The Dark Remains - Mark Anthony [218]
“But …”
“What man of the Mournish does not know his fate when he sees it? Beshala.”
They stood like the trees, swaying in the wind as the gulls called out above them. Then slowly, against the wind, they bent toward one another.
“Lirith, there you are!”
She stumbled back, looked up. Grace walked between the sunleaf trees toward them, Travis at her side. Lirith felt her cheeks glowing hotly, and Sareth moved hastily away. However, if either Travis or Grace had noticed anything, they did not say.
And nor was there anything to notice, sister. You heard his words. Whatever his fate, he can never marry an outsider. And you know what fate holds for you. The Raven …
“Melia is up,” Travis said. “She wants everyone to get together. Now.”
Grace gave an apologetic shrug. “I tried to tell her that no one is saving any world before maddok, but you know how she gets.”
“Indeed,” Lirith said in a voice she hoped sounded light and casual. Again she wondered how she was going to tell Grace what the Witches had decided about Travis Wilder.
“Lirith?” Travis cocked his head, gazing at her.
“Yes?”
“You were staring at me. What? Is my hair a mess? Oh, wait.” He rubbed his bald head and grinned.
“Forgive me,” she said. “I’m not … I’m not quite awake yet.”
Travis only nodded in agreement, but Grace studied her with questioning eyes. Fortunately, before Lirith felt compelled to start babbling about everything the Witches had decided, Travis spoke again.
“Good morning, Sareth. What have you got there?” Travis gestured to the card in Sareth’s hand.
“Perhaps you can tell me. When I rose this morning, I drew a card from my al-Mama’s deck to see what the day holds.”
He turned the card over. Lirith clapped a hand to her mouth. The card showed a man pierced in the back with three swords.
Travis winced. “I have to say, that doesn’t seem like a very good sign.”
“No,” Sareth said. “It does not. This card signifies treachery. I would say there is betrayal ahead of us this day.”
“But by whom?” Grace said.
Lirith crossed her arms and turned away. “We had better not keep Lady Melia waiting.”
73.
It was midmorning, and the white sun was bright on white walls as they moved along the main avenue that led up through the five circles of Tarras.
“All right,” Travis muttered, “am I the only one who feels just a little bit less than inconspicuous?”
He adjusted his new garb: knee-length trousers, loose white shirt, and a red vest embroidered with yellow thread. A scarf covered his bald head, and his silver earrings only added to the effect. Were it not for his pale, still-new skin, he would have passed perfectly as a Mournish man.
Back at the caravan, Sareth and Vani had given all of them new clothes to wear.
It is simply a precaution, Sareth had said. We are less likely to draw undue attention from the Scirathi if we appear to be only a simple band of Mournish come to the city to tell fates and sell trinkets.
Grace’s attire was not so different from Travis’s. She was taller than everyone in their group save Beltan and Travis, and none of the clothes of the Mournish women had fit her. Her ash-blond hair was drawn up beneath a floppy, brimless hat. Vani had even given her a short sword to wear at her hip. The others all wore brilliant colors and gleaming jewelry. Even Durge, who had submitted to trimming his mustaches short and keeping the whiskers on his chin in the Mournish style—albeit not without some grumbling. However, when Aryn mentioned that he looked ten winters younger, his grumbling had ceased.
“At least it’s working,” Grace said in answer to Travis’s complaint. “Look. Nobody is even coming near us.”
“Well, can you blame them? Marji would have arrested us in a second for high crimes against fashion.”
Grace sighed, then touched her embroidered vest. “No, I think she might have liked it.”
The more she thought about it, the more Grace realized how good Sareth’s decision to disguise them was. The Scirathi hated the Mournish, but they also held the Vagabond Folk in contempt. They would care little about a ragtag band who came