Looking at the piles of dirty dishes, paint-stained rags, soiled clothing, long-dead flowers and old vegetables covering the kitchen bench, Rielle considered where to start. Dividing it all into items worth keeping or to be thrown away would be a beginning. She considered separating the former based on whether the object needed to be cleaned or not but realised that there was nothing that didn’t.
She couldn’t venture outside to collect water, however. When Izare returned she would get him to do it. Then she would burn some of the rubbish in the stove to heat the water and use the ash, as Jonare had suggested, to help clean the dishes.
Yet she hesitated, afraid that if she disturbed one item the rest would topple over. Would that be such a bad thing? Most of the dishes looked chipped and cracked anyway. The trouble was, they could hardly afford to replace them.
Better start from the top, then, she told herself. Stepping forward, she began to lift an old shirt draped over half the mess. It peeled away, so stiffened with grime and oily paint that it retained some of the shape of the items beneath it. Underneath she found a plate of mouldy sunmelon slices. She sighed out a small prayer to the Angels. No wonder this corner of the room smelled so bad.
A knock came from the main door. Looking over her shoulder towards the sound, then back at the blue-crusted melon, she sighed and replaced the shirt. She hurried out of the room, hoping that whoever had come would fetch her some water.
The heavy main door swung inward to reveal a familiar, kind face set in a frown of sternness and determination.
“Ais Lazuli,” Sa-Baro said. “May I come in and speak with you?”
She could not answer for a moment, first because she had frozen with alarm, then because she was biting back a curse at her own stupidity at answering the door at all, and finally because she was unsure what she should do. He could have so easily forced his way in with magic, but he hadn’t. He had asked to come in.
Would he go away if she refused to talk to him? She was tempted, just to see what happened.
She thought of Narmah and the urge to rebel faded.
“Are you here to take me home?” she asked.
It might have been her imagination, but his expression appeared to soften a fraction. He shook his head.
“Why should I believe you?”
“I swear it is true,” he replied solemnly. “I swear it on the Angels’ names.”
She opened the door fully, gesturing for him to enter the lower room. He looked around as he entered, his gaze moving from the bed to the piles of mess, no doubt comparing it to the tastefully decorated receiving room in the dyeworks. She pushed a pile of dirty clothes off the old chair and waved at it, though she could not imagine him, in his perfect blue robes, looking anything but out of place. He shook his head.
“I won’t be staying long.” He turned to face her. “Are you well?”
“Yes,” she replied. “Is my family well?”
He nodded. “Anxious for your wellbeing, of course.”
“Of course.” By thinking of Narmah, not her mother, she managed to keep sarcasm from her voice.
He looked down at the floor, his brow furrowing, then regarded her directly.
“I apologise for my bluntness but… have you… is Izare your lover?”
She held his gaze, surprised at how easy it was. Perhaps because her answer would have been different if he had done what he had promised to.
“Yes,” she answered.
He looked away, shaking his head. “Foolish girl.”
A surge of anger went through her. “If my choice was foolish, then you are to blame for forcing it by betraying my trust.”
His eyes narrowed. “You dare to judge me, when you have been lying for so long?”
She shook her head. “I did not lie to anyone.”
“No? But you concealed the truth. From your family. From me. How was I to advise you well, if I did not know all that troubled you?”
She closed her mouth. He was right. Would he have told her parents of his suspicions about her and Izare if she’d admitted to him how fondly she had come to regard Izare? Perhaps he’d have guessed she might choose to leave her family, if faced with losing him.
He must have believed their relationship was a shallower thing. He hadn’t thought the prospect of being married off to one of the great families’ reject sons was enough to drive her into running away, because he’d assumed she had nowhere to go.
Or perhaps he’d assumed she wouldn’t give up the wealth of her upbringing to live with a poor artist.
Sa-Baro sighed. “Your aunt would like to see you. Will you meet her?”
“She hopes to establish friendly relations,” he told her. “Make peace between yourself and your parents. Are you open to such a thing?”
“I am… with conditions.”
“I’m sure she will have some of her own.” He nodded. “I will let her know.”
He started for the door. She stepped aside and followed him out of the room. He let himself out, pausing once to look at her, his expression sad, before stepping outside.
After the door had closed, Rielle drew in a deep breath and let it out, willing the anger and regret to whoosh out with it. Hope warred with fear. It would be wonderful to see Narmah. So long as the meeting was with Narmah, and not some attempt by her family to capture her and take her home.
Abruptly, from out of nowhere, a thought sliced through all others.
I spoke with a priest and never once thought about how I’d learned magic.
She shivered. All she’d thought about was how Sa-Baro had betrayed her. Next time she might not be so lucky. It was going to be hard, meeting the eyes of a priest while thinking about what she had done. Hopefully, many years of hiding her ability to see Stain would help her keep this new secret.
But for now she had more pressing problems. Pushing the thought aside, she turned to look at the lower room, seeing it as Sa-Baro must have and feeling ashamed. Izare did not mind the mess and had no servants to do the work. Nothing would change here without her making it.
Since it was clear that the priests knew she was here and weren’t about to drag her home, she was free to fetch water for herself. Straightening her shoulders, she walked over and picked up the metal basin she and Izare used to wash themselves and their clothes. Setting it on the stove, she picked up the large pitcher Izare used to carry water in from the fountain and headed for the main door.
As she stepped out into the courtyard her skin prickled. She hadn’t been outside in two quarterdays. The neighbours knew she was there. She’d seen them peering up at the windows of Izare’s house and heard them ask after her. While she was not dressed in the fine clothes she had always worn at home–Jonare had sent some skirts and tunics from before her first pregnancy–she felt conspicuous. Reaching the fountain, she filled the pitcher then hurried back inside.
When she returned to the fountain, she was not surprised to find Monya filling some glass bottles.
“Hello, Rielle,” the woman said, smiling and glancing up. “Are you well? I saw the priest leave. It was uncommonly sneaky of him to slip past our lookouts.”
Rielle smiled. “I’m well, thank you. He did no harm. Only wanted to ask a few questions. How are you and Dinni?”
She looked pleased. “We’re getting by. Dinni is carving again, thanks to the generosity of our latest customer. She heard what happened and withheld her usual festival donation to pay for replacement materials.”
“Sounds like a nice customer.”
Monya nodded. “She is. A great appreciator of art and a champion of women. I should introduce you.”
“I’d like that.” Perhaps this customer wouldn’t mind a painting by a woman.
“Doing a little cleaning?”
“Yes, though probably more than a little.”
“Tam, the old weaver who lives over there…”–she nodded to a nearby house–“… used to wash Izare’s clothes every quarterday for a few copee.”
“Does she still?”
“She figures you’ll be doing it now. But if you’d like her to, I’m sure she’d be happy to.”
Rielle nodded, noting the shift in tone that suggested Monya was hinting at something more. Most likely the old woman needed the income. Trouble was, she didn’t know if Izare could afford it now.
“I’ll see what Izare means to do,” she said. “He’s out trying to find new commissions.”
Monya looked thoughtful. “He hasn’t had to do that for a while.”
“So I hear.” Rielle grimaced and looked down at the pitcher. “I’d better get started.”
She headed back to the house, and made two more trips before the basin was full. Hours later she had removed everything from the kitchen bench, made a pile of reusable items and scrubbed the plates with ash and an old rag. She tossed the garbage she couldn’t burn into a shallow pit in an alley all the locals used. When it was full everyone put money together to pay garbage collectors to empty it.
She was tipping the last of the dirty water into a bucket to empty down the drain outside when the main door opened and Izare strode in, carrying a cloth-wrapped rectangular bundle and a loaf of bread. He paused in the lower room doorway to stare at her, then put down his burden and hurried forward.
“Let me help you with that.” Grabbing the bucket, he carried it outside.
“Any luck?” she asked when he returned.
He shook his head. “Monya said you had a visitor.”
“Sa-Baro.”
Izare’s eyes widened. He stepped forward and seized her hands. “What did he do?”
“Nothing. Except ask if I’d meet with my aunt.”
He looked thoughtful. “What did you say?”
“That I would.”
“It could be a trap. He might have come here hoping to surprise you, and told you your aunt wanted to meet you so you’d stay put while he went to inform your family of your location. They could be on their way right now.”
She shrugged. “It was hours ago. If they were going to do it, they’d have done it by now. No, I’m damaged goods. Nobody in the families will want to marry me now. It’s better for them if I stay away rather than be a burden and a constant reminder of scandal.”
“No!” He brought her hands to his mouth, kissing one after another. “You are not damaged, nor were you ever goods to be traded.”
She drew a deep breath, steeled herself and looked at him directly. “Do you want to marry me?”
He smiled. “Want to? Yes! Afford to? Not yet.”
She pulled her hands from his. “Jonare told me about the priests’ bribe. If I could get my parents to approve of a marriage they wouldn’t dare ask for one.”
“But your parents won’t.”
“They might, if it blackened the family name a little less.”
The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Rendered it in grey instead?”
She smiled at his joke. “It would look better if their only daughter wasn’t living in poverty, too.”
He scowled. “I don’t need their charity.”
“You don’t want their charity,” she corrected. “And neither do I. I don’t want you to starve because of me, either.” She looked down at the bundle, which he’d dropped on the bed. “What did you buy?”
He grimaced. Unwrapping the bundle, he revealed several sheaves of cheap paper, a bottle of oil and some jars of pigment.
“Yes–but don’t worry. There’s one kind of artwork that always generates a reliable income, but I can’t do it if I don’t have paint.” He smiled. “I’ll start tomorrow. But for now… it looks like you’ve done enough work for today. Your hands are all red. Let me take care of the clothing.”
Picking up the bundle of dirty clothes she’d tossed on the bed, he headed for the main door. “I’ll be right back.”
Rielle opened her mouth to object, but closed it again without speaking. Old Tam needs money, too, she reminded herself. Perhaps some day we’ll need a favour from her.