Angel of Storms (Millennium's Rule, #2)(86)

“How will you draw the market?” he asked. “It is too big.”

She chuckled. “Not the whole market.” She searched for a word. “Pieces.”

“Ah,” he replied.

He let her lead the way, and after considering a few stalls, she found a scene she hoped would remain the same long enough for her to draw it. A stone-carver had set up shop not far from the blacksmith’s tent they’d seen the previous day. He was working on a life-sized statue, a head and arms slowly emerging from the block.

“Could you ask him if I can draw him?”

Baluka strode away. The man looked towards Rielle, then shrugged and nodded. Assured that her subject wouldn’t take offence, she lifted the board and paper and began to sketch. Baluka returned to her side.

He hadn’t mentioned his proposal of the previous day, and she was more anxious to know if he’d spoken to his father than she had expected. Is it only that I’d like some sort of certainty about my future? That I’m tired of not knowing what will happen to me? Or am I excited about the idea of beginning something with Baluka? Suddenly she was all too conscious of his closeness, and had to resist glancing in his direction. She’d spent a while examining him the previous night, in the flattering light of floating magical flames. He did have a nicely muscled chest and arms. Not too bulky, but well toned from the general work of everyday tasks. She’d reflected that she had grown used to the Travellers’ broad faces, which had seemed odd to begin with.

She’d had the itch to draw him, too, but had decided that would be more enjoyable later, perhaps as a way to overcome the initial shyness of—No, don’t think about that now, she told herself. Besides, you don’t know for sure if he truly likes you, or has only offered to marry you to help you. She was mostly sure he did, but—

“Rielle,” Baluka said, his voice low and wary.

She looked up. He wasn’t looking at her, his eyes fixed somewhere to one side.

“Don’t move. There’s a man… no, he’s leaving.”

“What did he do?”

Baluka frowned. “Stopped and stared at you.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “He knew me?”

“No. But he…” He paused, then mimicked a look of astonishment and wonder.

Rielle looked over her shoulder. Perhaps it had been something behind her. Baluka followed suit, then shook his head.

“He is gone.” He shrugged, then looked down at her barely started drawing and nodded. “Draw. I will keep watch.”

She looked at the sculptor again, then set to work. Baluka scanned the crowd, looking for the man who had been so startled by her. After she had been working for a while he stepped away from her, turning back every few steps to check that no one harassed her. Before long, a woman paused and altered her course to walk behind Rielle. In the edge of her vision, she saw the woman push up onto her toes so she could see what Rielle was doing. The woman uttered a soft “ah” and continued on, her curiosity sated.

Baluka returned. “We have to go,” he told her.

“They want to see,” Rielle told him, shrugging and smiling to show it was nothing to worry about.

He hooked an arm around her and pulled her to one side. “Some do, some don’t.”

“But I’m not finish—”

“I know. I know. But we can’t stay here.”

A little annoyed, she let him guide her away from the area. When they had walked several hundred paces he drew her down the gap between two stalls into another street, leading her away from the Travellers’ stall. They stopped beside a small mountain of purple urns and pretended to examine the designs while Baluka checked to see if they were being followed.

“We are safe,” he said, though with a hint of doubt in his voice.

They returned to his family slowly, with several stops to admire goods and much glancing behind. When they finally reached the circles of wagons he drew her inside quickly. Ankari was back in her usual chair. She and Baluka conversed too quickly for Rielle to catch more than half of the words.

Rielle waited impatiently for them to explain, her drawing tools set aside and her arms crossed. Finally Ankari noticed Rielle’s stance and smiled.

“I apologise,” the woman said. “Sit and we will talk.”

As Rielle sat, Baluka took the chair beside her. Ankari opened her mouth, frowned, then looked at her son.

“Can you tell her?”

He nodded. “I will try.” Turning to face Rielle, he smiled. “You are a Maker. Someone who makes magic when…” He pointed at her drawings and Ankari’s stitching.

Rielle shrugged. “I know.”

Ankari waved her hands in a uniquely Traveller gesture that meant she hadn’t understood. “No. All people make magic.” She held thumb and forefinger a small way apart. “A Maker makes more magic.” She spread her arms wide in a dramatic gesture.

“People could see the magic you were making,” Baluka told her.

“Oh,” she said, realising why he had been worried. She had been attracting attention. “But… why? Is drawing different?”

Baluka shook his head. “No. It is you. You are a strong Maker.”

A hum came from Ankari, who was nodding, but her gaze was elsewhere. “No magic,” she said, then looked at Baluka. “She did not learn to use magic. A strong sorcerer’s time goes to learning magic, not making.”