Llandry followed Devary's party south and east through the thickly-growing, sun-warmed woodlands of Glinnery. They were angling towards the major coach road that ran between southernmost Glinnery and Nimdre. The woods had been swept by the summoners and there was little out of the ordinary to be encountered. As they wended further south, the landscape grew more open and expansive, the towering glissenwol thinning and dwindling away into lesser monoliths only twice Devary's height. Their colours changed gradually, from the blues, purples and greens of northern and eastern Glinnery into a vibrant range of reds, yellows and oranges. Llandry had travelled southwest into Irbel or east into Glour, but these sights were less familiar to her. They were beautiful, but there was something saddening about the decreasing height and grandeur of the proud glissenwol caps. It suggested a fading of strength and health.
Her journey was arduous, and for a few brief moments she had even regretted her decision to go after Devary. Travelling on the wing, she was obliged to fly high in order to avoid being spotted by Devary's airborne escort of armed guards. They, too, were hanging back, taking care not to draw undue attention to Devary. He had to look like an ordinary traveller returning to his home city, and an obvious entourage would destroy that. So Llandry had to fly so far back she could barely keep Devary in sight. The strain took its toll on her injured arm and back, and by the end of the eventide hours she was flagging badly. When Devary stopped to sleep, she settled to the ground with relief. A night spent on the ground with nothing but a blanket for comfort was a new experience: exciting, though it would probably lose its piquancy after a few repetitions. At least she had the deep mosses to lie in.
'Sig, I need you to tell me when Devary goes, all right?' If he understood her he gave no indication of it. Llandry sighed and let it go. She had to sleep; if she missed Devary's departure she would simply have to catch him up.
As she lay down and shut her eyes she felt something brush lightly against her cheek. She sat up in alarm, heart pounding. Had she been discovered? She waited for several minutes, but nobody could be seen or heard nearby. The light touch came again, amid a whirl of colour and a soft buzzing sound, and at last she identified the source: her little winged friend had followed her.
'You kept yourself well hidden,' she murmured, catching it gently in her hands. Remarkable; she hadn't expected that the creature had enough awareness of her to go to such lengths.
'Well, if you're staying, hush. I want to sleep.' She released it, soothing it with a gentle touch of her will, and the buzzing subsided. Huddling under her blankets with Sigwide's warmth to comfort her, Llandry fell asleep.
***
They had passed through the mountains of north-eastern Irbel and begun the descent into Nimdre before Llandry's presence was discovered. Tired and in pain, she had been steadily losing height until she was flying some way below the winged guards' altitude. She had barely noticed, and when the nearest guard shouted and circled down to her level it was too late to escape. She was recognised, of course - everybody knew her mother's face - and she found herself marched forcibly ahead to be presented to Devary.
He looked down at her with an impassive face. Llandry squirmed, suddenly ashamed of herself for her deceit.
'Don't say anything about my mother,' she begged. 'I know she won't approve. I just-'
Devary held up a hand. 'I don't believe I need you to explain.' His tone was quite cold, and Llandry felt terrible. She had lost his good opinion, and she would be marched straight back to Glinnery to face her mother's anger. But then Devary smiled.
'That is because I imagine I can understand. Though I must inform your mother of your whereabouts, as soon as possible.' Llandry felt a wave of relief wash over her, followed by a tremor of excitement. He wasn't going to reject her. She could stay with him after all.
Then she grimaced, feeling a twinge of renewed pain work its way down her back.
'See now, you have hurt yourself again. What would your mother say?' She stiffened, but his tone was light, teasing. She smiled back shyly.
'I'm not really hurt. Just a bit tired.'
'You have flown all the way? I'm impressed, truly. You are a woman of determination.' He looked at the guard who still held Llandry's arm. 'All is well. We will take a carriage as soon as we reach the gates.' The guard nodded and took off again, returning to his station. Devary looked back at Llandry.
'Can you walk for another few miles? We are not far from Nimdre.'
'My legs are fine. It's just my arms and back that are tired.'
He nodded. 'Excellent. I will find a room for you at the Harp, I think. Your mother used to love it.'
'Ma's been to Nimdre?' The idea shouldn't surprise her; Ynara was too knowledgeable to have spent her life confined to Glinnery.
'She used to visit quite regularly, once,' he said. 'With me.' He didn't smile that time, and Llandry sensed a touch of regret in his tone. She was polite enough to refrain from questioning him further.
'Shall we go? I don't know about you but I am starving.'
He laughed. 'What have you had to eat since we left? Very little? We had better hurry, indeed.'
***
Their destination was Draetre in northwestern Nimdre, a town of moderate size that proved to lie in the heart of the expansive forest. It was twilight when they arrived, a condition of light that Llandry had never seen before. In its muted serenity it reminded her of Glinnery's eventide, only it was darker, full of shadows. She didn't find it disturbing; on the contrary she was enchanted by it. Watching from the windows of their hired carriage, she was completely absorbed by the curious half-light.
Devary's home town had an air of sleepy serenity which Llandry found particularly agreeable. Buildings of wood and pale grey stone were constructed with a haphazard air, as if they were not the product of conscious design but had instead shouldered their way out of the ground, developing bulges and protrusions as necessary to contain the requirements of their inhabitants. There was a charm about this, despite the aura of confusion spawned by the peculiar buildings and crowded, circuitous streets.
The Silver Harp (its odd appearance notwithstanding) proved to be a particularly elegant establishment; so much so that it was hard to credit that money changed hands in exchange for her accommodation. She was given a room near the top of a building so peculiarly constructed that, from the outside, it appeared ready to topple. But inside, the layout of the rooms possessed an inexplicable logic and harmony that was wholly unexpected, and she found no further reason to doubt its solidity. Her room was well-lit by long, clear windows, beautifully panelled with silvery wood, and comfortably upholstered in silks and velvets. Best of all, a large tub stood in an adjoining chamber which was quickly filled with hot water for her use. She was waited upon rather than served by the patrons of the establishment, and engaged in genial conversation. She felt like an invited guest more than a paying customer.
She was quite settled, and perfectly ready to take advantage of the tub next door; but Devary inexplicably lingered after the attendants had departed. He was inspecting her room rather critically, Llandry felt.
'Your mother would expect me to get the very best for you,' he explained, frowningly examining the large panes of glass through which the soft, silvery moonlight shone.
'This is the best. I can hardly imagine how it could be better.'
He smiled. 'Perhaps so. I'll call for you tomorrow, then, and we will see the town.'
Llandry had every intention of exploring before that time. The peculiar twilight of Nimdre intrigued her, and she wanted to experience more of it before she slept. But Devary looked exhausted, so she merely smiled. 'Mm, well. That tub is calling to me.'
'Ah, yes. I'm looking forward to doing the same. Tomorrow, then?'
'Certainly.'
Llandry kept her bathing short, eager to investigate Draetre. When she slipped out of her room, the twilight had deepened but had yet to descend into full darkness. She wore a long cloak with the hood pulled low over her face, one that was voluminous enough to conceal her wings. She wanted no well-meaning strangers confounding her with conversation. She stepped slowly into the wide road - such as it was; it wound and turned far more than thoroughfares were wont to do in cities. Standing alone, she felt a sense of thrilling freedom. She could be anybody, here; not an awkward, shy girl more comfortable with her jewels than with her peers; nor the quiet, unassuming and largely overlooked daughter of an Elder of Waeverleyne. She could go anywhere she chose: disappear into the shadows in the folds of her cloak.
She had drunk her usual tonic, but when a crowd of Nimdren singers came into view, laughing, filling the road with chaos, Llandry's artificial lassitude wavered and her brief euphoria vanished. When some of them glanced at her, curiosity evident in their lingering gaze, anxiety returned with a crushing rush and her hands began to shake. Crowds of people, too much noise... she dug in her bag for her bottle and took another drink, breathing too quickly. For a moment she was almost overwhelmingly tempted to return to her room and wait meekly for Devary, but she suppressed the impulse. She was a grown woman: she would not waste her brief taste of freedom by hiding in her room. Drawing her hood further down over her face, she clutched her cloak closer around herself and took a deep breath. With a sweep of her long skirts, she was gone, stepping quickly into the streets.
She wandered for some time, until the serene twilight had altogether gone and the moon - half full - shone fitfully from behind a scattering of clouds. Every turn took her to some new sight or curiosity. She studied buildings of the most puzzling and original architecture she'd ever seen. She sketched their most intriguing features in her notebook, wishing she could see them again in the daylight with their full colours on display. Everywhere she went she heard music, sometimes lively and uplifting, sometimes dreamily melancholy. The latter reminded her of the airs Devary had often played, and she was uncomfortably reminded that she had left him behind. Perhaps it was time to return to the Harp.
But ahead of her she could see a large square, crowded with people. Her first instinct was to retreat, and she was on the point of turning when a number of fluttering awnings caught her eye. A market, then? Finding this prospect quite irresistible, she firmly buried her fears and stepped into the crush.
She was rewarded immediately by the sight of myriad colourful wares spread out for her perusal. Her artist's eye caught and appreciated the unique style of the skilfully-wrought goods that she saw: jewellery worked in metals rich and dark, winking with exotically-coloured gems; clothing in colours and textures of extraordinary beauty; musical instruments painted and engraved; food and delicacies artistically displayed and emitting tempting aromas. She forgot the crowds around her in her absorption. Sigwide's enthusiasm echoed her own; he sat up high in his sling, nose questing, his thoughts a blur of excitement. She found a stall selling plump, glossy nuts and purchased some for him. He crunched happily on them as she wandered the market.
She chose gifts for her mother and father, and a new garment for herself: a pair of loose trousers with gathered cuffs at the ankle, billowing and romantic. They would be perfect for flying. She was in the process of choosing a gift for Devary, more hesitantly and with a crippling lack of confidence in her judgement of his tastes, when her elbow was seized.
She looked up quickly, instantly alert and alarmed. Consciousness of the swirling mass of shoppers rushed in on her again all at once, and she had to swallow a sense of panic. At her elbow stood a woman with Darklander skin. Though she was obviously not old, her hair gleamed white in the muted sheen of the light-globes. She was finely dressed, with an obvious air of wealth and ease. She smiled at Llandry in a manner far too familiar for a stranger.
'A visitor from foreign parts, I'd guess,' said the woman, with an accent even thicker than Devary's. Her manner was so entirely devoid of self-consciousness or awkwardness that Llandry's own increased by comparison, and she made no response save to nod her head in a cool fashion.
'Your stature suggests Glinnery,' said the woman, making a show of looking down at Llandry as if from a long way up. Indeed, she was taller, but not so extremely so as all that. Llandry bristled slightly. 'Are all your countrymen so silent?' the woman continued. 'I had not heard it of so artistically talented a people.'
'I need to depart,' Llandry said. She turned to go, but found her elbow once again seized in a determined grip. She looked angrily down at the hand that detained her, a deceptively dainty-looking appendage well covered with glittering rings.
'A moment,' said the woman, in a tone of deeper seriousness. 'That is a most interesting piece of jewellery. Did you buy it here?'
Llandry looked down at herself, startled. She didn't remember putting any jewellery on before she left her room. A quick touch to her throat confirmed it: no bracelets jangled at her wrists, and no necklace lay against her neck.
'I'm not-' she began, but the woman was looking at Sigwide. Llandry's heart sank. The orting was shuffling in his sling, still bristling with excitement, but his enthusiasm had nothing to do with the market. His mouth was full of silver, a slender chain dangling from his teeth.
From the chain hung Llandry's ill-fated istore pendant.
Sigwide carried it with care and obvious pride, full of himself for his accomplishment. Llandry felt briefly like strangling him. When had he taken it? She instantly recalled, with horrible clarity, Sigwide's antics near the end of their journey. Bored and restless, he had taken to nosing in Devary's pack. They had both been amused as he entertained himself with various of Dev's possessions, but she hadn't dreamed that he might have been going for the pendant. Or that he could secrete it somewhere without either her or Devary noticing.
Perversely the stone shone in this near-darkness with a particular radiance Llandry had never seen before. No wonder it had attracted attention. She sighed deeply.
'Well?' The woman spoke sharply, and Llandry's eyes narrowed in irritation.
'No,' she said shortly, pulling her arm from the woman's grasp.
'Oh, then I must know where you bought it! I simply must have one the same, exactly the very same as that.' The woman's eyes lit as she stared at Sigwide and his treasure. Llandry hastily took it from him, ignoring his protests, and stuffed it into the pocket of her cloak.
'I did not buy it,' Llandry said, and then immediately regretted offering even so small a piece of information to this obstructive stranger.
'Oh? It was a gift, then, from a lover no doubt. I see that in your pretty face.' The woman laughed. Quite, quite wrong, thought Llandry irritably, but she had finished humouring her oppressor.
'Unless... you've an artist's eye for beauty. I could not help observing that as I watched you shopping. Perhaps you are the creator of that fine piece.'
'You were watching me?'
'Strangers do attract notice, especially when they look as though they are trying to hide.' She smiled again, a much less pleasant expression than before, and her eyes flicked over the large hood that still covered most of Llandry's face and hair. 'I will pay you a great deal to make me such a pendant,' she said then. 'In fact, I will pay you a great deal more for that very pendant that you wear. Let me take it away with me now.' She produced a little wrist-bag from somewhere and opened it, displaying its contents. It was bulging with sovereigns.
'It isn't for sale,' said Llandry. 'And I cannot make one for you.' Which is the truth, she reflected.
'Is there nothing you want?'
Llandry shook her head, turned her back on the woman and walked away, ignoring her attempts to detain her. She walked quickly and fast, aiming for the Harp, hoping to lose herself in the crowds of shoppers, singers and wanderers. She was aware of the woman following close behind for some time, and even once her footsteps had died away, she had the uncomfortable feeling that the woman's eyes still followed her as she hurried on, gripping her cloak close as if its dark fabric could swallow her whole.