After the Evening Bells

3

"At the teahouse they said that the Elders in Zabiz have come to an agreement with the Redcloaks," Farek said to their father.

Kellah was in the kitchen brewing the morning qahveh, but she could hear the conversation between her father and older brother in the adjacent room. Not that she cared about politics. She was more concerned about when she'd spend time with Haman again. Another month felt a lifetime away.

"There are all sorts of rumor mongers who buzz around the place like flies on a rotting pastry," her father said.

Technically, she saw Haman every few days when she was in town running errands, yet they had never dared to make those encounters more than those of two acquaintances running into each other in the streets.

"But they say it's true this time," her brother said. "In six months, half of the Redcloaks will sail back east, with the remaining three thousand staying for three more years in an 'advisory capacity.'"

She would have to think of some excuse to go into town today. Perhaps her father needed her to bring some of his candles to market or maybe their household was in need of items from the store.

"Bah! Three more years... Why would the Elders agree to that?"

"I don't know, but more than a few of the men at the teahouse spoke of armed insurrection."

The drink was ready, so she loaded the pot and cups onto a tray, and brought all of it to the other room.

"I don't like these soldiers any more than the next man," her father said, "but this talk of insurrection is--"

She placed a cup in front of her father and poured. He was a small man—both in height and frame—although in recent years he'd grown a hard belly in spite of the long walks he took early every morning. He was much older than the fathers of most girls Kellah's age, and had been twenty years older than Kellah's mother.

"Good morning, daughter."

"Good morning, father."

Sometimes she wondered if the age difference was what had prompted her mother to leave all those years ago. Her father seldom spoke of their mother and Kellah herself could only just vaguely remember what the woman looked like—and this was mostly due to the aid of a miniature painting of her mother placed in a small locket Kellah had found years ago in one of the storage crates behind the house. From that day forward, she brought the locket wherever she went, usually hiding it in a pocket or satchel.

"Did you enjoy yourself with Megah last night?"

"It was nice," she said and poured her brother's cup.

"I don't know why you let her go to these music halls," her brother said. "Who knows what kind of mischief she could get into? You know the Redcloaks go to these establishments, right?"

"Who knows what kind of mischief you get into when you ride around the country with those idiot friends of yours," Kellah said.

"I am five years older than you, a veteran of the war, and most importantly, a man."

Kellah rolled her eyes at her brother. Veteran. He'd taken care of the Redcloak horses.

"Were there Redcloaks at Amin's last night?" her father said.

"A few... but I didn't talk to them. They were on the other side of the room."

"You see?" he said to Farek. "Your sister is a smart girl—and virtuous. She would never do anything to dishonor her family."