The panic descended when Mhera saw the gate close behind her. The guards were still talking. How could they not have noticed her? How could they not have seen that something was wrong? Such deception was easy in stories, but this was her life. In real life, fugitives did not escape guarded palaces.
In real life, she would have screamed and begged for help. In real life, she would have been able to run.
Perhaps this was not real life, after all.
The cart trundled down a cobblestone road leading away from the palace. Mhera stared as the gates, the soaring white walls and the rising turrets receded behind them. Her breath came in thin gasps. She clutched the side of the cart.
"Breathe, Sister Mhera," said Matei.
"Take me back. Take me back."
"Calm yourself. We will be safe soon." Though Matei's voice was gentle, a hint of warning had entered his tone. Mhera closed her eyes and tried to draw deep, steady breaths; she tried to put her mind into the calm, reflective state she used for meditation, but she had limited success.
The empty street near the palace soon turned into a busier thoroughfare, with streams of people crossing to and fro in front of and on either side of the cart. There were noblemen on horses, workers with wheelbarrows, women with baskets precariously balanced on their shoulders, and men toting bundles as large as themselves. The crowd became denser the farther they went, until it became very difficult for them to continue with the horse and cart.
Mhera had no idea where the vintner's warehouse might be, but she guessed Matei had no intention of finding it. The sun was high in the sky by now; it was already midday. They would have made quicker progress afoot. The cart was slowing them down, making it impossible to weave through the thickening crowd. It had slowed them down so much, in fact, that when trumpets began to sound for the second time that day in sharp, brassy reports from the palace, Mhera could hear them—even though she could see nothing now but the highest turrets.
Her heart stopped. Could it be they had discovered she was gone?
Matei turned and looked back. He was not the only one; many in the crowd turned their faces in the direction of the palace, but no one stopped. The palace was a world away to these folk.
The cart rumbled to a stop. Matei had tried to edge it to the side of the narrow road. Foot traffic continued to mill around the vehicle. Mhera turned in the bed of the cart to look at Matei, wondering if they had reached their destination, but he had not moved from the bench. He sat looking troubled, staring up the crowded street.
The horse, seeming not to be bothered by the press of people, stretched out her long neck to sniff at a basket of apples a woman nearby was holding under her arm. The horse's lips quivered as she delicately began a covert attempt to extract one of the tempting fruits.
The peasant sensed something rooting around near her side. Perhaps suspecting a pickpocket, she turned, but the horse was muzzle-deep in the apples; as the woman turned, her basket stayed where it was and the contents spilled. Within the space of a breath, the precious cargo rolled this way and that, some of the fruits trampled underfoot by passersby.
"Miss! Goddess above, I am so sorry," Matei said, leaping down from the cart.
"That's my penny for the day, you rotten horse! You've ruined the lot of 'em!" cried the distraught woman. She crouched and began grabbing for any apples still within reach, but there was nothing edible there. "Oh, Sweet Mother above, there ain't a one of 'em I can save."
"She's such a trouble!" Matei exclaimed, bending down to help the woman. "Let me—ugh, they're in terrible shape. I am so sorry—so sorry!"
"Save your words! Sorry doesn't feed my little one, does it? Nasty horse." The woman stood up again, just a few bruised and dirty apples in her basket now.
"Here, miss. Please let me make this up to you. I'll buy you a new basket of them. Sister—come out of the cart, come with me."
"What? Well, I'm angry, sure, but it was an accident. Don't worry yourself," said the woman, casting a dark look to where the horse, oblivious to the trouble she had caused, stood munching an apple.
Mhera slipped from the bed of the cart and went over to Matei, feeling so out of place and guilty that she thought the entire street must be staring straight at her. Her bright red skirt and scarf were not exactly subtle. Furthermore, she thought Matei was making a very large issue out of what seemed to Mhera to be a small concern compared to abduction, flight and rebellion. How could he care about apples now?
"I insist, miss. You must permit me. Here. Stay with my cart, won't you? If I drag that rotten horse and cart all the way I'll be six hours getting there. I'll come back. Sit up in the back and rest yourself, and I'll find you here again."
Now the woman was rosy-cheeked with apparent pleasure. "Why, I can't think how to thank you," she said.
Matei guided her to the bed of the cart and helped her up to sit. "Then do not. I've ruined your day, and I intend to improve it. Rest here."
He strode back around the cart and took Mhera's arm. "Come, Sister," he said, pulling her into the crowd. Under his breath, he murmured, "Thank the heavens for that horse."
"Where are we going?" Mhera asked. She looked back over her shoulder and saw the cart horse standing contentedly, already far behind them.
"To buy some apples, of course. And then, to a friend."
More friends. Mhera felt sick. She followed Matei closely through the street, sometimes having to walk far too near to him for her comfort to avoid being separated in the throngs of people. He kept a close watch on her, sometimes reaching to take her arm, sometimes pausing as if to judge where they were. But they made no turns, and after a while, the street they were on opened out into the market square.
Mhera remembered the busy, sprawling marketplace from the day she had returned to the palace. Had it been just two days before? So much seemed to have happened since then that she did not quite trust her memory. She looked around, seeing the stalls and carts and vendors in their splendid, colorful array.
"There," Matei said. He pointed to a fruit vendor, an Arcborn man who was helped at his stall by a boy nine or ten years old. He started toward the stand, and Mhera followed.
"Sir, I am in need of a full basket of apples," Matei said.
The fruit vendor smiled at him and spread his hands. He spoke to Matei in the warm, friendly manner of an equal, for they both wore the marke. "Plenty of apples here, sir. Hand over your basket, and I'll fill it with the best of them!"
"I don't suppose you have a basket for me?"
"I'm a fruit seller, sir, not a basket-weaver! What baskets I have, I must keep. Kella over yonder makes pretty ones, though, good for much more than apples alone. Take a look."
"I have no need of a pretty basket. What I need is one of those," Matei said, pointing at one of the seller's baskets full of fruit, "and a strong lad to deliver it for me. And I know it is a trouble, sir, for which I'll pay you well." He then produced one of the shining coins Virri had given him, purportedly for lye soap.
The seller's eyes lit up. Mhera knew nothing of currency. She had hardly even looked at a coin in her life; everything she had ever needed had been provided for her. But she guessed from the seller's reaction that this was a dear price for delivery of a basket of fruit.
"Why, sir, you're generous." But the seller's eyes narrowed; he looked Matei and Mhera up and down, as if noting their attire for the first time. "Are you from the palace?"
"On an errand, yes, which is why we're in haste. We must make amends for an accident—but we haven't time to talk. Can you help us?"
The seller seemed to think for a moment, and Mhera was afraid that his suspicion would be their undoing. But he was a working man, and it seemed he could not bring himself to pass up the opportunity to make such a pretty penny for such a small task. "Tem, grab up a basket of apples for this gentleman," he ordered.
As Matei handed over the coin, the lad at the stall chose a basket of ripe fruit. He picked it up and carried it round the stall until he stood at Matei's side, looking up with bright energy. "Where to, sir?"
"Can you go on your own? It isn't far, and you look like a strong, strapping lad."
The boy grinned with pride. "I can go alone. I go all the time on errands for Father."
"It's just up the street." Matei pointed back the way they had come. "No turns, no twisty bits—very easy. You see, we accidentally tipped over a woman's basket of apples. You'll find her sitting in the back of a cart with a cantankerous mare hitched to the front. A brown mare. Understand?"
"Aye, sir. Brown horse, cart, woman in the back."
"She was wearing a green headscarf. You fetch her these apples and you'll be thanked for it. My sister and I must run on our errand or it'll be our head—can you do this for us?"
"Aye, sir! Father, I'll be back in a moment!"
"Careful of the crowd, Tem. Walk slowly and don't let them push you. Sir, miss, may the Goddess grant you a beautiful afternoon as you go about your work!" The seller smiled at them.
"And you too, sir!" Matei said. "Thank you both. Sister, come! We're running very late."
Mhera permitted Matei to take her arm and followed him, once again, into the swirling crowd.