“Well, aren’t you a weathervane today? But we can begin on Rain Wild Street, if you wish,” she agreed easily.
He wanted only to leave the Great Market and put some distance between himself and the Chalcedean. It had come to him suddenly that the warren of small and elegant shops that lined Rain Wild Street was the ideal place for them to disappear. They entered Rain Wild Street and as he let his mother slow to a saunter to consider the various shops and wares, he glanced back the way they had come. No sign of the man. Excellent. But he’d still have words for his so-called assassin. The man had promised him a quick quiet job. He’d want a bit of his money back for that failure. It was a good thing Hest himself had a keen eye and was quick thinking enough to get himself out of danger.
His nemesis evaded, he let the magical merchandise of the Rain Wild Street shops distract him. This was the street that Bingtown’s fame was founded upon. Here was where one came to buy goods from the Rain Wilds: perfume gems with their eternal fragrances; wind chimes that played endless, never-repeating melodies; objects made of gleaming jidzin; and hundreds of other magical items. Here, too, one might find the one-of-a-kind discoveries, often at one-of-a-kind prices. Containers that heated or chilled whatever was put into them. A statue that awoke as a babe every day, aged through the day, and “died” at night as an old man, only to be reborn with the dawn. Summer tapestries that smelled of flowers and brought warmth to the room when hung. Items that existed nowhere else in the world and were impossible to duplicate.
And scrolls and books, of course. He’d lost count of how many he’d had to pay for when Alise had found them here. That damned woman and her obsession with dragons and Elderlings! Look at all the trouble she had caused him. But, if she truly had made a claim on the new city, well, perhaps she would have been worth all the nuisance she had put him through.
Hest and his mother wandered the street of shops, exchanging comments on the merchandise. His mother bought a ring that changed with the phases of the moon and a scarf that had a cool side and a warm side. Hest quailed at the prices she paid, but he did nothing to dissuade her. Eventually, they found her tea shop and enjoyed an excellent repast together. The tea was as good as she had said it would be, and Hest arranged that a supply of several varieties be delivered to his home. Refreshed, they began to shop in earnest. They visited several tailor shops, and Hest allowed his mother to make all decisions about what was purchased for him. In each case, the tailor knew from past experience to wait to hear from Hest as to changed fabrics, colors, and cuts. He was most particular about his clothes, and as he did not often spend much time in his mother’s company, she never expected to see him wearing the clothing she had selected.
They visited a new cheese market she had heard of, and this time both of them made purchases to be sent to their homes. His mother then insisted that they go shopping for “gifts for that fickle woman you married” and demonstrated her disdain of Alise in her choice of gaudy scarves; cheap, sparkly jewelry; and hats more suited for a dowager than a woman of Alise’s years. Again, Hest gave way to her in all things. He had no intention of taking the trove of trinkets with him. Alise did not deserve any gifts. He would go to the Rain Wilds, assert his rights to her, and be damned to anyone or anything that stood in his way. He had an absolutely legal claim to her. She was his wife, and he intended to assert the marriage contract that they had both signed. He’d put an end to her foolish declaration of freedom and regain his right to share in whatever claim she’d made to the city. That was all there was to it.
“Don’t grind your teeth, dear. It’s a most unsettling noise,” his mother observed.
“I suppose I’m just a bit weary. Shall we go home, then?”
She had her carriage drop him at his own door. He went in to discover that some of his purchases had already been delivered. He sent the tea and the cheese off to the kitchen, with a message that he wished a pot of hot tea prepared for him immediately. He went to his study, composed a list of the various changes for each tailor, and called one of his servants to deliver those. Annoying to do all these small organizational tasks himself, but Redding was hopeless at them and Ched would have stood at attention, asking questions about each detail. Not like Sedric, who had often known his mind before Hest knew it himself. Stupid Ched.
A tap at the door was Ched with the tray of tea and some sweet biscuits. “And I should like to remind you, sir, that the healer will be dropping by later today to see how your hand is.”
“Fine. Leave me.”
The brief winter day was ending, and the rain that had threatened all afternoon began to fall. He poured himself a cup of the new tea and took it to the window to look out on the garden. Draggled, brown, and depressing: he pulled a cord and the curtains fell. He sought his favorite chair by the fire and sipped the tea. The flavor was good but not as excellent as it had been in the market. There was an undertone to it, a sweetness that was not altogether pleasant. He sipped more and then shook his head. The idiot cook had spoiled it, added honey or something. He lifted the lid on the pot and smelled it; yes, there was something else there. Suddenly, he had a foul taste in the back of his throat.