The Harvest King - Paula Quinn Page 0,18

home to Beldar.

They stopped several hours later, just before entering the trading city of Theshwar so that Caleb could take an inventory of everything they had left to trade.

Sixteen vases, four of which were from the northern city of Beldar. They were poorly made but would make a good trade anywhere in Predaria because of their vibrant colors. And if one were trading for money, a Beldarian piece could command up to twenty pieces of silver. There were also eight vases from Elan, in the far east region. These were handcrafted in the finest clay and Caleb knew he could get at least two weeks-worth of food for the entire village from two pieces alone. He rummaged through the saddlebag tied to Pethar’s horse and pulled out two small, solid gold statues of horses and one of a swan. There was silver tableware and a silver hairbrush, which Caleb covertly lifted to his nose, then shoved back into the bag. Among the spoils was jewelry set with every stone imaginable and crafted with the finest care, two paintings from Tundoria that were at least a century old, which he placed carefully against a bare stump with everything else.

He felt her eyes on him as he studied each piece thoughtfully, moving back and forth from horse to horse. Finally, she came to him.

He glanced up briefly from a mother-of-pearl jewelry box he was examining, but it was enough time to record her delicate curves, including the gentle rounding of her hips in her gauzy trailese. Her eyes were angry on him, but he continued on casually as if he hadn’t noticed.

“Look,” she began softly. “I know people are sick and starving, but you can’t help everyone. All this help is temporary anyway. What happens when they are thirsty tomorrow?”

“I won’t worry about tomorrow,” he said in his soft, deep voice. “Tomorrow will care for itself. Each day has enough trouble on its own. The book of Matthew, chapter six, verse thirty-four.”

She stared at him open-mouthed for a moment. “What kind of book tells you not to worry?”

“The Holy Scriptures.” He set the box down and gave her his attention. “The book about God, and His Son and our Savior, Jesus. Remember? I told you about Him.” He reached for a small Bible in his back pocket. It had no front or back cover. “Copies of it are rare. I have a better copy at home, but this is for traveling.”

He held out his hand to her and she stared at the small book with its curled pages, but she didn’t take it. “Can you read?”

Her eyes opened wide and her brows dipped low over her eyes. “How dare you?” she asked and snatched the book from his hand.

He looked around at his friends, who said nothing. She looked down at the book. “Who is Matthew?”

“One of the Lord’s disciples. There were twelve.”

“Were any of them thieves?” she asked. When he didn’t answer, she gave him back his book and went on. “What gives you the right to take my things?”

“I will tell you,” he said and shoved his book back into its place. “Your father acquired all this wealth with the blood of others. When all the water and trees were gone from Predaria, he left. He ran from what he’d created with his greed. But it didn’t stop him. There is one thing left to bargain.”

She blinked back a wash of tears that didn’t fall. For her sake, he wouldn’t say it, but it was obvious. The only thing left on Predaria were people.

“No! No, it is too wretched to accept!”

“Willow,” he continued gently. She needed to know. She was his daughter. Perhaps she could help change things. “It is what brings him back to Predaria once a year.”

She looked too horrified for him to go on. Finally, she shook her head. “I won’t stand here and listen to you spew your lies about my father. But even if what you say it true, it still doesn’t give you the right to steal what is mine. Also, stop trying to make me feel guilty and ashamed of things I own, or rather, the fact that they are important to me.” She glanced at the box in his hand, softened the tone of her voice. “My mother gave me that jewelry box.”

He looked at it and then handed it over to her, watching as she ran her fingers over the smooth surface.

“You may go through what’s here. If there’s something of

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