days were long, long dead. “Popular?” Father demanded. “What does—”
“You may or may not know,” Revilar said, “that the highprince himself recently visited my estates. It seems he likes what I have been doing for this princedom’s textiles. That, added to my son’s dueling prowess, has drawn attention to my house. I have been invited to visit the highprince in Vedenar one week out of ten, starting next month.”
At times, Father was not the cleverest of men, but he did have a mind for politics. So Shallan thought, at least, though she did so want to believe the best about him. Either way, he saw this implication immediately.
“You rat,” Father whispered.
“You have very few options open to you, Lin,” Revilar said, leaning toward him. “Your house is on the decline, your reputation in shambles. You need allies. I need to look the part of a financial genius to the highprince. We can assist one another.”
Father bowed his head. Outside the box, the first duelists were announced, an inconsequential bout.
“Everywhere I step, I find only corners,” Father whispered. “Slowly, they trap me.”
Revilar pushed the papers toward Shallan’s stepmother once more. “Would you start again? I suspect your husband was not listening carefully the last time.” He glanced at Shallan. “And does the child need to be here?”
Shallan left without a word. It was what she’d wanted anyway, though she did feel bad leaving Father. He didn’t often speak with her, let alone ask for her opinion, but he did seem to be stronger when she was near.
He was so disconcerted that he didn’t even send one of the guards with her. She slipped out of the box, satchel under her arm, and passed through the Davar servants who were preparing her father’s meal.
Freedom.
Freedom was as valuable as an emerald broam to Shallan, and as rare as a larkin. She hurried away, lest her father realize he had given no orders for her to be accompanied. One of the guards at the perimeter—Jix—stepped toward her anyway, but then looked back at the box. He went that way instead, perhaps intending to ask if he should follow.
Best to not be easily found when he returned. Shallan took a step toward the fair, with its exotic merchants and wonderful sights. There would be guessing games and perhaps a Worldsinger telling tales of distant kingdoms. Over the polite clapping of the lighteyes watching the duel behind her, she could hear drums from the common darkeyes along with singing and merriment.
Work first. Darkness lay over her house like a storm’s shadow. She would find the sun. She would.
That meant turning back to the dueling grounds, for now. She rounded the back of the boxes, weaving between parshmen who bowed and darkeyes who gave her nods or bows, depending on their rank. She eventually found a box where several lesser lighteyed families shared space in the shade.
Eylita, daughter of Brightlord Tavinar, sat on the end, just within the sunlight shining through the side of the box. She stared at the duelists with a vapid expression, head slightly cocked, a whimsical smile on her face. Her long hair was a pure black.
Shallan stepped up beside the box and hissed at her. The older girl turned, frowning, then raised hands to her lips. She glanced at her parents, then leaned down. “Shallan!”
“I told you to expect me,” Shallan whispered back. “Did you think about what I wrote you?”
Eylita reached into the pocket of her dress, then slipped out a small note. She grinned mischievously and nodded.
Shallan took the note. “You’ll be able to get away?”
“I’ll need to take my handmaid, but otherwise I can go where I want.”
What would that be like?
Shallan ducked away quickly. Technically, she outranked Eylita’s parents, but age was a funny thing among the lighteyes. Sometimes, the higher-ranked child didn’t seem nearly as important when speaking to adults of a lower dahn. Besides, Brightlord and Brightness Tavinar had been there on that day, when the bastard had come. They were not fond of Father, or his children.
Shallan backed away from the boxes, then turned toward the fair itself. Here, she paused nervously. The Middlefest Fair was an intimidating collage of people and places. Nearby, a group of tenners drank at long tables and placed bets on the matches. The lowest rank of lighteyes, they were barely above darkeyes. They not only had to work for their living, they weren’t even merchants or master craftsmen. They were just . . . people. Helaran had said there