The Chronicles Of Ixia. Books 1-6. Maria Snyder V.

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СКАЧАТЬ opened the cap and sniffed. Again, I experienced no memories of being five, but the scent made me remember the time I had hidden under a table in Valek’s office. I had been searching for the recipe to the antidote for Butterfly’s Dust, the so-called poison in my body that had been Valek’s way to keep me from escaping. Thinking I had needed a daily dose of the antidote to stay alive, I had been intent on finding the cure. Valek had come back early, and discovered me because I had used lavender scented soap.

      I still favored the scent. “This is perfect,” I said to Perl. “Thank you.”

      Unexpected fear flared in Perl’s eyes. She clamped her lips and clasped her hands. Taking a deep breath, she declared, “I’m coming with you. Esau, where’s my pack?” she asked him as he returned with an armload of food.

      “Upstairs in our room,” he said.

      She rushed past him. If he was surprised by her sudden decision, it didn’t show in his expression. I added the bread and fruit he had brought to my pack, and I wrapped the perfume bottles in my cloak. During the journey south, my cloak had been too hot to wear, but it had made a soft place to sleep when we had camped along the road.

      “The food will only last so long, and you’ll probably need more clothes while you’re at the Citadel,” Esau said. “Do you have any money?”

      I fumbled in my pack. Needing money for food and clothes still seemed odd to me. In the north, we had been provided with all of our basic necessities. I pulled out the bag of Ixian gold coins that Valek had given to me before we parted.

      Showing one to Esau, I asked, “Will these work?”

      “Put that away.” He closed my hand around the coin. “Don’t let anyone see that you have them. When you get to the Citadel, ask Irys to exchange them for Sitian money.”

      “Why?”

      “You might be mistaken for a northerner.”

      “But I am—”

      “You are not. Most southerners are suspicious of people from Ixia, even the political refugees. You are a Zaltana. Always remember that.”

      A Zaltana. I worked the name around my mind, wondering if just saying the name would make me one. Somehow I knew it wasn’t going to be that easy.

      Esau went over to a desk and rummaged through the drawers. I put away Valek’s money. With my father’s supplies and food, my pack bulged. I made an attempt to organize the contents. Would I need my rope and grapple? Or my northern uniform? While I hoped that I wouldn’t have cause to use them, I couldn’t bring myself to part with them just yet.

      Metal rattled. Esau returned with a handful of silver coins. “It’s all I could find, but it should be enough until you get to the Citadel. Now go up and say goodbye to your mother. It’s getting late.”

      “Isn’t she coming with us?”

      “No. You’ll find her on the bed.” He said those words with a mixture of resignation and acceptance.

      I pondered his words as I pulled the lift up. I found her curled up in a ball on top of the quilt in her bedroom. Perl’s body shook as tears soaked into her pillow.

      “Next time,” she sobbed. “Next time I’m going with Leif to the Citadel. Next time.”

      “I would like that,” I said. Remembering Leif’s comment on how she hadn’t left the jungle in so long, I added, “I’ll come home and see you as soon as I can.”

      “Next time. I’m doing it next time.”

      Having decided to delay the trip to the Magician’s Keep, Perl calmed. Eventually, she unfurled and stood, smoothing her dress and wiping tears from her cheeks. “Next time, you’ll stay with us longer.”

      It sounded like an order. “Yes, Per … Mother.”

      The creases of worry disappeared from her face, revealing her beauty. She hugged me tight and whispered, “I don’t want to lose you again. Be very careful.”

      “I will.” I meant it. Some hard-learned habits couldn’t be broken.

      * * *

      There were only a few exits to the jungle floor. Each exit was named after a family whose residences were nearby. I reached the room that had the Palm ladder. Just as I swung a leg onto the first rung, I heard Nutty’s voice. I had already said goodbye to my parents and Bavol Cacao, but hadn’t been able to find Nutty anywhere.

      “Yelena, wait,” Nutty said.

      I stopped, looking up in time to see her swinging through the door. She clutched a mass of colorful cloth in one fist.

      “I made these—” she paused to catch her breath “—for you.”

      The light yellow skirt—subdued by Zaltana standards—was printed with small buttercups, and the shirt was a solid coral color. I eyed the skirt with suspicion. Nutty laughed.

      “Look,” she said, pulling the skirt apart. “See? It looks like a skirt, but it’s really pants. You’ll be awfully hot in those black trousers when you cross the plains.” She held the waistband up to me as if judging the length. “And this way, you won’t stand out so much.”

      “Clever girl,” I said, smiling.

      “You like?”

      “I like.”

      She seemed pleased with herself. “I knew it.”

      “Can you make me some more? Perhaps you can send them with Bavol when he comes?”

      “Sure.”

      I removed my backpack, and searched for some money. “How much?”

      Nutty shook her head. “When you get to the Illiais Market, buy some cloth from Fern’s stand. Then have her send it to me. I’ll need three yards for each set of clothes. I’ll make as many as you want.”

      “But what about wages for your efforts?”

      Her ponytails flew as she swung her head no again. “Zaltanas do not charge family. Although …” Her brown eyes glinted. “If anyone should ask who designed your clothes—feel free to give them my name.”

      “I will. Thanks.” I folded my new outfit and stuffed it into my backpack. Then Nutty hugged me goodbye.

      The warmth from her body clung to me as I climbed down the ladder. It lasted until the first cold sneer from Leif drove it away.

      He waited for me on the jungle floor. Leif had changed into traveling clothes that consisted of a tan cotton tunic, dark brown pants and boots. He carried a large leather pack on his back and a machete hung from his thick belt.

      “Keep up or be left behind,” he said to the air above my head. Turning his broad back to me, he took off at a brisk clip.

      I knew I would soon tire of looking at his back, but, for now, the pace he set was a welcome chance to stretch my legs.

      Without СКАЧАТЬ