Passion Play (River of Souls 1)

Before she could say anything, a commotion broke out nearby. Two boys were wrestling with a balky horse, which had become entangled in its harness. Without another glance at Therez, the caravan master started toward them. “Damned fools,” he muttered.

“Wait,” Therez called out.

Brandt paused, his back to her.

“I have the price,” she said.

He turned back, his face unsmiling. “You do?”

She nodded.

More noise broke out as a half dozen men stopped their own tasks and went to help the boys with their unruly horse. One or two stared at Therez but the caravan master gestured at them sharply and they turned back to their tasks.

Brandt folded his arms. “Well, girl, show me you have the money.”

Therez dropped her bag onto the ground and rummaged through her clothes for the purse, which she’d stowed underneath. Her neck felt hot under the man’s amused gaze, but at last she untangled the purse and rooted through its contents. Finally she separated three gold denier from the rest. She shoved her purse back into her bag and stood up.

The man held out one hand, and Therez placed the sum into his callused palm. His hands were as dark as his face, the skin pebbly, and a crooked scar twisted the flesh around his thumb. Unexpectedly, her thoughts veered back to her father’s hands, as smooth as the bales of silk in his warehouse, and to his voice, which never rose above a thin whisper. This man was as unlike her father as she could have wished.

“That was the price of a seat,” he said. “If you want meals, that’s two more denier.”

Gold ones, his tone said. The price was too high, but she had no more time. Another hour and her mother would discover her absence. “Two for meals,” she said, as matter-of-factly as she could. She dug out two more coins from her pack.

He took them with a grin. “I like a girl who pays her debts.”

She nodded, not knowing how to answer that. At her silence, Brandt grunted and waved a hand toward another wagon. “Take a seat in that one. Oh, and if you want a bite, ask Ulf, the cook, for some bread and coffee. Tell him Alarik sent you.”

“Where is the cook wagon?”

“Ask.” He was already moving away.

Therez released a shaky breath, still unsettled by the tran

saction. Liberty at the cost of five gold coins. Fair or not, she would have paid twice that.

One of the smaller boys pointed out the cook wagon for her. Ulf had packed most of his gear, but he poured her a cup of thick black coffee and hacked off a generous slab of bread. “Best I can do, girl. Alarik should have sent you earlier. Here, have another cup of coffee. You look worn out. Bring me the mug when you’re done.”

The bread was tough, the coffee bitter and thick with grinds, but the meal filled her empty stomach and revived her strength. Therez brought the mug back to Ulf, thanking him. Ulf’s glance snagged momentarily on her face, curious. “Going to Duenne?”

“To stay with my aunt.” The lie came more easily this second time. “My parents died. My aunt said she can find me a posting. At least I hope she can.”

Ulf grunted, indifferent to aunts and dying parents, and turned back to his duties. Therez hurried back to her wagon and squeezed into a gap between the tightly packed crates, directly behind the driver. Nearby, a scholar in his black robes perched in another wagon, reading from a small book. A troupe of tumblers practiced their tricks in the small clearing between. Soon one of Brandt’s men came by, shooing them to take their places.

Alarik Brandt mounted his horse and started bellowing out orders. The crew was furiously loading the last few boxes, while mounted guards circled the wagons. A drover’s herd of sheep streamed past, bleating, with dogs nipping at their legs. Dust choked the air. Somewhere a child was sobbing. The noise rose until Therez thought she would go deaf. Then a voice called out from atop the city walls. Others, whom she could not see, pushed the gates open.

“Wagon first, start forward,” Brandt called out.

One by one the wagons rolled through the gates. Therez’s teeth clacked together at the first jolt, and her head knocked against one of the crates. The driver grinned. “Hold on, girl.”

Outside the city, they passed a stretch of grasslands where goats and cows grazed, followed by scattered workshops, then a village. Keeping one hand on the wagon to steady herself, Therez rose to her knees for one last look at Melnek’s rust-red towers and walls. She could just make out the governor’s palace and the chief bell tower near her father’s house. A faint echo of chimes sounded in the air. One. Two. Three quarters. Six deep-throated peals for the hour.

The last time she would hear these particular bells. Therez’s throat squeezed shut. She felt a peculiar emptiness inside, even as she told herself that she was glad, so very glad, to finally be quit of Melnek, of her father’s house. Oh why, then, was she crying? Stupid, foolish tears. She wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve. I’m just tired. That’s all.

As the sun climbed higher, Therez pillowed her head on her arms. Before long she fell into a doze. This time, no dreams broke her rest. No voice whispered threats. When the wagon hit a deep rut, she woke with a stifled cry.

Melnek had disappeared from view. Sunlight glanced over the open fields, where farmers swung their scythes, bent to the ground, and straightened once more. To the north, Veraene’s border hills and mountains blended with low clouds, making a wall of dark blue shadows.

Therez sucked in a deep breath of air that smelled of dust and fresh-cut hay. She twisted around to see their direction. Ahead, the caravan stretched out with riders to either side. Brandt himself was in the lead. Even as she turned back, he bellowed out new orders to his crew. “Volker, Brenn, you miserable get of a gang-fucked bitch, I wanted you forward now!”