Heart Readers Read online

  “No. They’re not. And I will not sit there, calmly holding hands and linking up with the heart of one of those . . . things.”

  “They’re too young to be the men who hurt you.”

  A splinter dug into Stashie’s palm. It almost felt good. “They’re the same kind of men. I will not touch them.”

  “It would be brief, and we could charge more.”

  Stashie glared at Dasis. She had tried to explain what happened once, but words were inadequate for the experience. Dasis had grown up in peace; her village had surrendered with few lives lost, conquered by someone other than Tarne. She had understood the words Stashie used, but not the depth of the pain.

  “I don’t care how much gold they give us,” Stashie said. “I will not touch a man like that. Not ever.”

  She turned her back on Dasis and slowly, one concentrated movement at a time, tore down the canopy.

  CHAPTER 5

  Pardu lounged in the open doorway of the pavilion. A manservant stood beside him, swirling the hot dead air with an oversized fan. From his pillows, Pardu watched the desert. It had gained a tame look over the years, even though he knew it was still dangerous. Every time he saw the landscape, it took his breath away. He owned that land, and the land beyond it. Towns and villages and people all fell under his rule. He had seen more than half of the conquered countries, and none was as beautiful as the desert outside his windows.

  He picked up a silken handkerchief and coughed into it, noting as he pulled his hand away the blood that flecked the soft blue cloth. Blood now for the past three months. The royal physicians said he would be fine, but the physicians cared more about their posts than the truth. He knew he was dying. He recognized it in the blood, in the increasing weight loss, in his growing exhaustion. He had sent for his sons because he knew that in a short time, he would either be dead or the gibbering fool his father had been during his last year of life.

  And unlike his father, Pardu wanted to have the succession question settled before he died.

  He closed his eyes and his brother’s form loomed up in front of them. Tall, razor-thin, a voice like a trumpet, and so cunning. They had been inseparable from birth and then, that last day, when Pardu had brought his sword down—

  He opened his eyes, and stared at the sand. All for land. Land and power and water, things his father had told him were important. Things that had never seemed to matter much after that last downstroke of the sword, the spurting of his brother’s blood. No matter how much beauty he saw in the landscape, it didn’t make up for the loss of his brother’s counsel, his brother’s company. His brother’s love.

  And now he was asking his sons to make the same choice. Death for one, power for the other. He should have killed one at birth, before he came to love them both. No barren landscape was worth the life of a son. Power seemed futile as death sucked the life from his bones and ate him away, inch by inch.

  Perhaps he could share that with his sons, get them to work together, as they had always done. They were stronger together than they were separately. And when one died, the other would remain, strong and hearty and in control of his world.

  Pardu picked up the handkerchief again, coughed, felt the blood spatter inside his mouth. Everything tasted of iron these days. He wanted to lie back, let the servants tend him, and his sons rule.

  He wanted to die in peace.

  CHAPTER 6

  Radekir had been watching the new couple for nearly an hour. She sat cross-legged on her table, dice scattered around her, her turban-wrapped head already too hot. She hadn’t seen heart readers for nearly a decade, not since her own partner had left her. The taller woman, slender and willowy, particularly caught Radekir’s eye. Her movements contained a measure of fear, as if she expected something—or someone— to harm her.

  The heat would be thick and the morning would be slow. Radekir pushed off her table and wandered through the throng of marketers toward the heart readers. Normally she enjoyed the small crowds. She eavesdropped on conversations, watched people barter and concentrated on reading movement. She had to. Dice reading was a fake magic, like so many at the bazaar. Her talent lay in picking the right details, reading people correctly, guessing at their characters and their futures. Most people who frequented the bazaar knew that the magicks were mostly fake. She wondered what they would do when they encountered the heart readers.

  She snitched a pomegranate off one of the tables and then held up the fruit for the vendor to see. “I owe you one reading,” Radekir shouted. The vendor smiled and nodded. He knew the readings were faked, but he also knew that he would probably get a mead from Radekir later.

  Radekir sighed and pushed through the throng again. Body against body already sweating in the heat. She remembered the magic of heart reading, the way the sight flowed from her to her partner, the gasps of pain and shock as the readings rang true. Once they had read for a military governor who wanted to know if his second in command was capable of treachery. The second had been capable of it; whether or not he committed it was another matter. But she still recalled that moment of power when her actions held the key to a man’s decision, when her magicks gave her the power she normally lacked.

  She stopped before the heart readers’ rug, uncertain about what to say or do next. She had come because she was drawn, not just to the profession, but to the frightened woman. The other woman, the rounded, more matronly one, smiled when she saw Radekir.

  “May we help you?”

  Radekir shook her head. “I came to wish you well. I’m Radekir, the dice reader. That’s my table over there.”

  “I’m Dasis,” the woman said, “and this is my partner, Stashie.”

  The tall woman turned. She froze when she saw Radekir and her gaze scanned Radekir’s length. It took a moment for Radekir to realize that the other woman was trying to determine Radekir’s gender. When Stashie realized that Radekir was female, she relaxed.

  “Have you worked the bazaar long?” Dasis asked.

  “Long enough,” Radekir said. “The business is good. The townsfolk come through often and the soldiers change every few days. A lot of people travel through, which, I imagine, would be good for heart readers.”

  Dasis’s smile became more sincere. “You’ve worked with heart readers.”

  Radekir nodded. She didn’t want to admit her former status as a reader. That always led to questions about why she no longer read—and she didn’t want to answer those.

  Stashie came closer. Her face was beautiful: skin dark, eyes black, set deeply in high cheekbones. “You said a lot of soldiers go through here.”

  “And they spend money on fortunes.”

  Stashie bit her lower lip and looked away.

  “You don’t care for soldiers,” Radekir said.

  “Stashie’s village was overtaken when she was younger. She lost her family,” Dasis said.

  Radekir kept her gaze on Stashie. The other woman’s entire demeanor had frozen, as if that past moment still held her in thrall. “There are ways to keep the soldiers away,” Radekir said.

  Stashie tilted her head so that Radekir knew she had Stashie’s attention.

  “They’re quite superstitious and tend to spread rumors among their ranks. If we start a story that you’re bad luck to people in uniform, they’ll stay away.”

  Stashie took a deep breath. Dasis frowned. “But the soldiers are the ones with the money.”

  “Sometimes,” Radekir said. “But what is the worth of money gained at great personal expense?”

  “We barely have enough to make it through the week,” Dasis said. She sat down on her section of the rug and smoothed her skirts around herself. “We take the money we can get.”

  Stashie flinched. Dasis didn’t seem to notice. Radekir wanted to reach out to Stashie, but didn’t. Not yet. “Well, it’s an idea,” she said, “and I will help if I can.”

  “Thank you,” Stashie whispered. Radekir thought she could see her own attraction reflected in Stashie
’s eyes.

  Radekir nodded. She didn’t want to get into the middle of something too personal. Or did she? A heart reader and an attraction. It boded well for the future.

  ***

  The twilight brought a slight breeze that shifted the desert sands and took the force of the heat from the city. Radekir pocketed her gold and her dice, leaving her table to welcome the morning sun. The day had been better than she had hoped, and part of the reason had been her proximity to the heart readers. New people approached the heart readers continually, filling their pouch and telling others of the new fortune-telling method. The newness spilled onto Radekir’s table and she cast more fake fortunes than she had in days. She felt good. No matter what she was doing, she loved being in the bazaar.

  She tied her pouch to her skirt, and was about to leave when a hand brushed her shoulder. Stashie stood behind her, eyes sunken into her lovely face.

  “Let me get you some dinner,” she said.

  A little thrill ran up Radekir’s back. “Let me cook,” she said. “Your partner mentioned that you were short of money.”

  “We got enough today,” Stashie said. “Dasis gave me coins enough. We should stay in public, though.”

  “She’d know if you and I did anything. You wouldn’t be able to read.”

  Stashie’s eyes widened. “Where did you learn so much about heart reading?”

  “I was a reader myself once,” Radekir said—and then mentally kicked herself. She wasn’t going to admit that.

  But Stashie merely nodded. “Then you understand why we can’t meet in private. A partner’s trust is almost as important as a partner’s fidelity.”

  “Your partner doesn’t understand you.” Radekir tapped her pouch, then tucked a strand of hair beneath her turban.

  “She understands what she needs to.” Stashie touched Radekir’s elbow, then pulled away as if she had been burned. “Let’s go. Take me somewhere good.”

  They walked through the darkening streets. Tavern keepers were placing torches into their wall holders, the flames casting a bit of light in the narrow passageways. Most of the women had disappeared with the sun; only one night woman crossed their path. A half dozen soldiers laughed and joked along a side street. When Stashie saw them, her entire body became rigid. Radekir tried to touch her, but Stashie pulled away. The soldiers stole a torch from one of the tavern walls, and kept walking. Stashie didn’t move until they were out of sight.

  “How long ago did they hurt you?” Radekir asked quietly.

  Stashie let out a breath that she had held for a long time. “Before I met Dasis. I was just a girl.”

  “Dasis said they killed your family. How did you survive?”

  Stashie wrapped her arms around herself. “I made them kill my family. I didn’t listen. I disobeyed. He let me live as punishment, I think. Then I escaped.”

  Radekir heard the reluctance in Stashie’s tone, and realized that she wouldn’t say much more. Radekir decided not to push. Dasis had probably pushed and that was why she seemed to know nothing of her partner’s anguish. If Dasis did know, then she was too insensitive to be with such a fragile woman.

  They stopped in front of the tavern without the light. “The soldiers won’t come back here,” Radekir said, “and the others won’t find it without its light.”

  Stashie nodded and shoved her way in.

  The open door sent a flood of light, noise, and food scents into the street. Radekir blinked once, then followed Stashie in. As she had suspected, they were the only women. Men turned from their positions on the benches, saw Radekir’s turban and looked away, dismissing them because they were not night women. The tavern keep came forward, hands twisting in front of his stained shirt.

  “Women use the back door,” he said.

  Stashie tensed. Radekir touched her arm. “We did not know,” she said. “We won’t make the mistake again. We would like some dinner.”

  “The back room,” he said and waved a hand. “Through that door.”

  Radekir took Stashie’s elbow and led her to the back. Four other women—all from the bazaar—sat at a round table, eating quietly. Radekir led Stashie to the bench beside the fireplace.

  Radekir blessed her own skill at reading people’s bodies. Stashie’s spoke more than her mouth did.

  “You’ve never been separated before?”

  Stashie shook her head. “None of the provinces do this. Except—”

  She frowned. Radekir waited. When Stashie said nothing else, Radekir said, “They did in your village.”

  Stashie swallowed. “After the soldiers came.”

  One of the night women came through the side door. She held a tray in one hand, two steaming dishes perched on top of it.

  “I need your coin first,” she said, extending her other hand.

  Radekir reached into her pouch, but Stashie stopped her. “I said I would.” She placed two gold coins in the night woman’s hand. “Enough?”

  “Enough to get you some mead, too.” The night woman set the bowls down, revealing a rich, thick stew. She set a loaf of bread beside it. “I’ll be back.”

  Stashie broke a piece of bread and scooped it into the stew. Her movements were quick. Radekir recognized a deeper hunger than she had seen. Radekir also took bread and dunked it in the stew. “You had a reason for wanting dinner with me,” she said.

  Stashie nodded, her mouth full. She continued to dunk and scoop, speaking around her food as she did. “I want to know about the soldiers.”

  “What makes you think I know anything about the soldiers?”

  Stashie chewed for a moment, then licked her fingers. “You know more than I do.”

  The night woman brought the mead and set it beside them. Radekir took a sip. It was warm and honeyed.

  “I want to know why they’re here and what they’ve done and if they—” Stashie stopped herself. She grabbed more bread and scooped the remaining stew from her bowl.

  “And if they what?”

  Stashie shook her head. “I just want to know about them.”

  “To know if you have to fear them?”

  Stashie jerked her head up. Her eyes had almost a glaze to them. “I will always fear them. I have to know if I can read from them, if they will leave Dasis and me alone if I cooperate with them.”

  Radekir took another bite of stew. The meat was real, not gristle, and it added a depth of flavor that she wouldn’t have expected in a tavern. “The soldiers come to the bazaar for recreation. They sometimes torment fruit sellers and people they need to bargain with. As I told you before, they’re very superstitious. They treat fortune-tellers with a kind of awe. Luckily, most soldiers do not stay in town long enough to realize that the fortunes are fake.”

  “Readings aren’t faked,” Stashie said quietly. “We tell the truth about people.”

  “And you don’t think the soldiers would want to hear truth about themselves.”

  Stashie took the mead cup and hid her face. Radekir reached out and touched her hair. It was as soft and silky as it looked.

  “They’re not very deep men,” Radekir said. “Once they realize that you do not foretell the future, they will probably leave you alone. All they want to know is if they’ll die on the next campaign or if they’ll become a military governor or if they will find a fortune and escape. They don’t care whether or not they have the capacity to love someone.”

  Stashie set the mead cup down. “So you’re saying that if we do our job well for a few soldiers, the others will leave us alone.”

  “I think so.” Radekir smiled. “I’d offer to do a dice reading for you, but the dice tell me nothing. All I know is what I observe from others.”

  “And what do you see when you look at me?” Stashie’s face held an openness that Radekir hadn’t expected. She ran a thumb along Stashie’s soft cheek, wishing that she could touch this woman in other ways.

  “I see a frightened woman,” Radekir said, “who has never dealt with her fear. I see a strong woma
n, who has survived things that most of us have never dreamed of. And I see a beautiful woman, who believes that no one understands her.”

  Stashie’s eyes glistened. She moved her face from Radekir’s touch. “You don’t read hearts anymore.”

  “My partner left me,” Radekir said.

  The words hung between them for a moment. Then Stashie wiped her fingers on her skirt and stood up. “Thank you for talking to me,” she said. “I will see you tomorrow?”

  Radekir nodded. She watched Stashie thread her way through the tables to the back door. Once Stashie left, Radekir picked up her own stew bowl. The food was still warm and her appetite had grown. Perhaps Dasis had helped Stashie once, but she was helping her no longer. The women had grown apart. All that held them together was their profession. Radekir could see many things. She could see relationships that were about to die.

  But she couldn’t tell if others were about to start. She had never heard of heart readers switching partners. She didn’t know if it was possible. The lore said nothing about it. Heart readers were bonded sexually and emotionally. That bond allowed them to combine their talents and see into the hearts of others. First loves always had a magic to them that second loves never seemed to have. But perhaps second loves could form a stronger bond. Perhaps the magic was not necessary.

  Radekir smiled. It was something to think about while she was at the bazaar, watching Stashie work from across the distance of a few tables. Perhaps Radekir would remember. Or perhaps she would find out.

  CHAPTER 7

  Tarne stood with his hands clasped behind his back, unused to the feeling of servitude. He waited in the heat outside Vasenu’s pavilion. The sun beat on his unadorned head and sweat trickled down his back. He wasn’t going to ask again if Vasenu knew that he had arrived. The princeling was acting the upstart, letting Tarne know his place.

  The pavilion stood alone on the palace grounds, a hastily erected tent made of fine silks, filled with whatever riches the servants could find. Tarne had heard that the brothers’ old rooms within the palace were being redecorated to suit the adult men rather than the boys they had been. Ele’s pavilion was on the other side of the grounds, as if someone had wanted to keep the brothers separate.