Honey, Plums, and Cinnamon

I wake in the dark, a woman's limbs tangled in my own. I throw off Niyat's arms and legs, ignoring his muttered protests. "Raj Mefit," I gasp out. "He does not know his friends from his enemies."

"Iyalah," Niyat mumbles.

But I'm already moving. If I stop, if I hesitate, I will find excuses, ways to back out of doing this. "Look after my mother," I say to Niyat. "I'll be back in a few days."

"Iyalah, wait!"

The Jamira family, the ones who work at the tannery, are already awake. They glance at me curiously as I make for the door. Outside, the sun has just crested the horizon. It isn't wise for me, as a single woman, to roam the streets alone at this hour, and already I am faltering. I am remembering that day ten years ago, the shouted accusations, denials, blood on the ground--his, hers.

Their deaths were my fault.

Someone seizes my elbow and I yelp, my heart kicking at my ribs. A burly man with thick black brows and hands like iron whirls me about.

"Don't be an idiot, Iyalah," he says. "Come back home."

"Niyat!" Relief makes my knees weak. I shrug off his fingers. "Next time speak before grabbing me. You told me I should use my Talent to earn more money."

"There are other things you could do. You could find the beloved lost items of others, or their missing kin," he says.

"It doesn't work that way. I can only smell beloved objects if I'm close to them, and people only smell of love when they're thinking of the ones they love, or looking at them. There isn't a way for me to pinpoint a particular person." Raj Mefit has the money--he can hire a doctor to save my ailing mother.

Niyat's face goes still. "Sell your services, just not to Raj Mefit. Please, anyone but him."

The pleading note in his voice reminds me of the mewling kitten I found outside the palace gates, all those years ago. I have to reach up to place my hand upon his cheek. "What did he do to you?"

Niyat closes his eyes and leans into my touch. His breath gusts warm across my wrist; his stubble scratches my palm. For a moment, I think he is about to answer me. And then he melts into a rat, scampers to my feet, and climbs up to my shoulder. He places a paw upon my ear. "I gave your earnings to the Jamira family and asked them to look after your mother while we're gone. They're good people; they'll do as I've asked."

I want to protest, but his presence doesn't just comfort me, it strengthens my resolve.

He burrows into my hood. "The rewards of working for Raj Mefit are great, but so are the dangers. Keep me hidden."

By the time we reach the palace gates, the sun has fully risen, the streets filling with people going about their daily tasks. Yellowed sandstone walls jut above the streets, twice the height of a man. Palm fronds and the broad leaves of some vast plant peek over the walls. The gates themselves are bronze, thick-walled doors guarded by fifteen men.

The guards eye me as I approach; the space before the gates is seldom occupied--it serves only as the location for public executions and as a buffer between Raj Mefit and the common folk. I lift my hands, so they can see I carry nothing. "I wish to speak with Raj Mefit," I say. "I have been blessed at Belast's altar, and I believe my Talent will be of interest to your master."

The guard nearest the left door calls to me. "What is your gift?"

"I can smell love."

It doesn't take as long as I expect for them to open the doors. Perhaps it is because I am a woman and alone, or perhaps it is because my disfigurement is so easily visible. Only two guards fall into step with me as I pass through the gates--one in front and one behind. Niyat does not move in my hood. If I did not know better, I might worry that he was dead.