She did her business quickly and immediately threw the cloak back on and pulled the hood up. She felt eyes on her. It was the stranger from the fire, the one who had known by her accent that she was lying. They were standing not too far away, watching her. She froze, wondering what they had seen. How much they had seen. Well, there were ways to explain her hair—a fashion from the South or some such—and she thought they were too far away to see her eyes.
What does it even matter? she thought, as a wave of frustration hit her. Who cared who she was or why she was here if Serapio was already halfway to the marriage bed with the matron of Carrion Crow? It’s only speculation, she reminded herself. Hear it from his lips, or it’s gossip. And even if it was true, they had promised each other nothing. She had certainly fallen into bed with Aishe fast enough. She would be a hypocrite to begrudge the same for Serapio. Then call me a hypocrite, she thought to herself, because I’ll go to all seven hells before I’ll let him go so easily again.
She gave a nod to the stranger. She would have preferred a rude gesture, but a nod would have to convey her thoughts on the matter for now. The stranger nodded back, even touched finger to brow under their hood. She snorted and started back toward the fire.
Someone bumped her shoulder, and she turned, a muttered apology on her lips. It was the guard from earlier, the one who had passed them through the gate.
“Wait!”
The woman turned, annoyed.
“I… can you… I have something. For the Odo Sedoh. I know him.”
The woman glazed over. “You can leave your gifts at the gate. Someone will present them—”
“No! It’s not a gift. I mean, it was a gift. To me.” She pulled the mermaid carving from her pocket, hesitating a moment before shoving it toward the guard. “The Odo Sedoh. His name is Serapio, and he made this for me. My name is Xiala. I was the captain of his ship. Can you, can you take it to him? Just tell him I’m here. That’s all I ask. Tell him I’m here.”
The woman turned the figurine over in her hand, her expression interested.
“Please?”
She sighed, put upon, but Xiala could tell she was intrigued. “Fine. Xiala.”
“To Serapio,” she called after the guard, who had already started to trudge back to the gate.
“Hells.” Xiala wasn’t sure if she’d done the right thing or if she had just thrown away her most precious possession. But she had to try, didn’t she?
By the time she returned, Uncle Kuy and the two women were laughing and sharing stories over bowls of stew. Her stomach growled in sympathy, and Uncle Kuy waved her forward.
“I’ll share what I have,” he said. It was mostly broth now, the bits of corn and squash eaten already, but she was grateful for anything. She had been suspicious of him on their trip up the Tovasheh before the Convergence, when his interest in Serapio had an uncomfortable fervency, but in the end, he had turned out to be no more and no less than he appeared—a religious man who believed he had glimpsed his god. But that did not mean he was not kind to her.
“Your Uncle Kuy told us that you are a sailor,” the older woman said.
Xiala sipped the broth. “Did he?”
“I’m Fress.” The daughter pressed her hand to her heart. “And my mother is Haalan.”
Xiala looked up as the stranger dropped down next to her, holding a bowl of stew. She peered over to see their bowl still full of vegetables and sighed.
“And who are you?” she asked, feeling put out. Threats she could handle, even being spied on in the privy, but getting a better bowl of stew than she did felt like a backbreaking insult.
“Xe arrived just before you,” Fress offered helpfully, “with a group of believers from Winged Serpent.”
“Ah,” Uncle Kuy said. “Even those born to the serpent can see the wisdom in following the Crow God Reborn.”
“Our clans are old allies from the times of the War of the Spear,” xe said. “Carrion Crow were the first to answer our call for aid against the spearmaidens. It is only right that we rally to their side now.”
“A scholar,” Haalan murmured approvingly.
“Well said.” Uncle Kuy smiled broadly. “And what is your name, friend?”
Xiala’s neighbor paused, as if contemplating choices. When xe spoke again, xir voice held a touch of cynicism, as if this were all some great joke no one else understood.
“The Crow God Reborn remakes us all, but you may call me Iktan.”
CHAPTER 10