The Wings of Ashtaroth

Chapter 3: Merchants: Section V: Iridescia

Iridescia: Indas: Ipsis

Old Miqipsi had finally agreed to escort Iridescia to Roewyn's shop, after two days of what he called "pesting." Now, hand in hand with the court scribe as they walked down the alley of shops leading to Roewyn's store, Iridescia struggled to focus on the promise of an ordinary day, one away from the Haven and the whispering voices she'd spent all week dreaming about since she'd tiptoed in the glade where the prisoner had been executed.

Merchants plying everything from spices to ceramics to woven reed furniture scrunched in tight along the narrow, covered road that connected the eghri to the river traffic of Ipsis's docks. Rather than distracting her, the merchants' hustling only added to the memory of the ghosts from the Haven.

She'd heard the voices before, of course. They'd played games with her and whispered soft comforts. But their words, as the tub bobbed atop the surface of the black pool—that they would kill her enemies if she asked—buzzed inside her head like the flies that had burrowed beneath the prisoner's skin.

She squeezed Miqipsi's hand, and he squeezed back wordlessly. She hadn't told him about it, of course. She couldn't tell anyone about the voices. No one would have believed her. They'd just say she was making it up, or that she was mad, or if they did believe they'd tell Hadrianus and Star, and Iridescia would be hauled away for blasphemy. Then she might be the one condemned to rot in the tub.

She kicked a stray rock along the stone-paved street. For a moment its rattle rattle rattle blocked out the memory of the voices.

A pack of feral dogs further down the street bolted toward the sound, but a vendor reached out and whipped the leader on the nose, sending the dogs dashing off in the opposite direction.

As they reached the stone she'd kicked, Miqipsi bent down and picked it up. "Watch out," he warned. "Someone could trip and fall on this, or cut their foot. Not everyone can afford pretty little sandals like yours."

A lot of the clients in the alley were barefoot. Iridescia tugged her hand away from Miqipsi's to sign back. "I'm sorry. I won't do it again." Or if she did, she'd kick the stones out of the way instead. "If I'm good, can I have some ginger drops?"

There was a confectioner's right beside Roewyn's shop, his tables piled high with candied dates, sweetmeats, and crumbly almond biscuits. When Roewyn got busy, Iridescia sometimes offered to babysit the confectioner's son, Tobi. He was only seven, and playing with him was boring, but today she thought she might like to pretend at soldiers and heroes, if only so she didn't have to think about the shadows.

But Miqipsi frowned. "The confectioner's closed down, but I'll have a look in the eghri before I head back to the palace."

They turned the corner that would have revealed the confectioner's, and an empty stall was all that greeted them. Broken furniture and discarded empty crates cluttered the recessed part of the shop beyond the street-facing table.

"What happened?" Iridescia signed. And how had Miqipsi known? If he'd visited the alley before now, he would have taken Iridescia with him. Unless— "They were arrested, weren't they?" As the court scribe, Miqipsi might have been responsible for issuing the decree that had seen them locked up.

Miqipsi looked down at her. She could practically hear him debate whether Iridescia was old enough to be told such things. She'd seen a lot worse than people being arrested, but this did feel different. She'd just been thinking how babyish Tobi was, and now it carved a pit in her belly.

"A neighbour reported them for praying to the old gods. They were hiding the Ashqen who helped them conceive."

That was right. Tobi's mother had been pregnant.