Blood of the Fold

Nathan, wearing high boots, brown trousers, a ruffled white shirt buttoned up over his Rada'Han, an open dark green vest, and a heavy dark brown cape hanging almost to the floor, strolled up to the short counter set before a few bottles and kegs. With a noble air, he Hipped his cape back over a shoulder as he settled a boot to the fooirail. Nathan relished wearing clothes other than the black robes he always wore at the palace. He called it "playing down."

The humorless innkeeper smiled only after Nathan had slid silver his way and advised that for the high price of lodging, it had better include a meal. The innkeeper shrugged and agreed.

Before she knew it, Nathan was already spinning a tale that he was a merchant traveling with his mistress while his wife was home raising his twelve sons. The man wanted to know what sort of merchandise Nfihan cleaH i,\ Nulhsr, leaned close, lowered his commanding voice, and winked at the man as he told hint that it would be safer if he didn't know.

The impressed innkeeper straightened and handed Nathan a mug on the house. Nathan toasted the Ten Oaks Inn, the innkeeper, and the patrons before he started for the stairs, telling the innkeeper to bring a mug for his «woman» when he brought their stew. Every eye in the inn followed him, marveling at the impressive stranger among them.

Pressing her lips tight, Ann vowed not to let herself be distracted again, giving Nathan enough time to make up their pretense at being there. It was the journey book that had distracted her. She wanted to know what it said, but she was apprehensive about it, too. Something could easily have gone wrong, and one of the Sisters of the Dark could have the book and have discovered the two of them were still alive. They couldn't afford that. She pressed her fingers against a pang in her stomach. For all she knew, the Palace of the Prophets was already in the hands of the enemy.

The room was small, but clean, with two narrow pallets, a whitewashed stand holding a tin washbasin and chipped ewer, and a square table atop which Nathan set an oil lamp he had carried in from the bracket beside the door. The innkeeper was not far behind with bowls of lamb stew and brown bread, followed by the stableboy with their bags. After both had gone and closed the door, Ann sat and scooted her chair up to the table.

"Well," Nathan said, "aren't you going to give me a lecture?"

"No, Nathan, I'm tired."

He flourished a hand. "I thought it only fair, in view of the deaf-mute business." His expression turned dark. "I've been held in this collar all but the first four years of my life. How would you feel, being a captive your whole life?"

Ann mused to herself that, being his keeper, she was nearly as much a captive as he. She met his glare. "Though you never believe me when I say it, Nathan, I wil! tell you again that I wish it weren't so. It brings me no pleasure to keep one of the Creator's children a prisoner for no crime but his birth."

After a long silence, he withdrew the glare. His hands clasped behind his back, Nathan strolled the room, giving it a critical appraisal. His boots thumped across the plank floor. "Not what I'm accustomed to, ' he announced to no one in particular, Ann pushed away the bowl of stew and set the journey book on the table, staring at the black leather cover for a time before finally opening it and turning to the writing.

You must first tell me the reason you chose me the last time. I remember every word. One mistake, and this journey book feeds the fire.

"My, my, my," she murmured. "She's being very cautious. Good." Nathan peered over Ann's shoulder as she pointed. "Look at the strokes, at how hard she pressed. Verna looks to be angry."

Ann stared at the words. She knew what Verna meant.

"She must really hate me," Ann whispered as the words on the page wavered in her watery gaze.

Nathan straightened. "So what? I hate you, and it never seems to bother you."

"Do you, Nathan? Do you really hate me?"

His only answer was a dismissive grunt. "Have I told you that this plan of yours is madness?"

"Not since breakfast."

"Well it is, you know."

Ann stared at the words in the journey book. "You've worked before to influence which fork is taken in prophecy, Nathan, because you know what can happen down the wrong path, and you also know how vulnerable the prophecies are to corruption."

"What good will it do everyone if you get yourself killed with this foolhardy plan? And me with you! I'd like to live to see a thousand, you know. You're going to get us both killed."

Ann rose from her chair. She laid gentle a hand on his muscular arm. "Tell me then, Nathan, what you would do. You know the prophecies; you know the threat. You yourself are the one who warned me. Tell me what you would do, if it were up to you."

He shared a gaze with her for a long moment. The fire left his eyes as he put a big hand over hers. "The same as you, Ann. It's our only chance. But it doesn't make me feel any better knowing the danger to you."