Flamecaster (Shattered Realms, #1)(59)

Finally, he sensed that there was no more pain and discord to gather, and Hamon seemed securely resettled in his body once more. Ash shuddered, let it go, sat back on his heels, and opened his eyes.

Hamon’s back was bright pink, the color of skin that has been too long exposed to the sun, but the blisters and the charring were gone. The cook was breathing, slowly and evenly, like a man asleep.

The light and heat of the fire had diminished, and Ash realized there was still a crowd of people around him. Without raising his eyes, he could see expensive boots, and the well-worn, sturdy boots of soldiers.

“Well done, healer. Miraculous, even.” The voice came from behind and above him. “Only I wonder why you and I have never met before.” Ash turned and looked up, and found himself gazing into the cold blue eyes of the king of Arden.





20


ESCAPE FROM DELPHI


Again and again, over more than a month of hunting and haircutting, the king of Arden’s words came back to Destin. Perhaps they were looking for a place to hide, and Delphi would do nicely, don’t you think?

So far, it had done well enough. The month of grace he’d allowed was over. Destin had moved his operation into the Lady of Grace full-time. His guardsmen had scoured the city and now it was exceedingly rare to spot an uncut woman on the street. When they did find someone, she was in for a hard time. No one could claim ignorance, not anymore. Any unshorn woman was intentionally defying the order of the crown.

The house-to-house search had begun. It went slowly. In some neighborhoods there were five families packed into space meant for one. Tiny houses slouched together, four to a lot: houses where the tenants changed every night, or where people slept in shifts.

The searches went on at all hours, because so many of the people of Delphi worked long hours, night and day. Nighttime raids were often the most effective, because they caught people by surprise, in their beds, and bareheaded, at least if they had heat in their houses. When they found people who needed cutting, they sheared them right then and there. They included the sick (though not with plague), invalids, old women, and the simple. They also gathered up the street people and did them, too. Many of those actually did have vermin in their hair.

Destin didn’t care to throw anyone in gaol. The prisons were already bulging, and his goal, after all, was to get everyone inspected and back to work. He made a few examples of people who had avoided inspection because they thought they were exempt. A few days in prison were enough to put fear into anyone, if they survived. Clermont’s men even searched the prison itself, because there was no reason why the girl couldn’t have gotten herself into trouble. It would have been ironic if he had found her there, but he didn’t.

Destin had moved into an upstairs room at the Lady of Grace, which gave him a needed break from Clermont and his blackbirds. Lyle Talbot Truthteller continued to work at the inn one or two nights a week. Destin chose to leave him alone for the time being. The boy avoided Destin when he could, without making it obvious. He seemed pale and withdrawn, nervous as a sparrow.

The weather stayed miserable. The howling wind blew away anything that wasn’t strapped down, and the snow drifted, in places swept almost clean away, in other places burying houses to their eaves. The town was running out of places to pile it, even when they shoved it out of the way. It never melted, but only packed down a little, as new layers fell. The snow turned a gritty gray soon after falling, so new snow was only a temporary improvement. Destin cursed the girl roundly, every day, in case she was alive and vulnerable to curses.

Few travelers came to Delphi, or sought approval to leave, either, which was more surprising.

One night Destin was sitting in the common room at the Lady. He’d just finished dinner and begun working on his second ale. It was one of those low moments when he wondered if he was destined to become a permanent resident in Delphi. He needed to find the girl, wherever she was, or make a new plan for the rest of his life. However short that might be.

There were few people in the inn that night. The weather was nasty, and payday was a long way away. Lyle was taking a break from foretelling, and was eating his dinner in a corner, with his back to the room, to discourage any interruptions. When it was crowded, Lyle rarely ate while on duty. He never got a chance. But Will Hamlet sometimes spared the boy a bowl of stew or a meat pie when it was quiet.

Clermont was hanging around, too, in case his men discovered any unshorn women out on the streets. He sulked in the corner, nursing his fourth ale. Two of his men, Hartigan and Virdenne, were sharing a table in the back. They were the best of Destin’s barbers.

Destin was just contemplating whether he really needed a third ale when a man bulled through the front door, cursing and complaining loudly about the weather. The stranger stopped just inside with a great stomping of feet to clear them of snow. It melted into slushy gray puddles when it met the heat of the stove. He was wrapped in a huge woolen cloak, and it took him several turns to unwind himself from it and shed hat, gloves, and muffler. He was red-faced and heavyset, one of those people who create a commotion wherever they are, just by existing. Destin glared at him sourly over his mug of ale. The stranger carried an instrument case that he set carefully aside on a bench.

“Hey, Will Hamlet!” the man said cheerily. “How you be after so many years?”

Will looked up from wiping out tankards behind the bar. “Do I know you, sir?” he asked mildly.