Chapter Two - What the Eyes Hide

         THE SUN ROSE dimly, barely slipping through emptied rain clouds. Flickers of wan light peeked through Reina’s window, brushing her cheek like a loving fingertip. Sounds filled her room following close to the slowly strengthening illumination; sounds of birds just waking from a damp night, glad that the sun was coming to warm and dry them; the sound of the grain and Smokeweed rustling in the wind. Somewhere near her window, drops of water paced seconds. Seconds turned to minutes as Reina lay in her bed, eyes sandy and red-rimmed from lack of sleep. Once again, her dreams had kept her from rest. Visions of horror filled her mind. A woman with cruelly lit eyes chasing her, bloody lips pulled back into a rictus snarl, and clawed hands reaching for her. A shadow spoke to her, but the words were gone in an instant, evaporated as mist. Her sister, slumped at her feet, her own hands bloodied and clutching a sword. The last chilled her even worse than any horror she could imagine. Who was the shadow that spoke to her? Why would she have killed her own sister? Who was the woman? Why was her sister dressed so oddly? Her eyes seemed bound by a red scrap of cloth and her dress was too tight and scanty for the Lady she was pretending to be. For that matter, where would Reina get a sword? The blade seemed so familiar, yet she was sure she had never seen it - or any sword - in her life, save through pictures and her own wild imagination and-
         She suddenly sat up, red eyes wider. The strange shadow man! Who was he? His sword sent shivers through her spine in ways that she had only known in her dreams. Why had she even spoken to him? Had she lost all sense, talking to a shadowy figure that had death written all over him, much as a Leuvian dancer had tattoos scrawled all over her? She had to be. The mere thought of the man sent her body into cold tremors. How was she to explain the gold piece to her Da? What could she say to him when he asked where it came from? Suddenly she had the urge to go to the creek by her home and be rid of the flat-noted thing!
         And the fangs . . . Did the man truly have fangs, or were her eyes playing cruel games with her? And if he did indeed have fangs, what was her reasoning in even engaging the man in conversation? Everyone knew that talking to a Nightwalker was Singing their Deathsong. Yet how was she here? She looked at her boots, noting the slight mud on the corners and the faint hint of smokeweed on her shirt. She hadn’t imagined the entire thing after all.
         Shaking her head, she grunted her way out of bed, rubbing her eyes as she moved to her wardrobe and picked out a new shirt and leather breeches she could easily ride in. Looking herself over in the mirror, she wondered again why her sister was making such a fuss over her anyway. None of the boys here appealed to Reina, and in her mirror she saw a boyish young woman of sixteen whose slight frame could almost be mistaken for a boy’s. Her muscles were toned from working the fields and riding her horses, but not overly developed like she remembered her Da’s being a long time ago. Her unkempt brown hair was tangled and barely reaching to her shoulder, not like her sister’s lustrous brunette hair that was brushed daily and reached down to the small of her back in a tightly wound braid. Reina briefly recalled the one time she tried to braid her own hair and almost cut the mess off with a knife as soon as she was finished. Her skin was bronzed from her time in the fields, though she wished she could have the alabaster tone of her sister.
         She finally gave up on comparing herself to everything she wanted to be and stripped, washing herself down with a rough rag and getting the worst off of her before putting on her new outfit. The scar on her chest caught her eye before she finished buttoning her shirt. The off-white mark ran from collar-bone to sternum. Though she didn’t remember where it came from, she didn’t believe her father a moment when he kept telling her it was a bad encounter with spike-fence when she was younger. Her slender fingertip touched the scar and suddenly the image of the half-crazed dream woman returned in stark clarity. Had she run across the woman before? Had the woman given her this wound? No. Too many questions for someone just waking from a troubled sleep. Besides, if she didn’t hurry, her sister would never let her hear the end of it if she let breakfast get cold. One of her irritants was wasting effort cooking something if it was just going to get cold. Finally adding the finishing touches of her clothing and pulling a brush through her hair a few times, she ran downstairs to the kitchen.
         “It’s about time,” Ayara snapped as she looked up from her morning dishes. Vanya and Sylvia were already getting things ready for lunch. “Your eggs are probably too cold to stomach, and the bread I spent hours making will be nothing but crust and crumbs by the time you get to it. I wouldn’t be surprised if the milk curdled, too.”
         Reina rolled her eyes at the litany, but she moved quickly to the iron pot hanging over the flames to scoop out a bowlful of thick oatmeal. A little honey and a bit of sugar scraped straight from the cane, and the stuff would be at least marginally edible. While Ayara was right about the eggs, they were easy to reheat on the stone hearth, and the bread was still warm and crispy. The girl had her faults, but Reina had to admit that her sister was an excellent cook.
         “Where’s Da?” Reina asked, spooning more oatmeal into her mouth. “I don’t even smell his pipe. He usually lingers over breakfast with it until the rest of us are finished.”
         “I don’t know, Reina, but you are later than normal coming down. I thought you’d be asleep until noon. Maybe he’s with the farmhands? The last of the crop is going to be pulled today and tomorrow, so he’s probably getting them started and getting to work himself.”
         Reina sighed. She was hoping to catch a whiff of that sweet-smelling Smokeweed to hold her over until a farmhand could sneak her a pouchful. Her nerves were already tight, and it had only been half of an hour since she woke up.
         “I’m gonna go find Da,” Reina said around a mouthful of crusty bread. “Try not to ruin your hands in that dish water.” She even managed to get out the front door before her sister’s waspish screeches could hit her in force.
         The breeze was soft and warm on her face as she stepped off the porch. Slightly damp grass tickled her legs as she walked through into the barnyard. As soon as she came up to the door, laughter and loud voices washed over her like a wave. And the glorious smell of Smokeweed! Her Da was here, and he was already at his workbench.
         As she slipped into the barn, Reina looked around to see who else was with him. It took a moment to adjust her eyes, but the familiar surroundings weren’t too hard to pick out. A few young men were busy with pitchforks and hay bales, joking and jostling one another, and another man was scooping fresh horse dung into a handcart. He wasn’t laughing and joking, and no one else was standing too close. He obviously hated the job as much as Reina did.
         “Hi Da,” she said, coming up behind her father and wrapping her arms around his heavy middle. “Are you busy?”
         Her father jumped, spinning around quickly. His eyes were a little wild, and he looked as if he were looking for something to use as a weapon. “Oh,” he muttered. “Hi, Dearheart. I was just . . .” He looked around his worktable, patting here and there. “Just . . . looking for something to do.”
         That seemed unlikely. There was always plenty to do on a farm. The farmhands would handle a lot of the problems by themselves, but they needed direction like a flock of sheep if there was no one there to oversee them. “Da, you’ve been a little distracted lately. Is something wrong?”
         “Just not sleeping too well,” he replied. “It’s been a tough month. I’m sure everything will be fine once we get the crop in and get our new supplies.” He pulled the pipe from his teeth, seeming surprised to find it unlit. But if it had been unlit, then where did the smell come from? “Better go see to Noname. I’m sure he’s ready for a turn around the farm. And your chores are lining up ahead of you. Hubern has your horseshoes ready for Willin, too.” Before she could get a word in, he turned and started calling for something to light his pipe with.
         “All right. No problem, Da.” Reina rolled here eyes. She seemed to be doing a lot of that lately. Moving over to the stalls, Reina started gathering up her tools and leather apron she wore when doing actual smith-work. “Come on, Noname. Da wants us out of his hair this morning. You, too, Willin!”
         She was never surprised to hear the steady tread of the two horses following her like a couple of stray puppies. What did end up as a shock was the bewildered looks the farmhands usually gave her when she passed with the two mounts in tow. Even her Da shook his head in rueful silence.
         Hubern was the farm’s blacksmith, and he was in charge of the farm equipment and wagon parts, as well as Ayara’s cookware and Reina’s horseshoes. As the horses meandered about the front of the smithy, the large man stood up from over his anvil and wiped his greasy brow. “Ho, Reina! How fares your mutts?”
         “Hi, Hubern,” Reina laughed. The man was larger than most men, with arms like oak stumps and hands the size of hams. Unlike the rest of the men on the farm - her Da included - he seemed chiseled out of granite, each muscle standing out distinctly, and the only thing out of place on his was the sparse fur covering his chin and cheeks. “Haven’t you sharpened a razor for yourself yet?”
         “Ah, the misses don’t mind none, lil’ one,” Hubern laughed, wrapping an oversized arm around her shoulders. As large a man as he seemed, he had to reach up to do it. “Besides, who’s to say this ain’t no fashion down in the towns and such?”
         “How she manages to kiss that mouth of yours after you come home is beyond me, ya brute!” she laughed, pinching his ribs. Her fingers didn’t take much. Lady Bless, the man was as solid as the steel he pounded on! “You have nails for me?”
         “Aye, girl. I have ‘em.” He leaned over and smacked his lips on the top of her head fondly. “They’re over in that crate over there. The apprentices ain’t hardly worth much, but they can at least peg out some nails for me now and again.”
         “What are you working on?” Reina asked as she plucked out a few of the stubbier nails.
         “Oh, this and that,” he said, leaning back over the thin shaft of steel. “Nothin’ worth sweating over.”
         Reina grinned, peeking over her shoulder. “But Hubern. You are sweating over it!”
         A look of consternation flashed across his face and was immediately squelched, so fast she could have imagined it. But he simply gave her a silent grin, bent back over his work, and started out the rhythmic pounding of heavy hammer on cherry-red steel. He made sure his back was to her the whole time, too.
         What was that about? She was just making a joke, but the man acted like she had come across a dark secret. Like a man with too many mistresses, he kept his eyes averted and kept to his work as if his life depended on it. Was he re-forging something? Going off of a pattern? Had he taken some old tool and polished away the rust and reinforced the old steel? Why all the mystery?
         Her Da was acting the same way; overly secretive, quick to anger. And he was always looking into the distance lately, as if something had distracted him and he couldn’t quite recall what it was. It had all started yesterday. Was it that strange figure? The Nightwalker. That had to be it. Were they as terrible as his stories made them out to be? Were they worse?
         “You gonna clap them there shoes on them horses, girl?” Hubern asked, with a strained grin. His joviality sounding forced. “They ain’t like us folk who can put our shoes on ourselves.”
         “Hubern, you sound like you don’t have a flat-noted thought in your head,” Reina snapped, clutching her tools and shaking her fistful of nails at him.
         The stunned look he gave her was worth the risk of being overheard by her Da. Instead of calling her down as she stalked away, he stared dumbfounded, scratching his head with the heavy hammer in his hand.
         “Acting like a gods-be-damned moron,” Reina grumbled, her swearing trailing off into a quiet seething. “Come here, Noname!”
         The horse looked up at her, his whinny shocked and a little worried.
         “I’m getting your nice new set of shoes on for you, you slow-witted pony,” she said in the sweetest voice she could manage, though the honeyed tone poured through clenched teeth.
         Noname shook his head, pawing at the ground a moment before turning his rump to her and lifting his tail indecently.
         “You little-!” Reina chased after the horse as fast as she could, but Noname was young and strong, and unwholesomely clever. The chase lasted at least twenty minutes, and by the time she gave up, she had lost most of the nails, and two of the shoes, too!
         “Willin!”
         The gelding lifted his head quickly, liquid eyed wide with indignation. His whinny was just as exasperated as Noname’s.


         Ayara didn’t mind her sister as much as she pretended to. True, Reina could do with some polish, but there was a way about her that Ayara found herself envious of. She was so care-free! She pranced around in boy’s clothing, doing men’s work, and got as dirty as the men did, too! It had taken years to train the girl to brush off the worst of her mess before coming into the house, but it would take more years to train her to clean the mud off her boots before clomping in like a fool man. She was about ready to start picking switches and chasing Reina about the house with it! But a Lady didn’t do those things.
         Lady Bless, it was so hard to maintain this pose. While she envied her sister’s careless manner, she also envied the Ladies of Court, in their wide white hats adorned with lace and ribbons, and their gossamer silk gowns. If she didn’t keep a tight reign on her thoughts, she found herself leaning on her elbows, chin in her soapy hand, and eyes lost in the clouds.
         Just like right now!
         “Miss,” one of her three kitchen helpers whispered sharply, trying not to draw attention to either of them. “Miss, the dishes! Your dress!”
         “What? Oh, dear,” she sighed. The front of her skirts was damp, the sudsy water dripping from the ruffled hem. “Well, Vanya, at least it’s clean water.”
         “Miss Ayara!” the girl squeaked. “What are you saying?”
         Ayara shook her head, suddenly furious at herself for becoming so abstracted. “Nothing, Vanya. I’m just . . . I was just thinking. Back to work with you! My father doesn’t pay you for standing idly while everyone else toils over hot stoves and soapy dishes.”
         The girl made an indignant sound before turning in a huff and going back to sweeping the nearly polished wooden floors. Another of Ayara’s biggest quirks was how well those floors were kept. A queen could eat off her floor and be satisfied with the meal and pristine cleanliness of her kitchen.
         With a sigh, Ayara turned back to her pots and pans. The morning sun was peeking over a large hill on the edge of the farm, and the view was absolutely stunning. What was Reina doing now? Knowing the girl’s idle nature, she was probably sitting on a hillside as she always was, barefoot and lazy, watching the sun rise. While she didn’t exactly look fondly at washing cast-iron pots, she felt a warm glow at getting work done and maintaining a large household with her own hands. But there were days she envied Reina her lifestyle. There were days where she absolutely loathed the piles of dirty dishes she was faced with.
         But today was different. She didn’t feel much like doing anything. She only wanted to think on that strange figure in the woods. She knew it was someone or something dangerous. But thinking too hard would make her fret, and she had to keep busy, if only to keep her mind occupied. The man scared her. He looked like a man who carried death on his hip. Simply sitting on that beast of a horse, he looked graceful and deadly, like a Silverfang raising his head before a venomous strike.
         “Miss Ayara!” Vanya yelped right before one of Ayara’s good porcelain dishes fell from the counter and shattered into fragments.
         Ayara stared at the dish, her temper rising slowly. That was one of the few remaining dishes she remembered her mother using. She had favored the dishes most because of how exotic they were. Her mother had said they had come from across the sea, where the only thing the natives were concerned with was gemstones and porcelain.
         Icily, she backed away from the sink, careful to keep her shoes off of the remaining slivers. “Clean it up, please,” she said hoarsely. Her temper was going to get the better of her in a moment. She had to get out before she snapped at someone. Despite her anger, they were not to blame. And you never wanted to anger the one who handled your food. She turned to the door, but something in her felt guilty over the destruction of something connected to her mother. She couldn’t get rid of it. “And be careful not to cut yourself and bleed all over my mother’s fine dishes. I’d like to see if I can salvage any of it.”
         She didn’t trust herself to speak further. As she spoke, her eyes brushed across the dish, and for a moment, it seemed a pair of eyes was reflecting off the surface of the porcelain, staring right at her. Fear tightened her throat, for a moment; an irrationally sharp pang in her heart. She shoved that fear away and turned back to the door, leaving without another word.
         Childish fears would have to be set aside. She still had lunch and supper to see to. It was like fearing to go to the bath house late in the evenings because of dark shadows. Her steps faltered. But what if those childish fears of Shadow Singer and Shade Dancer weren’t so childish? Many put those tales away with their dolls and wooden swords, but all stories had origins. Was it so preposterous to be scared of the dark?
         She shook her head angrily. “Supper doesn’t cook on cold stoves.”
         As much of a disaster that the dishes turned into, lunch was proceeding as it always had. Sylvia was already preparing a heavy stew for the farmhands, and she was just about to braise the meat. The girl was older than Ayara by at least five years, but she hadn’t been forced to take over as a mother when she was younger. She still rode on her family’s wealth, but a stern father had demanded she stop wasting her time and earn a living. Ayara agreed that some kind of labor would give the girl purpose.
         Sylvia was a dreamer through and through. Her ideas were too heavily based off of cheap novels of dramatic knights in gleaming armor and simpering ladies pining after them. Ayara had to admit to herself that those stories fascinated her as well, but she knew the time and place for them. There wasn’t going to be some hero out of those stories to come and rescue her.
         In fact, when the girl had first started, Ayara had to keep her away from the farmhands altogether! She’d still be chasing after the younger hands if Ayara hadn’t taken her back into the back of the kitchen and nearly chained her to the sink. She was sure that one of them had caught her eye, and she certainly was pretty enough to catch his eye in return. Granted, a few years working around food had added a little meat to her, but she was much too skinny anyhow.
         Thankfully, a little direction and a firm hand had worked wonders with her. Sylvia was learning the ways of a kitchen as well as Ayara. Whether a stew or a grand feast for Bladesong Day, the girl’s fingers were always busy, and it wouldn’t be long before she had the chance to run her own kitchen. Maybe she should relax her restrictions on Sylvia’s time and let her go talk to whatever his name was. They hadn’t had much in the way of conversation, but Ayara was sure there was something there.
         She squeaked in surprise when she saw Ayara walk in. A hand to her heart for a moment, and she was once again in control of herself. “I started the vegetables and the broth like you said, Miss,” she said in her high-pitched, honeyed voice. Most men would find that voice more attractive than she herself was. “But the meat still needs braising and we’re out of most of the spices, so-”
         A flash of irritation threatened to end the girl’s chances of more freedom around the farm before Ayara could even give voice to them, but she shoved the feelings away before they could flair up further. “It’s all right, Syl. We’re going to town in a few days anyhow. It’s not anyone’s fault that we’ve used so much of the spices. We do have a lot of mouths to feed.”
         “Yes, Miss.” A mysterious look crossed her face. “I hear there’s tell of a ghost on the grounds, I do. Gives you a terrible fright it does.”
         “A ghost, Sylvia?” Ayara’s heart began to race.
         “Aye, Miss. A ghost of some great hero, I suppose. Come back to a home he never can see again. Or a lover he knows went to another man when she knew he died. Some even say he’s a great Bladesinger!”
         “Stop, Sylvia,” Ayara growled irritably, but the girl seemed to have the bit in her teeth now.
         “I bet he used to play by the old well with his boyhood friends, pretending they was great heroes of legend. Just like your sister used to do.”
         “Stop it, Sylvia!” Ayara snapped furiously. “I thought you put all this away! If you can’t control yourself, I’ll put you back to scraping carrots and peeling apples like your first day here!”
         Flames erupted across one of the stoves, and its heat was enough to match a smithy’s furnace. Both women jumped at the inferno, and Ayara fell into the wall as she backed away. Sweat rolled down her face, and Sylvia seemed to have been dropped into a pond. For a few more moments, the flame spurted across the stove, then sputtered away and died.
         “What happened?” Sylvia whispered, her voice quavering in near panic.
         “Sylvia, did you leave the stove heating and forgot to check it?” Ayara felt a simmering heat down in her belly, but the adrenaline and the shock kept it from overpowering her.
         “Oh, no, Miss!” Sylvia squeaked. “I made sure to keep it off! I could have sworn I did!”
         “Sylvia, that little mistake could have cost us the entire house.”
         “But I did keep it off! I never touched the stove!”
         “Enough, Sylvia. Just finish the stew! If you can’t keep your head straight while you’re in my kitchen, I’ll see you thrown out. I’ll give you over to polishing brass and sweeping the porch!”
         “Yes, Miss Ayara,” she said quietly, dropping her eyes to her hands. Tears were glistening in her eyes, but she simply turned back to braising the meat as if Ayara wasn’t there.
         “Syl,” Ayara said, feeling suddenly very foolish. “I didn’t mean-”
         “Best I get lunch ready, Miss,” Sylvia said quietly. “The men won’t like that the stew is late.”
         Ayara backed out as silently as she had come in, berating herself for losing herself in front of one of her helpers. She usually had a better grip on her emotions. But something about Sylvia’s words took her by the heart and shook her. She raged at the girl because she didn’t want her to see how frightened she was - how much she believed it. She was simply spreading rumor, but Ayara had actually seen the thing! Bad enough to deal with him once. Hearing about him day in and day out would drive her mad!
         She found herself on the front porch, forcing herself to breathe deeply and slowly. She needed to relax. It was probably just the shortage of supplies that had her on edge. A nice trip to town would settle them all down. That was what they all needed.
         She didn’t realize how claustrophobic the kitchens could be. Being outside in the cool spring air was a welcome relief. The slow creaking of the wooden swing was a lazy counterpoint to the birds singing in the apple tree in front of the house. The breeze in the trees and high grass was applause enough for any concert. Trust the Lady to find a way to ease away her problems. Even the smell of her father’s pipe-smoke seemed a comfort. She was sure it always would be. Far be it for her to start actually smoking a pipe, but she would always remember the heady aroma of Smokeweed fondly.
         Wait. That smell was much too strong to be just a memory of it in the wood. She stood, sniffing the air. It was much too strong. Her father wasn’t due back for a while now. Not until he got the men back in from the fields. Where was that phantom smell coming from?
         Her heart raced as she slipped over to the far side of the porch and peeked around the corner of the house. In stunned silence, her mouth hanging open, she stared at the source of the smell. All thoughts of phantoms and shadows and horrors went right out of her head. She could barely believe what she saw!
         “Reina!”


         “Aw, Hells,” Reina growled around the pipe-stem. Her sister was standing on the porch, her fists on her hips, and her hair tossing wildly in the wind. She had to be in an absolute fury if she was outside in the wind without hat or parasol. “Hi, Sissy.” She gave her most winning grin - the one she used when she knew she was in the most trouble - but her sister seemed to be having none of it today.
         “What in all seven Hells do you think you’re doing?” Ayara screeched. It went rapidly downhill from there.
         “I could ask you the same thing. Aren’t you supposed to be holed up in your kitchen, Mom?” Reina’s temper started to burn hotter. “What are you gonna do about it? Spank me?”
         “How dare you! That was completely uncalled for! I am not-!”
         “You’re just a stuck-up little-!”
         “You’re as lazy as those overgrown dogs! You need-”
They argued until the farmhands came in from the fields, but neither of them felt it to be a very satisfying fight. Reina was too distracted with hiding her pipe from her Da, gold burning from guilt in her pocket, and curious thoughts of dark riders. Ayara seemed just as preoccupied, and Reina had a pretty good idea where her mind was.
         “Why don’t we eat lunch out here, Sissy? We could use the fresh air, and I think we should talk about that man out there.”
         Ayara looked up, her eyes glassy. For a frightening moment, she looked like she wasn’t really there. Like an off key note. But the light returned to her eyes, and she nodded. “I think we should, too.”
         Convincing Sylvia to bring out two bowls of stew and a few heavy mugs of sweetlemon - not to mention a pot of tea for Ayara, just in case - was simple. The girl was sniveling more than usual for some reason, and it near made Reina shudder to see a woman act so doltish. She’d never act like that for any reason. Not even a man could make her so foolish.
         They ate in silence, Ayara sitting up prim and upright, taking small sips of sweetlemon and delicate spoonfuls of stew. Reina simply slumped in her chair, one leg sprawled out before her and her bowl in her hands. The spoon may as well have been a shovel for all of her. The sweetlemon didn’t last very long with her, either.
         “I suppose it’s not so bad out here. At least after the storm has passed.”
         Reina snickered. “Yeah, but rainstorms give so much opportunity for a nice, big mud puddle.”
         Ayara shuddered. She still had a bit of stew left in her bowl, but she was pushing a carrot around in the broth as if the stew was plain and mediocre. “Do you think Father believed us?”
         “About him, you mean?” Reina jerked her head over to the well. “I don’t think so. He probably just thinks we’re a couple of kids who jumped at Shadow Singer and Shade Dancer. No doubt he thinks he’s a wonderful storyteller.”
         “Sylvia says she heard of a ghost on the grounds,” Ayara confided, still stirring the remains of her stew. “She says the ghost is some Bladesinger hero come home to pine over a dead girlfriend.”
         “That’d make some story, eh?” Reina swirled the chunks of lemon in her glass. She wondered if she’d have time for a puff before the farmhands decided to go back to work. “No, he’s no ghost. And he’s not as bad as you think he may be.”
         “What do you mean?” Ayara demanded.
         Reina looked over her shoulder as she pulled out her pipe and a matchbox. While she was sure her Da was too busy to see her, she turned back and lit her pipe quickly. The flame sputtered in front of her as she puffed contentedly for a moment. Then she reached into her pocket for the coin. It felt just as heavy and hot from guilt as it did that morning. Then she flicked it to Ayara.
         “He gave me that.”
         Ayara’s eyes opened wider than they had in a long time as she caught the gold piece. “Gods be damned, that’s a gold piece!”
         “Keep your voice down,” Reina hissed, waving her hand at her sister. “I don’t know if I should keep it or not.”
         “Why did he give that to you?”
         Reina smirked. “He gave it to me ‘cause I told him the name of the town.”
         “Reina! The town doesn’t have a name! You lied to him?”
         “I didn’t really lie to him,” Reina said defensively. “All I . . . I just-”
         “I hope that gold piece is worth it. They say demons give you trinkets to keep track of you. If you carry something one of them give you, it’s like you have a string tied to you that they can follow.”
         “That’s just hokey superstition, Ayara,” Reina said, rolling her eyes. “I must say, though. I’m impressed. I didn’t know you could swear so well.”
         Ayara’s face colored shamefully. “You do it all the time!”
         “And it’s something I do well. Da all but gave up on keeping my mouth clean. You, on the other hand, are the one who’s supposed to be the respectable Lady.”
         They sat silently for a time, looking out over the wind-swept field. In the distance, they could see the dark clouds at the tail end of yesterday’s storm, streamers of purple lightning flashing down into the ground periodically. It still felt odd, even after all these years, to see sunlight streaming across their yard as the cloud cover rumbled on.
         “You think he’ll come back?” Ayara asked weakly.
         “I don’t know, Sissy,” Reina muttered, tapping out the dottle in her pipe. “If he does, he does. Not much we could do about it.”
         “That’s it? ‘What will be will be’? I never thought of you as much of a fatalist.”
         Reina shrugged. “I’ve got work to do. We’ll be lucky to get our crop in on time. Just watch your back when you’re in that kitchen of yours. You work around a lot of knives, and I’d hate to see you cut a hand off.”
         She meant it for a joke, but the distant look in Ayara’s eyes told her how seriously she took it. “Or I could be burned down to cinders.”
         “That’s a cheery thought.”