Angel of Storms (Millennium's Rule, #2)(85)

She caught her breath. Lines around the right wrist of a Traveller indicated marriages.

“Our laws and our agreements with…” He did not say the Raen’s name. “He would be breaking that agreement, if he killed you.”

For a long moment she was aware that her mouth was open and she was staring at his wrist. But she couldn’t make herself stop. Or think what to say. Of all the things she’d expected from him, a proposal of marriage certainly had not been the most likely.

A little thrill of flattery warmed her. He must really like me! And she liked him. He was a good man, and certainly an attractive one.

But do I love him? She tried not to frown as she considered. Not in the way I loved Izare. Of that she was sure. But did that matter? Her family had not cared whether she was treated well by the man she married, let alone whether she liked him. Her aunt had told Rielle she might grow to love her husband in time.

Could she grow to love Baluka? Perhaps. Yes, I think so. Not in the same way as I loved Izare, but maybe a different way. Perhaps a better way. She had found travelling with him and his family constantly interesting and exciting, though she imagined it would be less so as it became more familiar than new. Still, I never had that option in Fyre, where the sons did all the importing and delivering.

To marry Baluka would be to marry his family, too. There would be no getting away from them. But so far she had found them more friendly and welcoming than her own family. Maybe that would change when she was not being treated as a guest. Expectations might be different of the wife of their future leader. She also knew that they believed he, as their leader’s son and a strong sorcerer, ought to find an equally worthy wife, who could produce powerful children…

She froze.

“But Baluka… I can’t have—”

“If you could before, you will again,” he told her, with fierce confidence. “There is a healer among the Travellers who can fix the damage that was done.”

“What if he can’t?”

“She can. Trust me in that.” He touched her forearm in a way that was both intimate and a gesture of reassurance. “We can wait until we know, if you want. You do not answer now, with the Traveller way, anyway. I must ask three times. Father must agree, too.”

She nodded. He turned and began walking again. Still surprised, she searched for something to say, but before she could think of anything he pointed out a group of startlingly tall people striding by gracefully.

“Oh! They are the Aproyt. They don’t travel outside their world much, since they are loyal to the Raen and uphold his laws strictly. I’ve only seen them once before, when I was a child. They live in a land with huge tides and the strangest sea creatures.”





CHAPTER 12





Sitting down opposite Ankari, Rielle took the sheaf of paper, rolled it the other way to take out the curl, placed it on the board she had found, and picked up the black sticks of charcoal that were the closest thing to chalk she had found in the market.

Ankari glanced up as Rielle began to draw and smiled briefly before turning back to her stitching. The sticks were darker than the chalk Rielle was used to but they made a soft mark on the smooth paper that was appealing and easy to smudge. Choosing Ankari’s basket as the subject, she experimented, seeing how dark she could make an area, or how light a stroke or smudge she could achieve. Putting her first attempt aside, she took another piece of paper and began to draw one of the wagons.

A familiar mood stole over her as she slipped into the state of concentration that drawing required. It was almost blissful at times, but could be as much frustration and determination. Whether it led to satisfaction or disappointment, it was, of itself, a wonderful place for her mind to be in, and such a relief to be finally drawing again.

Suddenly Ankari stood up and hurried away.

Startled, Rielle watched the woman go, then shrugged and turned back to her task. Memories of other artwork she had made passed before her mind’s eye as if she were walking before a wall hung with paintings. Art from lessons with her aunt, tinged with sadness and regret. The paintings she had worked on with Izare, exploring the oily paint he had introduced her to. The tapestries she had worked on in Master Grasch’s workshop, especially the last one, of the Angel.

A last few smudges and she was done. Propping the board up on a chair, she considered her work. Footsteps drawing closer drew her attention away, but instead of Ankari returning, it was Baluka, his eyes brightening as she smiled in greeting.

“Where is Mother?” he asked, glancing at Ankari’s chair, only her stitching lying in her place.

“She went that way,” Rielle replied, pointing.

He did not glance in the direction she indicated, however. His eyes had fallen on the drawing.

“That’s good,” he said, moving over to the chair to take a closer look. “What will you draw next?”

She looked around, but saw nothing that caught her interest. “I’d like to draw the market,” she told him. He had warned her against exploring on her own. Markets always attracted thieves, but few would dare target a Traveller since most were sorcerers.

He nodded. “I will go with you.”

She smiled. “Thank you.”

After putting her first two drawings inside Ankari and Lejikh’s wagon, Rielle picked up a few more sheets of paper, the board and charcoal. Baluka led her out into the street.