The Black Raven - Katharine Kerr [18]
Admi shuddered, drawing his cloak tighter around his enormous belly. Still, Verrarc was aware of how shrewdly Admi studied him behind this little gesture of fear. Verrarc glanced away, but he made sure he didn’t look at Raena.
“Tomorrow,” Admi said finally, “I think me we should call a meeting of the council. Tomorrow, say?”
“Uh well, I’ll not be ready by then. The day after?”
“Very well. When the sun’s at its highest. There’s a need on the full five of us to go over this matter and see what may be done to lay it to rest.”
“Well and good, then. Shall I go round to the others and tell them about the meeting?”
“Oh, I be out for a stroll alone, and it be no trouble for me to stop by their houses.” Admi patted his belly. “My wife, she does say I grow too stout, and so she does turn me out into the cold like a horse into pasture to trot some of the flesh away.”
Admi laughed, but Verrarc found merriment beyond him. Raena stood watching the pair of them with eyes that revealed nothing. Admi nodded her way with another smile.
“My farewell to you both,” Admi said. “I’ll be off, then.”
For a moment they stood watching him waddle across the plaza, stepping carefully on the slick cobblestones. He turned down the narrow path that led to the western flank of Citadel, where the temple of the local gods and the cottage belonging to Werda, the town’s Spirit Talker, stood close together.
“My curse upon him!” Raena snarled. “Will no one in this stinking town even speak my name?”
“Here, he did give you a greeting of a sort. Some weeks past he’d not have done that much. Patience, my love.”
Raena tossed her head in such anger that the hood of her cloak fell back. With a muffled oath she pulled it back up again.
“Patience!” she snarled. “I be sick of that as well.”
“Well, no doubt, and I can’t hold it to your blame. I did speak with some of the townswomen and did ask them to intercede for us with the Spirit Talker. If only she’d bless our marriage—”
Raena jerked her head around and spat on the cobbles. Two of the passing servants stopped to consider her, and Verrarc could see the twist of contempt on their faces.
“Shall we go home?” Verrarc grabbed Raena’s arm through the muffling cloak.
“I’d rather not!” She pulled away and strode off fast across the plaza, though in but a few steps she nearly slipped. With another curse she slowed down to let Verrarc catch up with her. When he touched her arm she turned and suddenly smiled at him.
“My apologies, my love,” she said. “It does gripe my heart, is all, to see your fellow citizens look down long noses at me.”
“It does gripe mine, too.”
They walked on, past the stone Council House that graced the side of the plaza opposite the temple. At the stone well Verrarc paused. Wrapped in her shabby cloak, Dera was hauling up a bucket of water. He’d not heard that she’d mended from her latest bout of winter rheum, and her face seemed thinner than ever, framed by wisps of grey hair.
“Here!” Verrarc called out. “Let me take that for you.”
He hurried over, leaving Raena to follow after, and grabbed the heavy bucket’s handle in both hands. Dera let it go with a sigh of thanks. Her face was pale, as well as thin, and scored with deep wrinkles across her cheeks.
“You’ll not be carrying such when I’m about,” Verrarc said, smiling. “I do ken that Kiel be on watch, but surely your man or your daughter could have fetched this.”
“Lael be off setting traps in the granary.” Dera’s voice rasped, all parched. “And Niffa? Well, the poor little thing be wrapped in her grief. Sometimes she does stay abed all through the daylight, only to sit up weeping in the night.”
“Ai!” Verrarc shook his head