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Anxiety worked its way up my spine, and the ambient noise of the market began to grate on my nerves. “That cannot be true.I…Iwill pay whatever you want.”
A little compassion entered the woman’s eyes. “You look weary, Aead. Can you not sleep?”
“No.” The word scraped out of me. What could it hurt to tell this woman, with her maternal eyes? I would never see her again. She was not Slader. She was not Fisher. She was not even Aeadine. “Most nights, no.”
With a decisivetsk, the merchant signaled to someone in the crowd. I stiffened as a man and a woman sauntered over and traded places with the merchant, who offered me a hand. “Follow me, young man.”
I hesitated. Admitting a weakness was one thing, but following a Mereish woman off into an unknown city?
“Perhaps I can help you, but not out in the open,” the woman chided, beckoning again.
I let her draw me out of the market and down a side street, where I more than expected to be robbed, stabbed and left for dead. But I was desperate enough to take the risk.
Fortunately, the woman did not lead me to my death, but a rose-pink door and hallway that smelled of spices. Down another passage I glimpsed running children, smelled fresh bread and heard the sound of Mereish women discussing daily tasks.
We entered a room with a single, tall window overlooking a canal. I could just see the water and drifts of snow through the foggy glass. It let in little light, but multiple lanterns and a crackling fire ensured the room was well lit.
A black-haired man sat at a desk beneath the window, sipping a short cup of coffee and eyeing a ring on a stand. Other pieces of jewelry were laid about the surface of the desk, along with various tools and a pistol which was already half-cocked.
The jeweler did not reach for the pistol as I entered, but we were both aware of it. “What is this?” he asked in Mereish.
“He needs a talisman, if you can make it,” my guide replied, then stepped back out into the hall. “Pay him when you are done, Aead.”
That reminded me I had yet to ask how much this would cost, but it seemed late now.
“Thank you,” I said to the woman.
She gave a smiling, one-eyed wink, and left me alone with the jeweler. I examined him for a long moment, and he examined me back.
“Well?” the man finally inquired in Aeadine. His skin had an olive undertone like many southern Mereish, and his accent was smooth, all curves and no edges. “What do you want?”
I shoved aside the last of my hesitation and rallied. “I am a Sooth, but I have no control over my visions. I slip into the Other continuously, especially when I sleep.”
“Were you born like this?”
“No, my twin and Iwere…Theyattempted to amplify us.”
Disgust crossed the Mereish man’s face. Clicking his tongue, he gestured for me to sit in another chair and took up a battered coffeepot. He poured me a cup and passed it over.
The admission had unsettled me, but I hid my feelings behind a stiff nod. I took the coffee and eased into a chair of dark wood and bright fabric, as out of place in Usti as I was in this shop.
“I can help you,” the man said, topping up his own cup. “But I will need a little of your blood, and it will take some time.”
The coffee scalded my tongue. “Blood?”
“Yes,” the man affirmed. He sipped his cup, oblivious to the heat, and set it aside. Standing, he scrounged a small bronze bowl and a long pin from a wall of overflowing but organized shelves. Turning to me, he held up the needle. “Just a drop. Sooth’s blood, for a Sooth’s charm.”
I thought about leaving, setting aside my cup and striding right out of the room. Bloodletting? That was proper Mereish sorcery, and I knew that Slader would string me from a yard just for being here.
I held out my hand, anyway. The jeweler pricked the end of my finger, waited for a droplet to well, then pinched it into the bowl. It fell in a single crimson droplet, and the man handed me a handkerchief.
I stopped the blood and took a long drink to cover my unrest.
The jeweler began to work. He produced a case of coins, some new and shining, round or oval, with the images on their faces crisp and clear. Others were worn like my coin had been, smoothed by years of worrying.
The jeweler watched my gaze travel over the coins, then selected one that my eyes lingeredon—ovaland smooth, just like my old one. This one did not have the symbol of entwined serpents, but a stylized owl on the wing.
He dropped it into the bowl with my blood, then began to fetch ingredients. I watched him add pinches of powders and a stream of oil, pungent and amber, then he opened a lantern and lit a long wick. He touched the flame to the oil, which caught in a flare of blue and white before settling into a more normal, orange hue.
