Walegrin adjusted the sweaty hair under his circlet and glanced at the rising sun. “We’re taking the child to my half-sister in the Bazaar. Illyra the seeress-her own child was slain and she took Zip’s ax in her belly in the fire riots last winter. And I have no idea if she’ll want to keep it at all.”
“You are a bold one,” she aveired, shaking her head in amazement.
The heat was affecting the Bazaar as it affected the rest of the city. Most of the daily stalls were shuttered or deserted and the vendors who made their homes in the dust-choked plaza were standing idly by their wares, making little effort to confront potential customers. Lassitude had even touched Illyra’s husband,
Dubro. The forge was still banked although the sun was well above the harbor wall.
The smith saw them coming, took another bite of cheese, then came forward to meet them. The months since Illyra’s injury had seen a mellowing of the uneasy relationship between the two men. Dubro, who blamed his half-brother-in-law not only for the absence of his son but for all the flaws of the Rankan Empire, had been forced to admit that Walegrin had done all any man could do to save his wife and daughter. He missed his son, mourned his daughter, but knew that he cherished Illyra above all else. He greeted Walegrin and Masha with a puzzled smile.
“Is Illyra about?” Walegrin asked.
“Abed, still. She sleeps poorly in this heat.”
“Will she see us?”
Dubro shrugged and ducked under the lintel of his home. Illyra emerged moments later, squinting against the sun and looking nearly twice her natural age.