Текст книги "The Kiss of Deception"

Автор книги: Mary E. Pearson

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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Still, a royal was a royal, and her haughty arrogance proved her roots. I’d remember that when her time came, but there was no reason I couldn’t enjoy the comforts of the inn and other pleasures as well for a few more days before I finished my business. There was plenty of time for that. Griz and the others wouldn’t be joining up with me for another month. I didn’t have to spend it alone in a wasteland eating rodents when I could stay here. I’d get the job done when the time was right. The Komizar had always been able to count on me, and this time would be no different.

I pulled off my boots and blew out the lantern, sliding my knife just below the mattress edge at hand’s reach. How many times had I slashed it across anonymous throats? But this time I knew the name of my victim, at least the assumed one she was using. Lia. A very unroyal name. I wondered why she chose it.

Lia. Like a whisper on the wind.

CHAPTER TWELVE

THE PRINCE

I’d told Sven I probably wouldn’t even speak to her, and yet from the moment I saw her prance around like nothing in the outside world mattered, that’s all I wanted to do. I wanted to deliver a diatribe of epic proportion, a lecture that would color even my father’s seasoned ears. I wanted to betray her identity to a roomful of people, and yet I sat there silently and let her deliver menu choices to me instead. Princess Arabella, First Daughter of the House of Morrighan, working in a tavern.

And she seemed to be enjoying it. Immensely.

Maybe that’s what bothered me most of all. While I was on the road, wondering if she was the quarry of bandits or bears, she was playing barmaid. She was trouble, that was clear, and the day she fled our wedding, I had dodged a poisonous arrow. She did me a favor. I could almost laugh at father’s suggestion of taking a mistress after the wedding. This girl could make the whole royal court and half the king’s army regret such a decision.

I rolled over, punching the lumpy mattress, hoping my restlessness kept my unwelcome companion awake. He had stomped around for the better part of an hour before extinguishing the lantern. I saw him looking at her in the tavern, his eyes practically undressing her from the minute we walked in.

I was caught by surprise when I first saw her too. Her face didn’t match the pinched, sour one I had envisioned after so many miles on the road. My epic lecture shriveled to silence as I watched her. I was almost hoping it wasn’t her but then when I heard her speak, I knew. I knew by her boldness and temper. I knew by the way she commanded a towering soldier to silence with a few hotly placed, if imprudent, words. After we sat, I noticed my newfound friend still watching her, his eyes rolling over her like a panther on a doe, probably supposing her to be his dessert. I almost kicked his chair out from beneath him.

With luck, he’d be on his way tomorrow and would forget about making a conquest of a local barmaid. After we left the tavern and he visited the privy, I took a closer look at his tack, all nondescript, no markings to denote an artisan or region. Nothing. Not on his saddlebag, scabbard, reins, or blanket—not even the humblest embellishment like a tooled noseband for his horse. By chance or design?

I rolled over again, unable to get comfortable. So I’ve seen her. Now what? I’d told Sven I wouldn’t speak to her, and I did. I wanted to shame her publicly, and I didn’t. I wanted to tell her privately, but I knew I couldn’t. Nothing was turning out quite as I planned.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“Why didn’t you wake me when you came in last night?”

I stood behind Pauline as she faced the mirror, and I looked at her clouded image. The glass was speckled with age, probably thrown into the cottage as more damaged overflow, but I was happy to see that some pink had returned to her cheeks. She brushed her long honey locks with brisk strokes as I pulled my riding clothes from the wardrobe.

“It was late, and you were sleeping soundly. No need to wake you.”

Her brisk strokes slowed to hesitant ones. “I’m sorry that you and Berdi argued. She really is trying to—”

“Berdi and I are fine, Pauline. Don’t worry. We talked after you left. She understands my—”

“You have to realize, Lia, Terravin isn’t like Civica. Your father and his cabinet aren’t watching over every soldier in the kingdom. Berdi does the best she can.”

I turned to lash out at her, my anger flaring at being chastised again, but then the kernel of truth caught in my throat. My father rarely left the comforts of Civica. Neither did his cabinet. He ruled from a distance if he ruled at all, arranging things like marriages to solve his problems. When was the last time he had actually toured his realm and spoken with those not cradled in the security of Civica? The Viceregent and his small entourage were the only ones who spent any time away from Civica and then it was only on routine diplomatic visits to the Lesser Kingdoms.

I snapped my trousers out before me, trying to shake out the wrinkles, and we both looked at the sagging, torn knee and frayed threads where a dozen more holes were beginning to erupt.

“You’re right, Pauline. Terravin is nothing like Civica.”

We exchanged smiles, knowing rags like these had never graced even the outer halls of the royal court, and we let the unsaid pass. After three decades on the throne, my father didn’t know his own kingdom anymore. Some things were easier seen from a distance than when they were right under your nose.

We both dressed, tucking our shirts into our trousers and pulling on our boots. I belted my knife to my side and put on my soft leather jerkin to cover it. A six-inch blade. I smiled. Did he buy it? It was actually just shy of four—but very nicely weighted—and as Aunt Bernice noted, a little exaggeration was always expected when describing weapons, victories, and body parts. I wore the small jeweled dagger more to feel close to my brothers than for protection, though it might not hurt for Rafe to think otherwise. Walther had always sharpened the blade for me, taking pride in how I attacked my chamber door with it. Honing the edge was left to me now. I touched the sheath, making sure it was snug against my hip, and wondered if my brothers missed me as much as I missed them.

With the inn still full, there were no rooms to clean out this morning, and Berdi was sending us on a hunting expedition for blackberries. It was a welcome change of routine, and I was eager to give Otto, Nove, and Dieci a day out too, though I knew they’d be just as content to eat hay in their pen and provide occasional commentary on anyone passing by—which they seemed to do with perceptive regularity whenever Enzo was close about.

We were to pick up Gwyneth on our way, and she’d show us the route to Devil’s Canyon, where the blackberry brambles were thick. Berdi claimed the berries there were the sweetest. With the upcoming festival less than two weeks away, she was preparing to make blackberry scones, preserves, and flummery. Also, as Gwyneth revealed on the sly, Berdi needed fresh blackberries for the new cellaring of blackberry wine she would put up to replace the bottles that would be drunk at this year’s festival.

I had wondered what was in the dark cases stacked in the corner of the cellar. Apparently all the merchants contributed something to the festival, and blackberry treats were Berdi’s specialties year after year. A tradition. It was one tradition I looked forward to.

I braided Pauline’s hair, trying to circle it about her head, but I wasn’t skilled at weaving and finally had to settle for a simple but neat braid down the middle of her back. We traded places, and she did the same for me, but she created a more elaborate design with much less effort, beginning braids at each temple and having them meet at my crown, artfully leaving loose tendrils in the wake of the cable to soften its effect. She hummed to herself as she worked, and I decided she must still be musing over dreams of Mikael from the night before, but then a little murmur escaped her lips as if she had discovered something in my hair that shouldn’t be there—like a big fat tick.

“What?” I asked, alarmed.

“Just remembering those two fellows from last night. They looked positively stricken when Berdi banished you to the kitchen. You have some interesting admirers.”

“Kaden and Rafe?”

“Ho! You know their names?” She balked and tugged on my hair, making me wince.

“Simple courtesy. When I waited on them, I asked.”

She leaned to the side to make sure I could see her in the mirror and rolled her eyes with great flourish. “I don’t see you asking old bald butchers what their names are. What about that third fellow who came in later? Did you get his name too?”

“Third fellow?”

“You didn’t see him? He walked in right after the other two. A thin, scruffy fellow. He shot plenty of sideways looks your way.”

I tried to remember him, but I had been so occupied with the miscreant soldier and then serving Kaden and Rafe, that I didn’t even recall the tavern door opening again. “No, I didn’t notice him.”

She shrugged. “He didn’t stay long. Didn’t even finish his cider. But Kaden and Reef certainly lingered. They didn’t look anything like scampering rabbits to me.”

I knew she was referring to Charles and the many other boys who avoided me. “His name was Rafe,” I corrected.

“Ohh … Rafe. Did you favor one over the other?”

My spine stiffened. Favor? It was my turn to roll my eyes. “They were both rude and presumptuous.”

“Is that Her Royal Highness speaking or someone who’s afraid of fleeing rabbits?” She pulled on another thin strand of hair.

“I swear, Pauline, I’m going to behead you if you pull my hair one more time! What’s gotten into you?”

She was resolute, not the least bothered by my threat. “I’m just returning your favor of last night. I should have stood up to that soldier myself long before you had to step in.”

I sighed. “We all have our different skills. You’re patient to a fault, which sometimes doesn’t work to your advantage. I, on the other hand, have the patience of a wet cat. Only on rare occasions does that come in handy.” I gave a resigned shrug, making Pauline grin. I quickly added a scowl. “And just how is plucking me bald doing me a favor?”

“I’m saving you from yourself. I watched you with them last night.” Her hands dropped to my shoulders. “I want you to stop being afraid,” she said gently. “The good ones don’t run away, Lia.”

I swallowed. I wanted to look away, but her eyes were fixed on me. Pauline knew me too well. I had always hidden my fears from others with sharp talk and bold gestures. How many times had she seen me trying to tame my breathing in a dark corridor of the citadelle after a nasty encounter with the Scholar when he told me I was deficient in my studies, social abilities, or any number of things where I fell short of what was expected. Or the many times I stood frozen at my chamber window blankly staring at nothing at all for as long as an hour, blinking back tears after another curt dismissal from my father. Or the times I had had to retreat to my dressing chamber and lock the door. I knew Pauline had heard my cries. The last few years, I hadn’t measured up in any way, and the more they pushed, molded, and silenced me, the more I wanted to be heard.

Pauline’s hands slid from my shoulders. “I suppose they were both pleasant enough to look at,” I offered. I heard the pretense in my own voice. The truth was I found them both to be attractive in their own ways. I wasn’t a corpse. But even though they had made my blood rush when they walked into the tavern, they’d filled me with apprehension too.

Pauline still waited for something else, expressionless. It didn’t seem to be enough of an admission for her, so I gave her another that I was sure I’d regret. “And maybe I did favor one of them.”

Though I wasn’t entirely sure. Finding something intriguing about one of them didn’t necessarily mean I favored him. Still, he had haunted my dreams last night in a strange way. Partial glimpses of his face dissolved and reappeared over and over again like a specter, appearing in shadows of deep forest, walls of crumbling ruins, and then again, his eyes crackling in a fan of flames.

He followed wherever I went, searching me as if I had stolen a secret that belonged to him. They were disturbing dreams, not at all the kind I imagined Pauline had of Mikael. It could have been that my restless dreams were simply due to Berdi’s cooking, but this morning when I woke, my first thoughts were of him.

Pauline smiled and tied off my braid with a string of raffia. “The blackberries await Your Highness.”

As we saddled the braying trio, Kaden stepped out of the tavern. Berdi served simple fare in the morning—hard cheeses, boiled eggs, kippers, hot parritch, flat breads, and plenty of hot chicory to drink—all laid out on the sideboard. It was a simple serve-yourself meal, or a guest could pack it in a knapsack to go. No one went hungry at Berdi’s,—not even mumpers or princesses who showed up on her back step.

I pulled Otto’s cinch and went on to check Nove’s as I stole glances at Kaden from under my lashes. Pauline cleared her throat like something was suddenly caught in it. I shot her a stern look. Her eyes rolled toward Kaden—who was now walking straight toward us. My mouth was suddenly dry, and I swallowed, trying to coax forth a little moisture. He wore a white shirt, and his boots crunched in the dirt as he approached.

“Morning, ladies. You’re off early.”

“As are you,” I answered.

We exchanged niceties, and he explained he was off to take care of some matters that might keep him several more days at the inn, though he didn’t say what the matters were.

“Are you a pelt trader as Gwyneth suggested?” I asked.

He smiled. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. Small animal skins. Usually I trade out of Piadro, but I’m hoping find better prices up north. I commend your friend on her skilled observances.”

So I was wrong. He did trade in pelts. Impressions could be deceiving. “Yes,” I agreed. “Gwyneth is quite perceptive.”

He untied his horse from the rail. “I’m hoping that when I return this afternoon, a real room might be available.”

“It’s not likely until after the festival,” Pauline said. “But there might be a room at another inn in town?”

He paused as if he contemplated looking elsewhere, his eyes resting on me for several beats longer than was comfortable. In the brightness of day, his blond hair shone, and his deep brown eyes revealed more color, a striking spectrum of bronzed flecks, rich and warm like freshly tilled earth, but disquiet still lurked beneath the apparent calm. A short growth of stubble on his chin caught the morning sun, and I didn’t even realize I was studying his well-chiseled lips until an amused grin spread across them. I quickly returned my attention to Nove, feeling my cheeks blaze.

“I’ll stay here,” he answered.

“And your friend? Will he be staying as well?” I asked.

“I don’t know what his plans are, but I suspect his nose is too finicky to last long in a loft.” He bid his good-byes, and I watched him ride away on a horse as black as night, a strong wildish beast, even its breaths fearsome, as though a dragon lurked in its lineage. It was a beast that could splinter a stall and would never be mistaken for a broodmare. I smiled at the thought, wondering at the way Rafe had goaded him. They were an odd pair of friends.

When he was well out of sight, Pauline said, “So it’s Rafe.”

I swung up on Otto and didn’t answer. Today Pauline seemed to have woken up bent on bolstering relationships, first me and Berdi, and now me and … whoever. Was it because she so desperately wanted to fortify her own relationship with Mikael? I wasn’t prone to calling on the gods outside of the required rituals, but I touched two fingers to my lips and sent up a prayer that Mikael would return soon.

Terravin was small, which was part of its charm. From Berdi’s inn tucked back in the hills on the south end to the first clusters of shops on the northern end, it was a fifteen-minute journey at most—faster if you weren’t riding three asses who were in no hurry to get anywhere. I wondered at all the brightly colored homes and shops, and Pauline told me that it was a tradition that had started centuries ago. The women of the small fishing village painted their homes a bright color so their husbands who went to sea could see their own house from afar and remember that a wife waited for them to return. It was believed to be a way to protect their true love from being lost at sea.

Could anyone really travel so far that they might not find their way home again? I had never been farther out in the ocean than my knees, a freezing dip in the waters of the Safran Sea on a rare family excursion, where I chased my brothers on the beach and picked up seashells with … my father. The old memory gusted through me like a startling cold wind. So many other memories had piled on top of it that it was nearly extinguished. I was certain my father had no recollection of it at all. He had been a different man back then. I was different too.

Pauline and I made our way north along the narrow upper trail that paralleled the main road below. Ragged stripes of light squeezing through the trees played across our path. Besides the main road, there were dozens of narrow lanes like this one that wound through Terravin and the surrounding hillsides, each leading to unique discoveries. We cut down one of them to the center of town, and the Sacrista came into view, a large imposing structure for such a small hamlet. I surmised that the people of Terravin must be ardent in their devotion to the gods.

A graveyard bordered one side, riddled with markers so old they were only thin flat slabs of stone. Any adornments, words, or grand tributes had been washed away long ago, leaving their honored occupants lost to history, and yet candles of remembrance still glowed in red glass lanterns in front of a scattered few.

I watched Pauline’s gaze flutter across stone and candle. Even Otto slowed as we passed, his ears twitching as though he were being hailed by the residents within. A breeze skipped across the headstones, pulling at my loose tendrils, snaking them around my neck.

Gone … gone …

My flesh crawled. Fright closed my throat with sudden ferocity. Mikael. Something is wrong. Something is hopelessly and irretrievably wrong.

Fear seized me unexpectedly and fully. I forced myself to breathe and remember the facts: Mikael was only on patrol. Walther and Regan had both been on dozens of patrols, and sometimes they were late returning home due to weather, supplies, or any number of inconsequential things. Patrols were not dangerous. Sometimes there were skirmishes, but rarely did they even encounter a trespasser. The only injury either one of them had ever returned with was a crushed toe when a horse stepped on Regan’s bare foot.

Patrols were only a precaution, a way of asserting borders not to be crossed and a way to ensure no permanent settlements were established in the Cam Lanteux, a safety zone between kingdoms. They chased bands of barbarians back behind their own borders. Walther called it mere chest beating. He said the worse part of it was enduring the body odors of unwashed men. In truth, I wasn’t sure that the barbarians were a threat at all. Yes, savage by all the reports I had heard at court and from soldiers, but they’d been kept back behind borders for hundreds of years. How fierce could they really be?

Pauline’s true love was fine, I told myself, but the oppressive feeling lingered. I had never met Mikael. He wasn’t from Civica, had only been assigned there as part of a rotation of troops, and Pauline had followed court rules to the letter and been discreet—so discreet she never even mentioned him until just before we left. Now I feared that I might never meet this young man who loved her so and made her face glow when she spoke of him.

“Would you like to stop?” I blurted out much too loudly, startling her. I pulled back on Otto’s reins.

She stopped, anxious lines creaseing her forehead. “If you don’t mind. It will only take a moment.”

I nodded and she slid from Nove, pulling a coin from her saddlebag. She hurried into the Sacrista. A candle. A prayer. A hope. A flickering light burning for Mikael. A beacon to guide him safely to Terravin.

It would sustain her until the next time a warning breeze skipped over the bones of the long dead. Pauline was true to her word, as in all things, and when she returned a short time later, the rigid edge of worry that had hardened her face a few minutes earlier had softened. Pauline had given worry over to the gods. My own heart lightened.

We finished our trek to the main road and followed the directions Berdi gave us to Gwyneth’s small rented room above the apothecary. It was a tiny shop sandwiched between much larger stores on either side. A narrow staircase hugged one wall and led to a room on the second floor that I assumed was Gwyneth’s. It was set back from the rest of the structure and not much larger than an arm span across, surely with no running water or the basic comfort of a chamber closet. I was intensely curious about Gwyneth’s life outside of the tavern. She never spoke of it even when prodded, always giving vague responses and moving on to something else, which only served to spark my imagination. I had expected her to live in some place much more exotic or mysterious than a little room over a shop on a busy main road.

We slid from our donkeys, and I handed Otto’s reins to Pauline, telling her I’d run up the stairs to get Gwyneth, but suddenly she emerged from the shoemaker’s across the road with a child of no more than six or seven, a pretty little girl with dark strawberry curls falling past her shoulders and sprinkles of sun dust trailing across her nose and cheeks. She held a small wrapped package she clearly treasured, hugging it to her chest. “Thank you, Miss Gwyneth! I can’t wait to show Mama!”

She ran off and disappeared down another lane. “Good-bye, Simone!” Gwyneth called after her and continued to look in the direction the little girl had run long after she was gone. A faint smile creased her eyes, a gentleness that permeated her whole bearing. It was a tender side I had never seen in the usually jaded Gwyneth.

“She’s very pretty,” I called to alert her to our presence.

She whipped her gaze in our direction, and her back stiffened. “You’re early,” she said curtly.

She joined us on our side of the street, inspecting the bucktoothed Dieci suspiciously, wondering aloud if the homely beast had ever been ridden. In truth, we didn’t know, though he took to the saddle well enough. As she checked his cinch, a large lunch wagon clattered by on its way to the docks and great wafts of greasy fried eel filled the air around us. While I didn’t favor this favorite regional delicacy, its aroma was not unpleasant, but Pauline’s hand flew to her mouth. Her face paled, and she doubled over, her morning meal splattering to the street. I tried to come to her aid, but she brushed me away and clutched her stomach again as another wave overtook her and there was more spillage. I was certain her stomach had to be empty now. She straightened, taking a shaky breath, but her hands were still protectively pressed to her stomach. I stared at her hands, and in an instant, the rest of the world disappeared.

Oh, blessed gods.

Pauline?

It hit me as swiftly as a punch to my gut. No wonder she’d been so sallow and tired. No wonder she was so frightened.

“Pauline,” I whispered.

She shook her head, cutting me off. “I’m fine! I’ll be fine. The parritch simply didn’t settle properly.” She sent me a quick pleading look with watery eyes.

We could talk about this later. With Gwyneth looking on, I hurriedly tried to cover, explaining that Pauline had always had a delicate constitution.

“Weak stomach or not, she’s in no shape to travel into a hot canyon for berry hunting,” Gwyneth said firmly, and I was grateful that Pauline agreed. Still looking pale, she insisted she could return home on her own, and I reluctantly let her go.

“Skip the parritch from now on,” Gwyneth called after her as she rode away.

But Pauline and I both knew it wasn’t her morning meal that had made her sick.

From the seed of the thief

The Dragon will rise,

the gluttonous one,

feeding on the blood of babes,

Drinking the tears of mothers.

–Song of Venda

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Devil’s Canyon was aptly named. The temperate breezes of Terravin didn’t venture down here. It was dry and dusty but strangely beautiful in its own way. Large gnarled oaks mingled with tall palms and barrel cactus. Jewelweed taller than a man hugged the thin rocky streams that sprang from creviced walls. It looked like a demon’s stash, mismatched flora stolen from the corners of the earth to create his own version of paradise. And of course there were the blackberries, his seductive fruit, but we hadn’t come upon them yet.

Gwyneth blew a puff of air from her mouth, trying to cool her brow, and then unbuttoned her shirt, pulling it off and tying it around her waist. Her chemise did little to hide her generous br**sts or their perkiness beneath the thin fabric. My chemise was much more modest than hers, but in spite of the sweat trickling down my back, I was reluctant to shed my shirt. I knew Terravin was more relaxed about exposed body parts, but in Civica, nearly bared br**sts would have been scandalous. My parents would have—

I smiled and threw off my jerkin and then pulled my shirt over my head. I immediately felt the relief of the air on my damp skin.

“There you go, Princess. Isn’t that better?” Gwyneth said.

I tugged abruptly on Otto’s reins, and he voiced a loud complaint. “Princess?”

She halted Dieci much more leisurely and grinned. “You thought I didn’t know? The all-knowing Gwyneth perceives everything.”

My heart raced. I wasn’t amused. I wasn’t even entirely sure she wasn’t just fishing. “I think you have me confused with someone else.”

She feigned offense, the corners of her mouth pulling back in a smirk. “You doubt me? You’ve seen how good I am at assessing the tavern patrons.” She clicked the reins and moved forward. I followed her, keeping pace as she continued to talk, seeming to enjoy this game even more than the one she played at the tavern. “Or,” she said with grand flourish, “it could be I have a crystal ball. Or … perhaps I snooped around in your cottage?”

The jewels in my bag. Or worse, the stolen—

I drew in a startled breath.

She turned to look at me and frowned. “Or it could be that Berdi told me,” she spelled out plainly.

“What?” I pulled on Otto’s reins again, and he voiced another high-pitched whine.

“Stop doing that! It’s not the wretched beast’s fault.”

“Berdi told you?”

With slow, deliberate grace, she dismounted from her donkey, while I clumsily vaulted from mine, nearly tumbling onto my face. “After all her talk about not telling anyone?” I shrieked. “All her admonitions to be careful and hiding us away for days on end?”

“It was only for a few days. And telling me was different. She—”

“How is announcing it to a tavern maid who chatters with strangers from hither and yon different? There was no reason you needed to know!”

I turned to lead Otto forward, but she grabbed my wrist and jerked me around roughly. “Berdi knows I live in town and I’d be the first to know if a magistrate came nosing around or leaving notices for your arrest if it should come to that.” She released my hand.

I rubbed my wrist where she had twisted it. “So you know what I did?”

Her lips puckered with disdain, and she nodded. “I can’t say I understand why. It’s far preferable to be shackled to a pompous prince than a penniless philanderer, but—”

“I’d prefer not to be shackled to anyone.”

“Ah. Love. Yes, that. It’s a nice little trick if you can find it. But don’t fret; I’m still on your side.”

“Well,” I huffed. “That’s a relief, isn’t it?”

Her shoulders pulled back, and she cocked her head to the side. “Don’t underestimate my usefulness, Lia, and I won’t underestimate yours.”

I already wished I could snatch my remark back. I sighed. “I’m sorry, Gwyneth. I don’t mean to snap at you. It’s just that I’ve tried so hard to be careful. I don’t want anyone to be hurt by my presence.”

“How long do you plan to stay?”

Had she supposed I was only passing through? “Forever, of course. I’ve noplace else to go.”

“Terravin isn’t paradise, Lia. The problems of Morrighan won’t disappear just because you hide here. What about your responsibilities?”

“I have none beyond Terravin. My only responsibilities are to Berdi, Pauline, and the inn.”

She nodded. “I see.”

But it was clear that she didn’t see. From her perspective, all she saw was privilege and power, but I knew the truth. I was barely useful in a kitchen. As a First Daughter, I wasn’t useful at all. And as a political pawn, I refused to be useful.

“Well,” she sighed, “I suppose all the mistakes I’ve made have been entirely my own doing. You’re entitled to make your own too.”

“What kind of mistakes have you made, Gwyneth?”

She shot me a withering stare “Regrettable ones.” Her tone dared me to push further, but her eyes faltered for a fleeting moment. She pointed to two narrow arms of the canyon where she said the best berry bushes thrived. “We can leave the donkeys here. You take one trail, and I’ll take the other. It shouldn’t take us long to fill our baskets.” Our discussion was apparently over. She untied her baskets from Dieci’s pack and left without divulging her regrettable mistakes, but the brief wistful cast of her eyes stayed with me, and I wondered what she had done.

I followed the narrow trail she pointed to and found it soon opened up into a wider oasis, the devil’s own garden, complete with a shallow pool of water fed by a trickling brook. The shaded northern slope of the canyon hung heavy with berry bushes, and their tufted purple fruit was the largest I had ever seen. The devil tended his garden well.