That sounded too much like something Serapio might say, and it left her uneasy.
“Let’s sit there.” Uncle Kuy pointed to a nearby fire where three people sat talking. Two women and a third person wrapped in a black cloak, hood up, gender not immediately known. None of the group flaunted haahan or red teeth, and she relaxed at that. She wasn’t sure she would know what to say to an Odohaa, and the idea of praying to Serapio was so absurd that it made her laugh. She hoped he would think it was absurd, too, but she suspected he might not.
“May we join you, friends?”
Uncle Kuy’s question was directed at the eldest of the group, a woman in a black dress and red cloak with a hem of beads and feathers. Her dark hair was threaded with white and cut into a blunt bang. The woman next to her was dressed much the same and looked enough like her companion that Xiala guessed them to be relations, likely mother and daughter.
“All are welcome,” the older woman said genially. Uncle Kuy looked to the other companions, and they both nodded in agreement.
“Our thanks,” he replied, and Xiala murmured a thanks as well.
Uncle Kuy sat next to the daughter, and Xiala took the place next to him, the cloaked stranger on her left. She dropped to the ground, grateful to be off her feet. The walk through Titidi earlier and the trek across the sky bridge and through Kun had taken a toll. Before the day she had spent walking with Serapio, she’d been twenty days at sea, and her legs did not adjust to land easily. She was paying the price for it now. The stranger next to her poked at the fire to rouse it, and she nodded, grateful, before leaning forward to catch the warmth against her hands and face.
“Do you come from far?” the older woman asked politely. Her eyes took in their blue cloaks just as the guard’s had.
“Not so far,” Uncle Kuy said. “My grandfather was Carrion Crow.”
“Ah,” the woman said, reassured. “And you?” She looked to Xiala.
“His niece,” she grumbled, keeping her head down. The woman’s smile was not as wide or as friendly for her. So be it.
The person next to her prodded the fire and whispered, voice low and musical, “A niece with an interesting accent. Careful with your words, then, Water Strider.”
Xiala tensed, but no one else appeared to have heard. She didn’t know if she should ignore the threat, if it was a threat, or respond.
“Peace, friend,” the stranger said before she could decide. “It is only an observation. I make it now, or others make it later.”
She glanced at Uncle Kuy, but he was caught up in conversation with the Carrion Crow woman and had not noticed their exchange.
“Is there something you want?” Xiala hissed.
“Only to enjoy the fire.”
“When did she say there would be food provided, Xiala? Xiala!” Uncle Kuy was staring at her, his face expectant.
“Hmm?” she said, trying her best to mimic Aishe.
Tovan was not a language Xiala knew well, but she had a natural affinity for languages, and time with Aishe and her brothers had helped her vocabulary, but her accent was apparently deficient. She wanted desperately to ask everyone to simply speak Trade, but then her ruse would assuredly be over.
“The guard. She said there would be food.”
She shrugged and hunched further down in her cloak, hoping that would be the end of it.
Uncle Kuy sighed his disappointment and turned back to the women. “Anyway, she said there would be food.”
“Did she say what?” the older woman asked. “I hope it’s stew. A good stew would settle us all.”
Xiala tuned out their banter and focused on the stranger. “Are you going to report me to the guards?”
“Why?” The voice sounded amused. “Have you done something worthy of reporting?”
“Xiala!” Uncle Kuy called again.
She swallowed her exasperation. “Yes, Uncle?”
She heard the stranger beside her chuckle softly.
“Did the guard say the Odohaa were meeting with the matron?”
She shook her head and lifted a shoulder in a shrug.
“Maaka and the other Odohaa have gone into the Great House to meet with the matron,” the stranger offered to the group. “They plan the future as we speak.”
“Who is Maaka?” Uncle Kuy asked.
“The leader of the Odohaa. Friend to Lord Okoa himself,” the younger woman answered.
“I know Lord Okoa, too!” Uncle Kuy puffed his chest out a bit.
The stranger leaned in. “How is that, friend?”
Uncle Kuy’s face fell as he realized his mistake. “A family acquaintance,” he offered hastily. “We met once.” His gaze shifted to the women, who looked at him as if he was hiding something, which, of course, he was.
“Is not Lord Okoa the one who took the Odo Sedoh from Sun Rock?” Xiala asked.
“Aye,” the older woman said enthusiastically. “The Reckoning!”
“The Reckoning?” the stranger said, voice soft. “Is that what they are calling it?”
“That is what it was! And some say Lord Okoa aided the Odo Sedoh in his work. That he held the knife that took the Priest of Knives’ life as revenge for what happened at his mother’s funeral.”
The stranger seemed to tense at that, but whatever the emotion, it was gone before Xiala could name it.
“What happened at the funeral?” Uncle Kuy asked, eyes moving between the two parties.
The younger woman launched into her tale eagerly, but Xiala only half listened. She was more interested in studying her neighbors. Xiala had thought at first that the three were together, but it seemed that the person next to her didn’t know the mother and daughter and had perhaps only joined them to warm by the fire. She had glimpsed no more than a sharp chin and a bowed lower lip, and the person’s hands were sheathed in gloves.
“—a wedding!”
“What’s this?” The daughter’s exclamation brought Xiala’s attention back. “I thought you said a funeral.”
“The funeral was before. We were speculating about the matron’s wedding.”
“They think she will marry the Odo Sedoh,” Uncle Kuy said quietly, his voice sympathetic.
Xiala was stunned to silence.
“It’s a smart match,” the mother said, misreading Xiala’s shock for doubt. “Surely, then none would challenge Carrion Crow’s supremacy.”
Uncle Kuy patted Xiala’s knee in reassurance. “It is only speculation. Neither the matron nor the Odo Sedoh has said it is so.”
“It’s not a marriage of love,” the mother said. “It is a marriage of alliances.”
“Although it could be love,” the daughter protested. “The matron is very beautiful.”
“And wealthy,” Uncle added.
“And powerful,” the stranger said, head tilted toward Xiala.
Xiala stood, annoyed at these strangers speculating on Serapio’s fate. She knew it was only gossip, but she did not have to sit and listen to it. “I need to take a piss. Where are the latrines?”
Both women pointed north, the older woman looking slightly horrified at her rough language, but Xiala could not find it within herself to care. Before anyone could reprimand her or, worse, offer to accompany her, she stomped off in the direction they’d indicated.
“Be back for food soon!” Uncle Kuy shouted after her.
She waved over her shoulder to show she’d heard.
The latrines were no more than waist-high fencing arranged as stalls positioned over a trench. She had seen worse, much worse, and she’d never had a shy bladder, so the public display didn’t bother her. But her cloak was unmanageable if she was going to squat, so she took it off and draped it over a nearby wall. Her hair spilled down her back in plum-colored waves, but it was dark in the twilight, and people were polite enough to avert their eyes from a woman in a private moment.