Nights of Villjamur - Mark Charan Newton [100]
Eir gave an impatient shrug. “I don’t really have much time for the business of such people. Why should I risk stepping foot in that darkness?”
Randur grunted to suppress a laugh. How could this girl be even temporarily in charge if she doesn’t have a clue about half the type of people in her own damn city? It makes me glad I never grew up in a place like this.
Randur was feeling tired, knew he was getting grumpy as he always did when he hadn’t had enough sleep. That, combined with his hangover, meant he was pretty pissed off. “What is it with this place, this legendary city of sanctuary? The jewel of the Jamur Empire, the largest city in the Archipelago, yet you’ve got thousands of refugees camped right outside the gates, while the city’s rulers turn a blind eye on the millions of ordinary citizens who don’t own huge acreages of land, or who haven’t grown fat off tribal slave labor, or what’s practically wage slavery. They’re just not real to you, are they?”
“Everyone’s real to me,” Eir said.
“Reckon you’re even real yourself?” Randur sneered. “What kind of life have you ever led to make you so real?”
“A dutiful one, thank you. I’ve had pressures and responsibilities.”
“Responsibilities. Right. I bet you’ve always had every last thing done for you.”
“And who exactly are you to tell me this? I should have you strung up from the city walls as an example.”
“That’s exactly my point, see?” Randur continued, unabashed. “You just deal with life the way a spoiled child would. You want to eliminate someone just because he tells it how it is. What kind of ruler does that make you, if you can’t even deal with ordinary people?”
She walked to the tapestry covering the window, drew it back and gazed over the countless spires of Villjamur. “This is the only city I’ve really known. I’ve heard of the other places—Vilhokr, Vilhokteu, Gish. I’ve never visited them, never needed to, was always advised not to. Maybe I’ve been fortunate in my position and upbringing, but …” Anger now flared in those eyes, and frustration. “… Just because I haven’t had to work for my living, doesn’t mean my entire life has been worth less than anyone else’s.”
Randur suspected he’d hurt her, thought right now it was difficult to care. He had a throbbing head, a mouth as dry as a desert rock. He was angry at this rich girl. Her superior attitude added a whole new rancor to his thinking.
“For your information,” Eir said, “there’s perhaps a little more to me than you might think. I’m not a bad person. I’ve not wished ill on anyone. Every time we practice dance or combat you make a reference to my fortunate upbringing as if it was something you missed out on. Well, it isn’t that lucky being imprisoned in a life you don’t necessarily want. So maybe I’m a little short with people at times. To use a phrase of your own, maybe I do get pissed off. Some of us can’t just go on pretending to be someone we’re not.”
If she knew anything of his past, of his own secrets, she didn’t show it. This was all getting a little bit near the knuckle.
She continued, her voice significantly softer, “Perhaps you yourself should show me the other side of this city then, if you really think it would do me some good?”
“Like I’d be able to sneak you out of this place with no one noticing. I’ll probably lose my head for that—but sure, why not? If you’re genuinely up for it, we can find a way. But, look, we should be doing dance practice. Let’s learn a few steps, shall we? I’ll count time for us, in the absence of our drummer.”
Eir approached him. They assumed position, fingers locked, a close embrace, and more than ever she seemed small and vulnerable in his arms. She was now in one of those moods where she didn’t seem to want to look at him, wanted to pull as far away as possible in each dance step. Maybe he would try to patch things up between them by just shutting up.
The door opened to