Page 2 of Of Love and Treason
Iris smiled as the man continued in a mock salesman tone. “Thisparticularpebble has traveled from the ground at your feet all the way to where it now sits in your hand. And that, miss, is a pretty impressive feat for a rock, don’t you think?”
She laughed and closed her fingers around the stone with a conceding nod. “Very.”
He had a nice voice, mild and cheery, with a hint of firmness. From the sound of it, he was near her height and her age—which, at one and twenty, was seven years past the normal marrying age. She was ancient. He was young.
“I’m Valentine. But my friends call me Valens or Val.”
A fisherman passed them, carrying a pungent basket of old fish and fresh flies. Under the awning beside them, two women haggled over the price of pears. Farther off a man yelled something about a thief.
Iris tilted her head. The fringe of her palla, pulled unfashionably low over her eyes, tickled her nose. “I am Quinta Magia, after mypater, of course. But everyone calls me Iris.”
“Iris.” He repeated her name slowly.
She liked the way it sounded, rolling from the back of his mouth to the front, sliding over his teeth like gentle waves.
His voice smiled as he added, “See? The stonedoeswork.”
Iris smiled in return as the familiar longing swept over her. She rubbed her thumb over a sharp edge on the pebble. “Wouldn’t it be nice if miracles like that actually happened?”
“They do.”
“I mean real ones.”
“Theydohappen.” His voice was firm, insistent.
She shook her head. “It’s fine. I’m used to being blind—I think it bothers other people more than me.” She flipped a carefree hand, lifted a shoulder, and tried a wobbly grin. “Still, you can’t blame a girl for trying. It’d be nice to see the hairs in my food before I eat them.”
He laughed. “Minotaur’s Table?”
“Ah, you’ve eaten there too?” She shook her head in mock sympathy. The proprietor—and food—of Minotaur’s Table were both well-known for being extremely hairy.
“A mistake never to be repeated.”
Iris grinned even as the scent of meat pies from the questionable café drifted toward them. “Still.” She lifted her chin and inhaled. “They’re rather tempting.”
“Resist.”He chuckled, then added in a dismayed mutter, “I’m going to be late.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. I’ll pray for you to see again.”
A creaking of wicker announced the passing of a weaver loaded down with a stack of baskets.
“Don’t bother.” She tried to keep her tone light. “It’s about time I accept that the gods don’t care.”
“Mine does.”
Her mouth went tight as the man’s motives became clear. “Of course yours does. And at what price?” She held up a finger. “Wait, no, let me guess—there’s a special deal for today only.” Iris turnedaway, toward the exit of the market complex that would leave her only a few streets from home. “Thank you, but I said I was fine.”
He kept pace with her as her walking stick alternately skimmed and caught over the uneven cobblestones. Iris’s shoulders tensed. Just like a salesman not to take the hint he was unwanted.
“There’s no price.”
“There’s always a price.” Her voice flattened. “Everything costs something. No gods listen for free.” She wished she could move faster through the winding shopping complex. Why did Paulina’s Bakery have to be all the way on the far end?
“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Valentine’s sandals scraped the cobblestones in time with hers. “The ability to pray to my God came at a great cost. Far too great a cost for any one person to pay.” He sounded so cryptic, so certain.
Warnings pulsed through her mind. Saved from one swindler by another.
