Disclaimer: All recognisable people and places belong to Tamora Pierce.
A/N: I'm so sorry I haven't been updating; things have been crazy (new uni year, new job, trying to get things sorted for an overseas trip) but everyone was really nice to review on Part I of this story and to read Spirits Cry, so I'm sorry I've been terrible with the updates. I know this is a really silly story, but I'm hoping I'll be able to move past writer's block with it! I have started the next chapter of Spirits Cry too, so if anyone remembers it, I'll have that one up soon. One more part of this to come, with the actual seduction attempt. )
The marketplace smelled like whisky and thyme. Daine planted her hands on her hips, scratched her nose restlessly and looked around in consternation. In a hurry to get this gods-awful mission over with, she'd forgotten to change her shirt, which bore remnants of marmoset fur and cat spittle. Not that anyone seemed to be looking at her askance. Nobility mingled with peasant-folk in the market and everyone was coated with a thin sheen of yellow dust from the road. Ignoring the flattering wheedles of nearby peddlers she considered simply making a bolt for it…and would have done so, had Alanna and Onua not been attempting to spy on her. Rolling her eyes as Alanna's red head darted back behind a wooden charm stall, Daine gave up on her public manners and groaned aloud. The jovial atmosphere was only making her feel more cross. She'd never felt so uncomfortable in all her fair-blessed life and that was the honest truth. This was even worse than the time she'd first asked Numair to make her pregnancy charm, unaware that Jon was well within earshot.
A weight smacked down on her shoulder and she jumped, whirling about and dropping into Alanna's best defensive stance.
The elderly peddler smiled at her, charmingly but toothlessly, from a wizened face. Daine groaned, her hand dropping harmlessly from her bow.
"Mornin' pretty laidy," the woman said hopefully. "You be wantin' some o' my wares this fine day, yes?" She thrust a tray of completely unidentifiable objects into Daine's face. The girl shook her head quickly, backing away.
"No. Thanking you, but no."
Another market-seller ingratiated her way forward. This one was younger, perhaps the age Daine's Ma would be now, with thick black hair in a dirty coil atop her head. "She is a pretty one, ain't she? You be lookin' for some o' my scented oils to turn yer fella's head, I'll bet! Proper Tyran scents, they are, miss. 'E'll be all over yer like Carthaki pig rash."
Daine blinked. Somehow she doubted this was what her friends had meant.
Another oddly shaped bottle appeared before her nose. "Pa's Own Liniment For A Balding 'ead?"
"Nay. Thank you."
"Juice O' Spidren For Rotting Teeth?"
"No."
"Hair O' Weiryn For An Extra Foot?"
What?
"No!" Daine threw up her hands in frustration. "I don't want any of those things! And you shouldn't just grab on to people either. I'm a trained mage, you could've got hurt!"
Both women eyed her doubtfully.
Then comprehension seemed to dawn on the elder's face. She nodded understandingly and rummaged for a small vial. "Spit O' Thieves For Delusions of Grandeur?"
Daine glared.
"I'm wanting…" She pulled out the piece of parchment and read from Thayet's tiny scratched handwriting. "Arrowroot. D'you hold any of that?"
Identical grins spread across the gleeful faces of her unwanted companions.
"Ah," said one.
"I see," chuckled the other.
"It's arrowroot you be wantin'? Well, my Ma always said there ain't nothing like arrowroot for putting a spring in a fella's…step."
Daine's face flamed for the tenth time in as many hours.
"D'you have it or not?" she asked testily.
"Oh, aye, Mistress," the first peddler agreed, pulling a small packet from the folds of her cloak. "But you be wantin' to be careful with this. Could be dangerous, y'know."
Daine paused in the act of handing over a coin.
"Dangerous?"
"Aye," the younger woman agreed, cackling as she pulled back her shawl to reveal the tiny, contented face of a grubby babe. "Dangerous."
Daine shoved the arrowroot into her pack and wondered idly how much punishment would be involved were she to murder her queen.
"You're sure?"
"Of course I'm sure." The man was beginning to sound a little affronted. He scratched his nose and smoothed a slick grey moustache with one large finger.
Daine peered warily down at the goblet, before sniffing it again. Her head jerked back. It didn't smell like ale, to be sure, but… Her face twitched and she grimaced.
"It doesn't smell innocent to me," she stated flatly.
"Madam." The 'Purveyor of Fine Refreshments' drew himself up in a way that would have been impressive, had the lace of his breeches not broken. "I can assure you, there are no spirits in that cider. Merely the juices of pomegranates – the finest that can be obtained in Tortall, my dear woman, and well-scripted for their healing, rejuvenating and aphrodisiac qualities."
He then had the nerve to wink at her.
And she didn't like the sly edge to his eyes.
Starting to hand the bottle back, Daine shook her head. "I don't think…"
"Aren't you done yet? Honestly, Daine, I thought you loathed shopping." Alanna grabbed her elbow, almost dislodging the doubtful pomegranate cider.
"I do loa…"
"Have you paid for this?" Barely pausing for breath, Alanna tossed a handful of coppers at the smirking keeper. She held the mixture aloft with great ceremony.
"The final ingredient," she announced happily. And loudly.
Daine covered her eyes with her hand. A spidren attack would be wondrous right about then…
"Come, Onua wants you back at the stables by the lunching hour to help with the Riders. And I've already organized the music."
Music?
Oh, Shakith.
Numair rubbed his thumbs over his eyes and tossed down the quill. Black ink splattered across the fresh parchment and he frowned, otherwise not bothering to move. He was expecting several students before the supper meal and his latest bout of research was going sadly neglected, but it was no good. His mind was entirely filled with Daine.
He understood her frustration with him – Mithros, he shared her frustration! Numair's mouth curved in a grimace. Who in the kingdoms would have believed that he of all people would fall into strife for not seducing a young woman?
But this was different. She was different. She was…Daine.
And he would not - could not - see her attacked. Only with words, perhaps, but he knew well the power of malicious gossip. He didn't doubt that his magelet could defend herself, but the way in which she was like to do it – fists and feet first - would no doubt cause trouble in itself.
Numair smiled faintly. Life with Daine had thus far proved to be an interesting combination of fresh grey hairs and enough conflict to keep him perpetually young at heart.
He was brought out of his reverie by the rude arrival of the King's Champion.
Expecting the polite knock of an intimidated youngster, Numair fair jumped out of his skin as the redhead stormed in, slamming the door behind her.
A glass amphora splintered across the floor boards and the mage winced. That skin renewal potion had been the product of several weeks' work.
"Greetings, Alanna," he said dryly, "Please. Fling my doors about as much as you wish."
"You bleeding jackanapes."
"I beg your pardon?" Numair stared at her.
The knight folded both arms across her chest and raised one winged brow.
"Daine," she stated succinctly.
Leaning back in his chair, Numair gazed at the soiled papers before him with studied detachment.
"What about Daine?" he inquired casually, inwardly wincing.
Alanna plunked herself down in the only other seat the room offered. Numair glanced up and rolled his eyes.
"Pray, milady, sit down," he offered sarcastically.
Choosing to ignore the feeble rejoinder, Alanna shook her head at him. The Lioness' face was a curious blend of exasperation and pity. The mage didn't particularly care for either emotion.
"I presume you have something to complain about, Alanna," Numair sighed, watching his fingers as they formed a steeple. "But I'm very busy this evening, so please commence carping."
His friend's reply was both unexpected and alarming.
"You're going to lose her, you know." Alanna's voice was soft, despite the sharpness of her eyes.
He looked up quickly, meeting her gaze. "And why do you say that?" There was an urgency behind the indifference of his tone.
Alanna blew out her cheeks with a long expulsion of air. "I never thought I'd be lecturing you on the dangers of a noble resolve, Numair." She hastened past his frowning countenance. "I know a lot of things…concern you about your relationship with Daine. And I know that you worry about her."
A cord in Numair's jaw jumped but he remained stonily silent.
"But you have to be careful, you must see that." The Lioness looked hesitant and quite out of character. "In your desire to protect Daine, you may end up pushing her away."
"Alanna." His voice was firm and uncompromising. "I will not have her exposed to court gossip."
"Numair," Alanna retorted, beginning to lose her reserve, "She's already exposed to court gossip! Eyes about the palace have been checking Daine's waistline for signs of unwitting growth since she was ought but a child – as I'm sure you're aware!"
The mage's eyes reflected his bitter disgust. "I would never have touched her as a child, Alanna."
"Of course you wouldn't have. But you love her and you barely touch her now," came the serious response. "And she's no longer a child, Numair."
Alanna paused, watching the quandary in the man's expressive eyes. Then, mentally excusing herself under the justification of friendship, she embellished, "And other men have noticed, even if you have not."
Numair jerked to face her. "What? Which men?" he demanded, brows scoring together crossly.
Alanna stared blankly back, mind racing. "Daine's a beautiful young woman. Men see that. One in particular," she lied without shame.
"Who in particular? Has someone been bothering her, Alanna?" Numair looked furious. And, the Lioness noted gleefully, rather perilously jealous.
"Hmm, I'm not sure of his name," she murmured, peeking from the corner of her eye. "Dark hair, tall, good rider...fond of animals…I think he may be one of your students."
The outrage was obvious.
"Look." Alanna got to her feet. "Daine's isn't like the court vipers. She has pride and she won't beg for your love."
"She knows I love her," he protested stiffly.
"Perhaps, but she must wonder if you don't somehow find that love unnatural. Seeing as how you seem ashamed to express it."
"This is really none of your business, Alanna," Numair returned flatly, face closing off.
"No, it isn't," she agreed readily. "But I don't like seeing the people I care about hurting. And I don't want to see you make the largest mistake of your life."
Another interruption at the door came, this one, however, in the guise of a hesitant knock.
"Pardon me, Master Salmalin, sir," the swarthy young man stammered, awed eyes on Alanna's famed figure. "You asked me to come at five?"
"I'm just leaving," Alanna announced cheerfully. Leaning forward on the desk, she placed her lips close to Numair's ear. "Daine would like to speak with you after supper. In her quarters at sundown. I suggest you think about what I've said."
Ignoring the mage's sharp look, the redhead smiled breezily at the goggling student and left. As she closed the heavy door behind her, she heard the pitching tones of the youngster as he apologized for his lateness.
"I was caught up in the stables, sire, I'm sorry."
A sudden silence and then: "The stables? Fond of animals then, Dawkins?"
Alanna grinned heartlessly.
