Cold woke Alise before dawn. She got up and built up the fire and then sat close to it rather than go back to her empty bed. Empty bed. Now there was an idea. In all her years of marriage to Hest, she’d never missed him in her bed, save for that one fateful wedding night that he had largely failed to attend. But Leftrin, whom she had loved for less than a year, him she missed. His absence made her bed empty even when she was in it. She missed the warmth of his bulky body, she missed his gentle breathing. If ever she woke in the night and touched him, he always responded by awakening enough to gather her into his arms and hold her close.
And sometimes closer. She recalled that part with lust, and her body responded with a pang more poignant than any hunger pain she had ever felt. She wanted that back, as soon as possible. Sex with Hest had never been good; with Leftrin, it had never been bad.
She pulled the blankets tighter around her shoulders and huddled closer to the fire. Then she gave in and rose to go to her makeshift drying rack. Her Elderling gown was there, just as lovely as when Leftrin had first given it to her. She had washed it last night, not because it showed any dirt, but because it was something she did every week. Now as she poked her head out of the neck hole, it slid down and over her body, contouring to it and enveloping her in comfort. Very quickly it trapped the warmth of her body and returned it to her. She sighed with relief and momentarily grumbled to herself that it did not cover her feet as well. Ingrate, she chided herself. She was fortunate to have such a wonderful garment. She tried not to wear it when doing heavy or dirty work. Even though it had never torn despite all she had put it through, she did not want to take risks with it.
There was smoked fish for breakfast. Again. She was so tired of it. She fantasized about toast and eggs, a bit of jam and a pot of real tea. Such simple things to long for! Leftrin would do the best he could with bringing back supplies, but there was no predicting when he would return. He had assured her that the trip downriver would go much more swiftly than the one upriver had gone since the ship now knew the way to Kelsingra. But she did not discount all that Tarman might experience on his journey and refused to count the days. Every morning she wondered if this would be the day her captain returned, and every morning she resolved to busy herself and not think about the event until it happened.
Well, today that would not be a challenge! She filled a pot with water, to brew a tea made from local herbs. It was palatable, and a hot drink in the morning was welcome, but it wasn’t “tea” as she desired it. A small slab of smoked fish accompanied it. There was the benefit, she supposed, that there was no lingering over meals anymore. There wasn’t enough of a meal to linger over!
Breakfast finished, she splashed her face and hands, wrapped her feet and put her holey boots on, then slung her worn cloak around her shoulders before stepping outside. The night storm had blown and rained itself out. Thin sunshine sparkled on the wet grasses of the hillside. She looked over and beyond it, across the wide river to the distant city.
She could not tell, at this distance, if lights still burned in any of the windows. The coming of night would tell her that. But she suspected the phenomenon would be short-lived. The Elderling magic seemed to have lingered for many decades, but most often it exhausted itself with a final brief display of wonder. It galled her that it had happened when she was not there to witness it personally. She had already written down her experience of what she had seen. With great regret, she had entered it completely out of chronological order, for she had had to resort to writing on the back of a sketch of an Elderling tapestry, one that she had created when she still resided in Bingtown. Faced with an extreme lack of paper for her documentation, she had recently begun to look through her earlier transcriptions to see which ones had wide margins or blank spaces at the bottom. She hated doing it, but last night she had become resigned to it. She could not suspend her exploration of the city until Leftrin returned.
She already burned with impatience to return to her work. As soon as Heeby brought Rapskal back, she intended to confront him and demand a full accounting of his activities. She hoped he had done no lasting damage to the fragile remains, but in her heart, she was braced to hear of foolishness and destruction. She feared Leftrin was right. The boy was soaking himself in memories from the stone; if he kept it up, he’d soon be a dreamy-eyed shadow of himself, completely lost to this world and today. He’d lose his life in sharing the dream life of Elderlings who had lived centuries ago.
As if her dreams had summoned the dragon, she saw the scarlet dragon in flight over the river. For a moment, her anger faded and she stood transfixed by the sight. Wisps of fog wreathed and then revealed the creature. Heeby seemed to fly more strongly than ever: hunting for herself seemed to agree with her. Then, as the dragon banked and turned back to the far shore, another dot of motion in the sky caught her eye.
