine. A visitor to Timsiora, a pleasant, very temporary distraction in her daily existence. If he chose to scoff at her words or worse, pity her for them, no matter. The worst that might happen would be she’d send him away and continue her journey home by herself.

Her fascination only grew when he nodded. “That is wise. And admirable. I think there would be many happier people and happier marriages if they thought as you did.”

“There would certainly be a lot more unattached people,” she said with a grin, relieved despite her logical self assurances, that he didn’t mock or express contempt for her beliefs. He’d complimented her yet again, and the warmth inside her chased away much of the cold seeping through her clothes.

They were halfway to her house, their time together almost at an end. Emerence chose to satisfy her own curiosity. “And you, Gaeres, what is your age and status?” She already knew him to be unmarried though not why.

“I’m seven and twenty,” he said. She’d guessed right, but having it confirmed made her groan inside. If only he was in the same decade as her. “I remained unmarried because I’m not yet deemed by my clan as worthy to take a wife.”

Emerence’s eyebrows shot up. Handsome, charming, son of a chieftain, and soon to be a council subchief himself according to Omeya. What could possibly disqualify him as husband material among his own people? “How do you become worthy?” The Quereci were an insular folk who kept to themselves for the most part, their culture mysterious and unknown to outsiders. It seemed she was about to get a peek into their society.

“Through notable deeds, displays of wise council, defense of the clan in times of hostility, hard work, and the building of trust in others through reliability and steadfastness.”

She blinked at him. “Those are all admirable traits in anyone, and while we don’t know each other very well, I have a difficult time believing you haven’t met most if not all of those requirements.”

It was Gaeres who halted first this time. He bowed to Emerence. “You honor me with your words,” he said. She blushed, grateful for the darkness. “I’ve tried to meet those expectations. Only one has yet to satisfy the elders, and that one is mostly due to my age. I hope to remedy that when I become a council sarsen.”

“Wise council,” she said. “Wisdom isn’t normally the purview of youth.”

Gaeres nodded. “So I’ve been told.”

“You’re young,” she said, “but not a stripling lad.” And his gaze was strangely old, she thought. The color and shape of his eyes were arresting, sublime, but their expression was riveting simply for that perennial quality to his regard.

“I hope to still be young by the time I do take a wife,” he said without revealing more about Quereci customs.

They resumed their walk a second time, and she steered the conversation back to the festival and more recommendations for the parties he and his relatives might enjoy attending. “Dahran Omeya said you weren’t staying for the entire festival. Now that you’ve attended some of the gatherings, will you change your mind?” She prayed he’d say yes.

He dashed her hopes with a quick shake of his head. “We leave day after tomorrow, early. However, my cousins are insistent we go to the Sun and Rose celebration. Have you heard of it?”

Not only had she heard of it, she’d attended it several years in a row when she was still in her twenties. “It’s one of the favorite Delyalda celebrations. Four young men are chosen to represent Yalda or the sun. They dance with every woman participating until the musicians stop the music. The woman still dancing with one of the four suns receives a rose of promise. The belief is she’ll find her true love and be married by the time of the next festival.”

“My cousins will kill me in my sleep if I don’t take them to that particular event,” he said on a mournful note.

Emerence laughed. “Trust me when I tell you that you’ll have as wonderful time as they will. As long as you like dancing. I used to attend every year. I still go some years. It’s as entertaining to watch as it is to participate.”

“Why don’t you participate? You said you didn’t wish to marry until you found someone you considered worthy of your heart. That doesn’t mean you can’t still dance and hope just as the others do.”

Whoever became this man’s wife would be one fortunate woman, she thought wistfully. “It’s no longer for me,” she said. “As I’m no longer a dewy maiden and have never been a widow, me dancing in the Sun and Rose would make me ridiculous in others’ eyes. Besides, every woman participating is another woman’s direct competition for that rose. Many truly believe in the rose’s promise. I’ve no wish to make it harder when I have no interest in the outcome.”

His frown became a scowl. “The Beladine are very different from the Quereci. A Quereci woman, old or young, would be encouraged to participate in such a dance, not mocked for it, and the men would fight for the privilege of representing the god instead of waiting to be chosen. In fact,” he continued, “the woman would be the one to pass out a rose to a hopeful Quereci man.”

She sighed. “Your people sound amazing, the women so valued in your world.”

“They are the heart and soul of the clans,” he said. “A Quereci man isn’t considered a full-fledged member of the clan until he marries or is sponsored by a Quereci woman. A Quereci woman is born with the status.” He smiled. “You don’t believe me.”

She shook her head. “No, I do. Truly. I’m just amazed by it all. The Quereci men accept this way of things?”

He tilted his head to one side. “Of course. Why wouldn’t they?”

She wanted to ply him with more questions but unfortunately they’d reached her house. It sat small, dark, and empty across the street from where she stood with Gaeres. Never before had seeing it not given her pleasure. Until now.

“My home,” she said, pointing to the structure. “My father and his wife live next door.” The bigger home was dark as well. No doubt Tocqua and Linnett were sound asleep.

Prior to Gaeres’s revelations about the strong matriarchal nature of Quereci society, Emerence would have braced herself for some disapproving remark over the fact she owned her home independent of her father or some other male relative. Such a thing just wasn’t done. Tocqua himself had been so furious when first learned what she’d done, he didn’t speak to her for a fortnight. She didn’t regret it then. She didn’t regret it now. She might be solitary, but her life was her own, including this humble abode.

Gaeres didn’t remark on her home ownership, but his face drew into forbidding lines and his demeanor changed, taking on a mien so threatening, Emerence backed up a step. “Your door is open,” he said softly. “And a shadow moves inside your house.”

Alarm shot through her and she peered at her door. It was indeed open, partially. The shadows cast from the nearby street lamp had hidden that fact from her on first glance, but her companion had noticed. Her heart thumped painfully fast and hard in her chest. An intruder lurked in her parlor. Were they looking to steal from a house temporarily unoccupied or where they waiting for her to return? The second possibility made her shudder much harder than the first one did.

Gaeres shifted, and suddenly he gripped a wicked looking long knife in one hand. He silently motioned for her to stay where she was.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, a terrible suspicion that he meant to confront the intruder becoming reality right in front of her.

He ignored her question and sprinted across the street on silent feet before she could stop him. He angled away from her door, ending up two houses down before creeping toward her house. As lithe and fluid as any shadow he soon slipped through the doorway.

Emerence jumped at the sudden crash of something breakable, followed by a pained yelp, then a thump and finally a gravid hush. Her door banged open suddenly, slamming against the outside wall as Gaeres emerged, dragging a huddled form by the scruff across the cobbled walk before tossing it into the middle of the street.

The loud noises had alerted her neighbors. Lamplight flared pale yellow in several windows, including those in her father’s house. Gaeres bent to pick something up from the ground before stepping into the street. He nudged the intruder onto his back with the tip of his boot.

Emerence gasped, her fear turning to outrage when she saw the face of the person who’d violated the sanctity of her home. “Culkhen Goa, you bastard!”

“Emerence,” Linnet finally declared, rubbing the small of her back after giving one last swipe of her rag across the small hearth’s mantle. “The house is so clean now, if you scrub anything else, it will crumble to dust, including the stone.”

Her stepmother was right. Emerence’s reason told her it was so, yet she struggled to overcome the revulsion of knowing someone with malicious intent had been in here, touching her possessions, making himself at home in her house, sitting on her furniture as he waited for her to return. For the hundredth time her skin crawled at the thought.

Hours earlier, the small space had been crowded with the city’s constabulary, concerned neighbors, and her furious father demanding Culkhen’s head on a plate. Gaeres had stayed only long enough to recount the event and all pertinent details to her father. Culkhen had remained huddled in the street, surrounded by half the neighborhood who threatened to stone him if he tried to get up and run.

Gaeres had handed a nasty looking dagger to Tocqua. “He had this on him. Whether or not it’s something he always carries or if he brought it with him just for tonight, I can’t say.” His gaze settled on Emerence, sympathy gleaming in those black eyes. Anger too. “I can’t stay to speak with your constables,” he said. “My relatives are probably wondering where I am, but I can return tomorrow if needed.”

Tocqua took the knife, and for a moment Emerence wondered if he planned to use it on its owner. Instead he held out a hand and grasped Gaeres’s forearm in a forceful grip. “Thank you, Gaeres. Thank you for saving my daughter.”

Gaeres returned the clasp, his regard flickering briefly to Tocqua from Emerence. “It was my honor to do so, sir.” He let go and bowed low to her. “Madam Ipsan, I remain forever in your service.”

He left the small mob in the street. Emerence assured her father she’d be right back and chased after Gaeres. He paused when she called his name and turned.

“A thank you seems so inadequate,” she told him. “You’ve saved me twice now.”

Gaeres shook his head. “I defended you twice. There’s a difference.”

Oh, if only she were younger with different dreams and goals. Or if he were older, also with different dreams and goals. He possessed the charm of a courtier, but a charm wielded with sincerity and from the heart, its power so much greater than the practiced kind. Fifteen years earlier and Emerence’s knees would have melted. Instead, she remained steady and offered him an assurance. “You needn’t worry about the constabulary bothering you. My father is a respected Beladine citizen. They’ll accept his word and my testimony as well. And Culkhen Goa has already spent many a night locked in the Zela for petty crimes.”

Gaeres’s eyebrows lowered into that same forbidding expression she found both intriguing and not a little intimidating. “Breaking into your house to wait for you with the intent to commit violence against you isn’t petty, Emerence. You’ll need to be on your guard when they release him from the gaol.”

She nodded. “I know. I will.” She’d underestimated Culkhen’s drive for revenge or the fiery blame he’d assigned her for slandering his already notorious reputation. She wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

“Come to the Sun and Rose celebration tomorrow night,” he told her. At her hesitation, he employed the words that guaranteed she’d show up. “Come so I may have a last chance to tell you farewell before I leave Timsiora.”

“All right,” she said. “I’ll be there, though I don’t know when.”

“I’ll wait for you.” His gaze drifted to a point behind her. Emerence didn’t need to turn to know what he stared at: all her neighbors avidly watching the two of them converse and trying their very best to overhear what was said. Gaeres winked at her. “Until tomorrow, Emerence.”

She watched him go until he turned a corner and disappeared from sight. Even then, she didn’t move until her stepmother’s voice at her shoulder startled her out of her reverie. “A constable is here to speak with you, Emerence.”

Questions and statements by the constabulary and her father’s insistence she sleep at his house for the rest of her life made the night long and tiresome. At dawn she was still wide awake and cleaning her small abode with a demon’s fury. She’d resisted Tocqua’s demands to come home with him and Linnet.

“There’s no possible way I’ll sleep tonight, Papa,” she’d told him. “I just want to clean my house, boil my sheets and get rid of any sense of Culkhen being there.”

“You can do that in the morning,” he began, only to be interrupted by Linnett who came to Emerence’s rescue.

“Remember that time the pair of thieves broke into the apothecary and made off with the emergency fund? Only the coin box was taken, but you had all of us clean the store from top to bottom.”

At that reminder, a glint of understanding dawned in Tocqua’s eyes. He grasped Emerence’s hands. “We can stay to help.”

She pressed his hand to her cheek. “Go home. It’s late. Get your rest. You can help by giving me the day free away from the shops.”

“Done,” he declared.

After promising him and Linnett she’d be fine and wishing a good night to the other neighbors who finally dispersed and went home, she returned to her house and began her cleaning frenzy. She’d presented a calm front to everyone and hadn’t lied when she’d said she was fine, but every creak of the house or noise in the street made her jump. The arrival of the dawn and Linnett at her door with a basket of cleaning supplies had been welcoming sights.

Several hours later, with her house sparkling and new linens on her bed while the ones she washed dried on a line in her back garden, Emerence took pity on her hard-working stepmother. “You’re right. I don’t’ think there’s a spot of dirt to be found.” The lingering sense of being somehow violated remained. No mop or cleaning rag would get rid of that, only time.

“May I use your washtub?” she asked Linnett. “I’m attending the Sun and Rose party tonight, and I’m too dirty for a just a sponge bath.”

Delighted by the request and the fact Emerence didn’t plan to hide in her house from fear, Linnett had readily agreed. When Emerence arrived next door, she found not only a hip bath full of hot water but scented soaps and oils available for her use. And it was Linnett who dressed her freshly washed hair in an intricate knot of braids wrapped in a bun that rested against her nape and was decorated with a sprinkling of pearl hair pins.

She donned the nicest outfit she owned, a gown of forest-green embossed velvet with cuffs, hem and bodice embroidered in silver thread. Her father’s eyes widened when she entered the parlor where he sat by the fire enjoying a cup of tea. “Well,” he said. “Aren’t you a fine sight in the that gown with your hair just so.”

She saw the questions in his eyes: why attend a Delyalda festival this year? And why this particular one with its nod to marriage? Had Gaeres been the one to motivate her to go?

He asked all of these with his gaze but kept the words behind his teeth. Emerence gave him an answer that was true and would please him. “I refuse to let street muck like Culkhen Goa turn me into a fearful hermit. Tonight I will attend a celebration and enjoy myself.” And bid farewell to a man who’d given her a brief view into what it might be like to fall in love.

Smiles wreathed Tocqua’s lined face. “Do you need an escort?”

She almost declined then changed her mind. “I’d love one.”

Tocqua wasted no time. He abandoned his tea and hurriedly exchanged his shoes for his boots. He donned his coat and rushed to open the door for her. “Ready?” he said.

They both checked her house before they left. Tocqua had replaced the broken lock earlier in the day, adding a second for good measure. He’d done the same to the door that opened to her back garden. Satisfied the house was locked up tight, they set off for the Sun and Rose celebration.

The host for this popular Delyalda event changed every year, and this year’s host was the powerful Jakarin family whose estate sat at the end of Timsiora’s market district, surrounded by a high wall that protected a mansion set in the middle of an expansive, manicured garden.

The festival was open to the public for a price. Proceeds went to funding the following year’s party at the next host’s residence and to repair any damage done at the current residence. The second usage was a rare event. No one wanted to be blacklisted from a Sun and Rose celebration.

Her father left her at the main gate where a huge crowd of celebrants had gathered to wait for entry. “When should I return for you?” he said.

“You won’t have to. You know how this works. I’ll just join one of the big groups that always travel together. If you’re still awake when I get back, I’ll knock.”

She chatted with several business acquaintances who waited with her outside the gates. Once inside, she paused to admire the gardens decorated for the festival and the great house shimmering with the light of countless lanterns. Hundreds of people strolled the grounds or gathered in clusters to drink or partake from the numerous tables of food laid out in various spots to be enjoyed.

Emerence set a meandering course toward the house, her gaze sweeping the crowd, looking for one face in particular. She spotted him inside in one of the three packed ballrooms, surrounded by a flock of Beladine maidens whose infatuated expressions told Emerence he’d managed to charm them just as quickly and thoroughly as he’d charmed her. She chuckled under her breath at the hunted look he wore.

Dancers swirled around them, and she caught sight of three dressed in garb not of Beladine fashion and similar in style to Gaeres’s. The cousins, she was sure, and somewhere among the crush of people a venerable dahran watched them with a hawk’s gaze.

This was a young crowd for the most part, but there were plenty of watchful parents or relatives playing chaperon who were closer to her age as well. Emerence’s attention on Gaeres was drawn away by a handsome lord she recognized as one of her father’s clients. He asked her to dance. She obliged and soon found herself whirled about by one partner after another until she begged a moment to rest and fled for small corner of the room, away from the crowd, where she could cool off and enjoy the taste of wine from a goblet a servant had given her. The drink was cold and soothing on her parched tongue and throat.

She spotted Gaeres again and this time his gaze met hers across the room. So much for catching her breath. The look he bestowed on her was hot enough to set her clothes on fire. That look made her wonder what it might be like to stretch naked under the light of a summer sun.

Gaeres began shouldering his way through the crowd of celebrants toward her, his gaze locked on her. She’d come here as he’d asked to say goodbye. Maybe if she were fortunate, he’d kiss her hand or possibly her cheek when he bid her farewell. It would be a lovely memory of him to hold.

He never made it to her. The musicians playing on a second story balcony overlooking the ballroom struck up a familiar tune. The crowd bellowed its excitement and surged together like the inhalation of a great, heaving beast. The dance of Sun and Rose had begun.

Emerence no longer saw Gaeres in the crowd. He was tall but so were many other men in attendance, and it was easy to lose sight of someone among so many. The sea of people broke up into four huge circles. A master of ceremonies held up a bowl to pick the first of four names, men who would act as avatars for Yalda, god of the sun and creation. The four would dance with many of the Beladine maidens in attendance until the music stopped and the lucky woman still dancing with one of the Suns received a Rose of blessing as a token of luck that she might be married by the following Delyalda.

Emerence abandoned her place in the corner, not to join the dance, but for a better view of the dancers, and a better chance of seeing Gaeres in the crush of bodies. She laughed aloud when his name was one of the four called to act as one of the Suns. He wore a resigned expression as he stepped forward to the crowd’s cheers and wagged an admonishing finger at an older woman Emerence recognized as Dahran Sulti. No doubt it had been Sulti who’d entered his name into the lottery.

Emerence almost pitied Gaeres. He and the other three men chosen were in for a long slog of it, fun though it was. While the women either waited their turns to dance with the Suns or bowed out after a time, the men acting as the Suns danced continuously. It was a grueling exercise in stamina, especially when the crowd was this large.

The master of ceremonies raised a hand and signaled for the musicians to begin again. Just before Gaeres’s first partner approached him, he found Emerence. The tiny tilt of his head encouraged her to join the circle. She refused with a quick shake of her head and a smile. As she’d told him before, this dance was no longer for her though she was happy to watch.

He was a graceful dancer, even when it was obvious he was learning the steps as he went. Even as the dance grew progressively faster and wilder, with partners switching at increasing speeds and the musicians played with a gusto only matched by the crowd’s enthusiasm and the dancers’ flying feet, Gaeres didn’t falter or stumble. People in the crowd shouted encouragement to their favorite dancer and the four Suns, two who looked ready to faint from exhaustion.

When the master of ceremonies finally called a halt, the musicians could hardly be heard over the crowd’s roar. A deafening cheer went up, along with a round of applause for the Suns who managed to make it through the entire event and the four women who’d won their Rose of blessing. Emerence clapped and whistled her approval at discovering that Gaeres’s final partner was one of his cousins. He gave her a brief hug, then nudged her toward the master of ceremonies who presented her with one of the roses.

It was Emerence’s turn to be enveloped by the crowd, and she lost sight of Gaeres a third time. Hemmed in from all sides, she managed to shove her way to the perimeter of the ballroom where a set of doors led outside to the gardens. Spotting freedom from the crowds and the heat, she slipped outside, grateful for the shock of cold air that suddenly buffeted her face and cooled her skin.

Snow continued to fall, blanketing the gardens so the white landscape took on a sparkling, ethereal quality. It was only a matter of time before the cold became too much, even for her heavy dress, and she’d retreat inside once more. Until then she followed the line of neatly manicured bushes iced in white to where they stopped just shy of a towering conifer whose sloping branches defied an accumulation of snow so the tree stood tall and black against a night sky made charcoal gray by snow-heavy clouds.

“Emerence.”

She turned at the sound of her name behind her. Gaeres stood nearby. She’d hadn’t heard him come outside. He stood in a pool of lamplight, dressed in the warm colors of autumn, his dark hair tousled from the wild dancing, his hawkish features burnished by the light.

“You finally escaped the crowds too,” she said, walking toward him.

He met her halfway. “It was a battle hard-fought but worth it. I found you again.” His gaze swept over her. “I didn’t think you could be more beautiful. I was wrong.”

She blushed at the compliment. “You’re very kind.”

“No, I’m very honest.”

“Then I will be as well,” she said. “You look magnificent in your finery, and I know I wasn’t the only woman in that room to think so. Was your cousin happy to win one of the roses?”

“Ecstatic.” He angled his body ever so slightly toward hers as she drew ever closer. “She’s the envy of her sisters at the moment and will be bragging about her rose the entire trip home, much to their disgust I’m sure. She was also the one who was sick.”

“Then the honey and ginger worked.” Emerence clapped her hands. “I’m delighted for her.”

Gaeres’s expression turned somber with a shadow of disappointment overlaying it. “I’d hoped you would join the dance so I could dance with you.”

“You know my reasons why I didn’t.” She touched his arm. “I would have liked to dance with you as well.”

Gaeres surveyed their surroundings. “We can dance together here,” he suggested. “Though we have no music.”

Anticipation beat delicate wings against her ribs. “I can hum the tune.”

His grin surely matched her own. “Well then,” he said and held out his hands to hers.

Their fingers entwined and soon they swayed and spun to the tune she hummed. There was no change in tempo to signal a switch in partners, and they danced together as the snow fell ever heavier on and around them.

Emerence forgot the cold as with each step that separated them, then brought them together again, Gaeres drew her ever closer until they no longer spun but only swayed, breast to chest. His arms wrapped snug around her waist, his hands pressed warm to her lower back. Emerence slid her arms over his wide shoulders to rest her fingers against his nape.

He was big and warm, solid and comforting in her arms. His breath tickled her neck and ear as he bent closer to whisper, “I hold the stars.”

She fancied herself too old to go weak-kneed over sweet words, but her knees shook and she sagged in his arms. Gaeres gathered her close until there was no space between them. Emerence leaned back to stare into his eyes. For a moment an odd trick of the lamp light seemed to edge his irises in a thin band of glowing blue. She blinked and it was gone. Only the soft blackness stared back at her.

“You’ve stopped humming,” he said softly.

“You can’t kiss me if I’m humming.”

Gaeres didn’t hesitate. He swooped down, captured her mouth with his and kissed her until she thought all her senses would explode from sheer pleasure.

He tasted of sweet wine, his lips firm but also soft, his tongue a deep caress that filled her mouth and invited her to do the same to him. Muscled arms held her not as if she were something fragile and easily broken but as something he desperately wanted to sink into, be enveloped by, revel in until he was exhausted. Sated. Her light moan only made him hold her tighter, kiss her more deeply.

“Gaeres?”

His name sounded from the direction of the doors. Emerence abruptly ended the kiss and Gaeres groaned a low voiced protest when she jerked out of his arms.

She stared at him wide-eyed. That was Dahran Sulti’s voice, and by the tone of her question, she hadn’t spotted her and Gaeres where they’d ended their dance by the giant conifer.

When he answered, his voice was calm, giving nothing away and completely at odds with his intense expression as he stared at Emerence. “I’m here, Aunt. Stay inside. The snow is coming down harder.”

“We’re ready to leave,” she said.

“I’ll join you in a moment.”

When the doors closed with a click, Emerence exhaled a sigh. “I don’t think she saw us.”

His regard didn’t lighten. “Would it have mattered if she did?”

The question took her aback for a moment and she hesitated before answering. “No,” she said. “Not for me at least.” She was neither embarrassed nor ashamed to return Gaeres’s affections, no matter how fleeting. If he’d been able to stay longer, she’d invite him to continue.

His expression eased and he coaxed her back into his arms. “Nor I,” he said and brushed a second, lighter kiss across her mouth. “I wish could stay, kiss you more, kiss you longer. Walk you to your house and see you tomorrow morning and all the days to come after, but we have to return home.”

“I would like that too,” she said, sliding a lock of his damp hair through her fingers. “But your family awaits you, and as you say, you must return. Thank you for the dance.” She trailed her thumb across his lips. “And for the kiss.”

She stepped out of his hold once more. If she didn’t put some distance between them, they’d end up locked in another passionate embrace. He let her go. Slowly, reluctantly.

“I don’t know if or when I’ll return to Timsiora,” he told her. “If I do, may I escort you home again?”

Kiss you again? Dance with you again?

Emerence heard all three questions in the one he spoke. She smiled, a difficult expression now that melancholy shadowed her heart at his leaving and the very real possibility she might never see him again. “Come back to Timsiora and I will answer you,” she said.

He captured her hand and kissed her fingers. “Summer,” he said as he backed away. “Look for me when summer comes, Emerence Ipsan.” He bowed and left the garden to find his aunt and cousins.

Emerence listened for the door’s click. Only the towering conifer bore witness to her promise. “I will wait as the seasons turn. Wait and remember.”