The Dragon Keeper (Rain Wild Chronicles #1)

The Dragon Keeper (Rain Wild Chronicles #1) Page 74

“Our marriage contract clearly states that you will cooperate in my efforts to create an heir.”

Did he think he had her at a disadvantage? Did he think her memory was not as good as his? Foolish man! Anger made her bolder. “Was it worded that way? I don’t recall you speaking it aloud in quite those words, but I am sure I can consult the official document if you wish me to. While I am consulting with the Document Keeper, I can also look up the proviso in which you promised I should be allowed to go on a journey to the Rain Wilds to study the dragons. That clause I do recall, quite clearly.”

He stiffened. She had gone too far. Her heart began to hammer. Hest had a temper. She’d seen it taken out on inanimate objects and animals. But she did not think that precedent made her safe from it. Doubtless he classified her with both those things. His face reddened and he bared his teeth. She stood stock-still, as if he were a rabid dog. Perhaps that stillness helped him to gather some control of himself. When he spoke, his voice was low and tight. “Then I think you should go to the Rain Wilds.”

And then he simply left the room, slamming the door so hard that the water leaped in the vase of flowers on her desk. Alise stood trembling and catching her breath. For an instant, she wondered if she had won. Then she decided she didn’t care. As she tugged the bellpull that would summon her maid, her mind was already busy with what she needed to pack.

“YOU’VE RUINED THIS SHIRT.”

Hest looked up from the desk in the corner of his bedchamber. His pen was still in his hand, his brow furrowed in annoyance at the interruption. “If it’s ruined, then it’s ruined. I don’t want to hear about it. Just throw it away.” He dipped his pen again and scratched away furiously at whatever he was writing. He was in a bad temper. Best to keep quiet and finish his unpacking for him.

Sedric sighed to himself. There were days, he thought, when he could not imagine any better future than continuing to serve Hest. But there were also days, like today, when he wondered if he could tolerate the man for even another minute. He looked a moment longer at the scatter of careless burns across the blue silk of the sleeve. He knew just how the shirt had been ruined. A pipe, carelessly knocked out against the door of a carriage, and the flying sparks had flown back to burn the sleeve before Hest had drawn his arm back in. With his fingernail, he scratched at the fabric, and the small scorches became tiny holes. No. There was no way to salvage it. A shame.

He well remembered the sunny day and the Chalcedean market where they had purchased the bolt of silk. It had been on the very first trading trip he’d made to Chalced with Hest. Going abroad to trade had been a heady experience for him. It had enhanced Hest’s status in his eyes to see how his friend and now employer moved so confidently and competently through the clatter and clutter of the foreign market. It had still been a dangerous venture then, two Bingtown merchants venturing into a market in the Chalcedean capital. The war was still fresh in everyone’s mind, the peace too new to trust. For every merchant anxious to capture a new market, there were two Chalcedean soldiers still smarting at how Bingtown had repelled their invasion and willing to settle the score with an unwary foreigner. Widows clustered to beg at the market outskirts routinely spat and cursed at them. Orphans alternated between begging for coins and throwing small rocks at them.

For a moment he recalled it all, the hot sun, the narrow winding streets, the hurrying slave boys in their short tunics with dusty bare legs, the thick smell of harsh smoking herbs wafting through the open market, and the women, draped in lace and silk and ribbons so that they moved like small ships transporting mounds of fabric rather than people. Best of all, he recalled Hest at his side, striding along, his mouth set in a grin, his eyes avid for every exotic sight. He’d darted from one market stall to the next as if there were a race to find the most desirable goods. He did not let the awkwardness of his Chalcedean slow the trading process. If a vendor shook his head or shrugged his shoulders, Hest spoke louder and gestured more widely until he made himself understood. He’d bought the bolt of blue silk for a careless scattering of coins, and then hastened off, leaving Sedric to finish the transaction and hurry after him, the roll of azure fabric bouncing on his shoulder. Later that day, they’d visited a tailor’s shop near their inn, and Hest had ordered the silk converted to three shirts for each of them. The shirts had been ready and waiting for them on the following morning. “You have to love Chalced!” he’d exclaimed to Sedric when they picked them up. “In Bingtown, I’d have paid three times as much and had to wait a week for them to be finished.” And the fit of each shirt had been perfect.