My Sister's Keeper
CHAPTER ONE
DEADLY PROMISES
The City-State of Vorgensburg sat on the northernmost point of Sophren Bay, sheltered from the worst of the seasonal storms by the rainshadow of a long, jutting northwestern spur of mountains. The wet temperate region was more suited to fishing than farming with the lush growth of the northern rain forests, pines, fir, evergreen and red oaks covering a rocky soil unfriendly to less substantial flora. The fisher folk lived alongside a growing merchant class who bought furs, herbs and delicately carved cedar boxes, furniture, and basketry from the Kwaklahmyn villages to the north, which they traded in the south for spices, porcelains, incense, and a great variety of drugs and medicines.
The Cock and Boar tavern was fuller than usual, owing to the fact that for the last five days the three o'clock breeze had not come and the weather was unusually hot, which brought folks seeking a satisfying tankard of the good Neridian ale the proprietor had just laid in. All across the city those who could took refuge in the cool shadowed taverns and taprooms of the city where they could comfort themselves with a pint.
Becca deWythe, tavern master of the Cock and Boar and de facto seneschal of Aejys' growing household and expanding properties, emerged from supervising the kitchen, tray in hand. She felt bound and determined to make this a very good day for the tavern. A very important discussion was going on upstairs between the owner and the city-syndics, which could benefit all of them. Becca was one of those folks who tended to jump in when a task needed doing or was not being done to her taste rather than delegating it or brow-beating her employees. That late afternoon, in addition to the over-flow of customers, They short-handed by two: one girl had run off with a sailor and the other had come down ill. Aejys Rowan would not let her people work sick. The gangling youth that had been recently hired was not ready to handle the late afternoon rush that came with the return of the fishing fleet. So Becca pitched in to help.
Until two years ago Becca had been a mere serving woman at the Cock and Boar, waiting tables and occasionally turning tricks to make ends meet. Then her best customer, Aejys Rowan, bought the place and promoted her twice, raising her to heights she never dreamed of reaching. A bosomy woman with a tiny waist and boyish hips, Becca stood five feet six. A wide-necked white blouse discretely covered her high ample breasts. Her burgundy skirt hung to her calves and clung to her legs and a triangle of matching cloth held her chestnut hair back. As she moved from table to table, her hips swayed coquettishly, more out of habit than advertising, though she had done a fair bit of that in less prosperous times. Every man in the room watched her hungrily, wishing they could find themselves between those legs one sweet night. Some remembered the taste of her from earlier days; yet not one made the slightest untoward comment or grab at her, for there was a half-breed ogre living in the inn's stable that would smash the first one to try.
She had just set three tankards down on a table occupied by sailors whose ship had put in that morning and started back for the kitchen when the door opened and three more customers came in. Becca had never seen them before. They stood looking around as if for someone they knew. She measured and weighed them in a single shrewd glance. The male, a half breed sylvan to judge by the breadth of his shoulders and deep ivory tones of his skin, was as fine a piece of manhood as Becca had ever seen. Becca prided herself on having sampled the bedroom artistry of all the races of the coast, but had never tasted the wares of the woodland peoples because of their rarity in the region. Seeing this one triggered a moment of speculation, a wisp of fantasy, and a tingle between her thighs, all of which she shoved away with a toss of her head. "If he's still here when things slow down," she muttered, sweeping her gaze over him once more.
A silver circlet wrought like tiny leaves held the heavy masses of his curling auburn hair in place and, though combed to conceal them, the delicate tips of his pointed ears showed through. He carried a yew bow almost as long as he was tall, a slender sword hung at his hip and he wore the simple rustic green tunic and breeches of the Sharani yeomynry.
Two Sharani women flanked him, dressed and armed as he was; both black-haired and a head taller than the half-breed; both boyishly slender, hard and well muscled, with modest breasts. The older one carried herself with the cool pride of a woman accustomed to command. The burnished bronze of her skin was a shade lighter than Aejys Rowan's. She wore her smoky black hair pulled back in a simple tail. Becca guessed her age at early twenties, then reminded herself that the usual measurements were less than precise when applied to members of the long-lived Sharani race: She could as easily be sixty as twenty. The woman's hands were scarred in the middle as if a narrow blade had been driven through each one. Becca started slightly: hadn't she heard stories during the Great War about a young woman with scarred hands?
The other, who looked to be a girl of sixteen, was an odd shade of walnut that didn't look quite real. Her green eyes drank everything in as if it were all incredibly new to her. Her high cheeks formed a delicate triangle with her small chin. Sensitivity and compassion lay in her glance and mischief in the turn of her mouth.
They drew every eye in the taproom: Sharani were rare along the coast. Becca observed the reactions of her patrons and, not knowing whether that might mean trouble despite the fact that the Cock and Boar was Sharani owned, intercepted the trio heading for the bar.
"Can I help you, sir? I am the tavern master," Becca said with crisp politeness, stepping in front of them.
The half-breed smiled shyly, his large dark green eyes, shaped like sidewise tear drops, shone. "I hope so," he said. "We are looking for Aejys Rowan. I was told we could find her here." As he spoke, his eyes ran with longing toward the stairs leading to the apartments above as if searching for a glimpse of someone very precious.
"Aejys can't be disturbed right now." Becca idly hugged her tray while tallying his physical attributes more closely. The knuckles of her left hand almost touched her chin. "Take a table and I'll let her know you're here as soon as can be."
The half-breed's brow furrowed, his mouth drew together in a worried way. "It is urgent we speak to her without delay," he said with soft insistence.
"No." Becca scowled in irritation, slid the tray onto a nearby table, and assumed a spread legged stance, arms folded. These days, it seemed to her, everyone wanted to see Aejys and wanted to see her now. An unspoken part of her job was keeping them away or at least delayed when more important things were occurring. "There's a deputation from the city syndics up there negotiating to make Aejys lord-mayor. Nothing interrupts this. You hear me? Nothing. Give me any trouble and I'll have Grymlyken put you all out."
"We hear you," said the older woman stepping protectively in front of the half-breed. "Now. You. Hear. Us." Her quiet voice was like a sword sheathed in velvet. "This is a matter of life and death. You will tell Aejys we are here. Immediately."
Becca stared at her a moment, wincing away from the intensity of the Sharani's stare. Her stomach tightened, she recognized the urgency and knew they had come a very long way, months of travel, to get here from Shaurone; yet in spite of that Becca deeply resented being pushed around by anyone, especially now that she finally had some power to back up her resistance. In the few seconds of indecision, her resentments poured lava-like up from her stomach into her throat, overwhelming her reason and intuition.
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