Heirs of Prophecy - Lisa Smedman [9]
"Ah… Mistress, then," he said, nodding at her gown. Close enough to see her now, his eyes missed nothing- not the heavy bag over Larajin's shoulder, nor the toe of the boot that was peeking out from under her hem. His eyes narrowed. "What urgent business compels you out of your home and onto the streets this late at night?"
Larajin stared at him for a long, silent moment, imitating the way Thazienne had once stared down a young serving girl who had caught her climbing out a window late at night. The serving girl-Larajin-never reported rt to the master.
"I am returning to Stormweather Towers after a… liaison," she said, falling into a flawless imitation of noble speech. "The business I was about was legal and therefore none of your concern. I am Mistress Thazienne, of House Uskevren, and when- my father hears how you roughly accosted me and tore my sleeve, he will be sorely displeased. You can imagine what conclusions he will draw and what reports will reach the Hulorn's ears."
As she spoke, she grabbed a handful of slashed sleeve and yanked on it just enough to cause a small rip. The soldier's eyes widened at the sound of tearing cloth, and he took a step back. He bowed, sweeping a hand in the direction of Stormweather Towers.
"Mistress, I beg your pardon. Please proceed."
As haughtily as she could, Larajin swept by him, her gown rustling. After a few steps, a quick glimpse behind assured her that the guard could no longer see her. Immediately she gathered the skirts of the gown, turned silently around, and tiptoed past him-giving him a wide berth, so he wouldn't smell the perfume this time.
When she was certain she'd left the guard well behind, she broke into a jog, then a run. As she ran, she tried to decide which way she should go. The High Bridge lay to
the north, along Galogar's Ride. It was the only way out of the city for travelers bound for Ordulin, but Larajin could hardly head there. In another moment the guards would realize they'd been duped and would start searching for a "noblewoman" in a green gown. She needed somewhere close, somewhere she could change into a different disguise.
Habrith's bakery was just a few blocks away.
As she hurried there, Larajin chided herself for not thinking of Habrith earlier. Not only was the baker someone she could trust, she also knew the route to the Tangled Trees. It had been Habrith who set up the trading mission that took Master Thamalon there twenty-five years before. Larajin suspected that Habrith had made the journey more recently than that, as well. More than once, over the years that Larajin had known her, the baker had left her shop in the hands of apprentices who were able to say only that their mistress was "on a journey to the north."
With luck, Larajin might even be able to persuade Habrith to accompany her. If not, Habrith would at least be able to provide her with a fresh disguise and tell her how to reach the Tangled Trees-and what to expect when she got there.
Habrith's bakery was certain to be open, even at so early an hour. Bakers were early risers who began work while the rest of the city still slept, so that their loaves would be ready at dawn. Habrith was a perfectionist, who liked to supervise the baking herself. Her loaves might look simple, but the exotic mix of ingredients that flavored them demanded absolute precision in measuring-something her newest apprentice was still struggling to learn.
As Larajin rounded the corner onto Larawkan Lane, the smells of yeast and baking bread drifted down the road toward her. Mixed with them was the sour smell of the dung that a street sweeper was pushing to the side of the road with his broom. Larajin passed the front of the
shop, which had a closed sign on its door and its curtains drawn, and turned into the alley that led to the delivery door at the rear.
Shed no sooner stepped out of the street light than she heard a faint noise