“And you need the money because of the babes?” Walegrin concluded, then realized
he didn’t hear the normal infantile sounds.
Illyra looked away. “Well, yes-and no,” she said angrily. “We needed a wet
nurse-and we found one. But it’s not safe for her or the babies here. They’re
bullies. Worse than the hawk-masks were-those at least stayed in the gutters
where they belonged. Arton and Lillis are at the Aphrodesia House.”
It was not uncommon to foster a child at a well-run brothel where young women
sold their milk. Myrtis, proprietor of the Aphrodesia, had an unquestionable
reputation. Even the palace women kept their children in the Aphrodesia nursery.
But fostering wasn’t the S’danzo way and Walegrin could see Illyra had agreed to
it only because she was scared.
“Have you been threatened?” he asked, sounding like the garrison office he had
been.
Illyra didn’t answer, but Dubro did. “They make threats everytime she tells them
the truth. She tells them they’re cowards-and their threats prove it. ‘Lyra’s
too honest; she shouldn’t answer the questions men shouldn’t ask.”
“But I’ll answer your questions now, Walegrin,” she offered, not facing her
husband.
The incense holders were still scattered across the carpets. Her cards had been
thrown against the wall. Walegrin watched while she set her things in order and
seated herself behind the table. She had recovered from the birth of the twins,
Walegrin judged. There was a pleasant maturity in her face but otherwise she was
the same-until she took up the cards again.