The Silent: Irin Chronicles Book Five(34)

Prija II





“He went right into her cottage!” Intira was almost jumping up and down. “He is so bold. Are all foreigners so bold?”

Prija raised an eyebrow and examined the loom where Bun Ma was teaching Intira to weave.

“I like him. He’s funny.”

He wasn’t funny. Or that wasn’t why she liked him. Intira was bright and curious. She hungered for new sights, new experiences, new people. She’d been bubbling over with news of the night market for days. She’d been talking about the people and the music. She couldn’t believe how many different-colored dresses there were and how many foreigners. She’d be talking about the Irin scribe for a year if he stayed a day.

Intira stared out the window. “What do you think they’re doing? Should we go over and say hello? He looked mad. But not mad.”

Prija knocked on the floor to grab Intira’s attention. The little girl didn’t need to be thinking about what was going on between the two foreigners. It was none of their business, even though Prija had seen Niran’s eyes. He’d like the moonfaced girl to be his business.

But Prija was wary of foreigners. One of the scribes who’d tried to take her had been foreign. His accent told her he was Chinese, but from far, far away. She had no idea why they’d tried to take her. She couldn’t be useful to them. Why would they take her if she wasn’t useful?

Having a scribe in the compound put Prija’s nerves on edge. She didn’t like their hard black tattoos, which were so much uglier than the delicate Sak Yant of her brothers. Sura’s tattoos had animals and beautiful patterns. Scribe tattoos were like ugly black scribbles. Like a child would make. She didn’t trust them. Didn’t like them. She had no idea how the moonfaced girl could let one touch her with his ink-stained hands. For Prija’s whole life, scribes had been the ones trying to kill her.

Niran and Sura told her that the Irin weren’t their enemies now. That the scribes knew all Grigori weren’t the same as the bad ones. Prija didn’t have as much faith as her brothers, but she knew where to run and where to hide Intira if things became ugly. Prija could defend herself. Of that she had no doubt.

“Bun Ma says it’s ugly.” Intira sat in front of her loom.

Prija gave her a reproachful look.

“No, not ugly. She is too kind to say that. But she doesn’t like it.”

Bun Ma was a traditional girl. She didn’t like any weaving patterns that weren’t like those she’d been taught. She was an excellent weaver and a good sister, but she lacked imagination. Prija looked at the scattered pattern. They were stars. Or knives, perhaps. The pointed stars sat at angles to each other, riding the lines of red and gold Intira had woven with the cotton thread. It was an odd geometry. A pattern, no question, but not one that Prija could read.

“Do you see it?” Intira asked, her face glowing with excitement. “Bun Ma doesn’t see it.”

Prija doubted that anyone other than Intira saw meaning in the pattern. There was something… She frowned. It did remind her of something. There was a low humming in her mind, a vibration that tickled the base of her skull, but it teased her only a moment before it shot like needles to her temples.

She closed her eyes and put her hands over her face.

“Prija?”

She didn’t like to worry her little sister, but she could barely stand the pain. It felt like claws ripping into her mind.

Kanok, where are you?

He’d been the only one who could heal her when the voices became too much. He’d been the only one whose touch pulled her back to sanity.

But Kanok was gone.

Small hands shoved a long wooden bow into her hand.

“Play,” Intira said. “It will make you feel better if you can. Play something, Prija.”

Prija kept her eyes closed, but she held the delicate neck of the saw sam sai on instinct. She put the bow to the strings and pulled a tentative note. It was scratching and flat. She pulled again.

“Keep going,” Intira said.

She kept playing until the worst of the pain had passed. The music pulled it from her like string tugged from a deep pocket. The pain unfurled in the air and drifted out the window, escaping into the night sky.





Chapter Ten





Leo’s elation lasted until dinner that night. As soon as they walked into the garden holding hands, he saw it. He noticed the glances between Sura and Niran. Saw Ginny’s unveiled curiosity and Alyah’s blank expression.

“They will not like it,” Kyra said. “Neither my people nor yours. Kareshta who decide to go with Irin men…”

“What?”

“People make assumptions.” She kept her voice low. “That the kareshta are after something. That the Irin men are taking advantage.”

“That has nothing to do with us,” he said.

Kyra shrugged, but he could see her turning inward. “People will think what they think.”

“Exactly.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, leaned down, and kissed her full on the lips. “People will think what they want. And we will ignore them.”

She offered him a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. He saw the trepidation, and it made him want to rage. He decided that, for the night, he would ignore the pointed looks and unspoken curiosity of the people around them. But if it persisted past natural curiosity, he’d be breaking a few heads. Irin or Grigori, he didn’t much care. Their stares had turned Kyra’s earlier happiness to caution.