Heartless

“How dare you?” His voice was quiet, but it rang in her head with both menace and authority.

Una stepped back, uncertain of her feet. The stranger seemed unwilling to let her go, but she pushed his hands away. Her fingers burned in searing lines where she had touched the shield. She turned and saw the fortune-teller, ugly as sin, rubbing his hands together and smiling obsequiously.

“Eshkhan!” The way the man said the word, Una wondered if it was a curse. “Eshkhan, I do but sell my wares.”

“How dare you?” the stranger repeated. “You turn my market into a devil’s carnival.”

“I do but sell my wares!” Torkom repeated. “I asked, and the lady agreed to glimpse her future.”

The stranger said nothing but turned to Una. He was young, she realized, though older than she, and his earnest eyes frightened her. She drew back from him.

“Lady,” he said, “come away, please. Touch nothing more in this den.”

Her hands tingled. “I . . . I don’t see what business it is of yours, sir.” She spoke more sharply than she meant to, but the words spilled out like fire from her tongue. “How I deal with this gentleman is my own affair.”

The stranger put out a hand to her. “Come away, lady,” he said. “Come out of this place.”

She stared at him without seeing him. Her mind desperately tried to recall the vision she had just witnessed: the voice, the face. But it was gone like a dream, leaving behind only the heat. She tried to speak but could find no words, so she swept past the stranger, parting curtains with her arms, stepping into the labyrinth of embroidered drapes. Immediately she was lost, uncertain where to find the entrance, uncertain how to return.

Someone grabbed her arm. She looked and saw Torkom’s gray claws.

“My lady must pay,” he said. “My lady must pay for the vision.” He lifted her hand toward his face, licking his lips as he drew her fingers toward his mouth. Her ring gleamed in the rose-colored light, reflecting back into his white eyes. “Worth so much,” the fortune-teller said.

“Worth so great a price – ”

“Torkom.”

The fortune-teller trembled at the stranger’s voice and dropped Una’s hand. “Courtesy of Arpiar,” he muttered. “First vision is free.”

The stranger stood beside Una once more, a hand under her elbow. “If you dare lure another into your lair, Torkom, I will personally see you returned to Arpiar. And this time you will not leave it. You have my word. Now, pack up and get you from this market.”

The ugly man bowed deeply, closing his great eyes, and once more muttered, “Eshkhan.” The next moment he was gone, and Una found that she stood just inside the beaded entrance.

The stranger lifted the beads and allowed her to step out ahead of him. The sun was garishly bright after the rose glow of the tent, and Una put up a hand to shield her eyes. She drew a great breath, missing the scent of roses, and turned to the stranger, who emerged just behind her. In natural light, he seemed even paler, though his eyes were dark. His features were neither handsome nor ugly, merely ordinary. In truth, he was the most unnoticeable man Una could recall ever seeing. Though, a reasonable side of her added, she might have seen one without noticing.

He met her gaze. “My lady – ”

She held up a hand, once more aware of the burning line across her fingers. “My good man, you are possessed of a singularly impertinent nature that I find most . . . most . . . Dragon’s teeth! ” It was the most unladylike phrase she knew. Nurse would have exploded had she heard it, but Una was pleased to see surprise cross the stranger’s face. “You have no right putting your nose into my dealings. Do you have any idea who I am?”

“You are not yourself,” he said quietly. “The incense of Arpiar and the vision – ”

“My good man!” she interrupted again. “I am Princess Una of –Parumvir, and you will speak when you are given permission.”

To her irritation, he smiled as though he was trying not to laugh. Then he bowed. “And I am the Prince of Farthestshore.”

Of all the curses upon Una’s young life, the very worst, she believed, was her tendency to break out in red blotches across her face when flustered or embarrassed. Especially on her nose. This was enough in and of itself to make her believe in Faeries, bad ones, who were neglected on dinner party lists and showed up at christenings full of vengeance and cackling, “She shall burst forth in blotches, brilliant glowing ones, at the least provocation.”

Una could feel the blotches developing now, little red flags signaling for all they were worth. “See! See, she’s gone and put her foot in her mouth again! Right in, heel and all!”

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