The Dragon Keeper - Page 164/196

The gardens were desolate and deserted this time of year. Most of the trees had lost their leaves, and the unimpeded wind blew sharply. Fallen leaves littered the gravel paths. There was a stand of evergreens at the edge of an herb garden that had gone to seed. He headed instinctively toward the protection of the grove. In the circle of their shelter, the wind could barely find him. He turned his eyes up to the cold winter sky and tried to find a single star through the overcast. He couldn’t. He lowered his face and wiped rain from his cheeks.

“Weeping at a wedding? What a sentimental fool you are.”

He’d turned in shock. He hadn’t imagined anyone else would be out in this weather. It was even more of a shock to realize that the man was Hest, and that he must have followed him. He’d been a part of the group of men by the door. Sedric knew his name and his reputation, but little more than that. The wealthy and popular young Trader moved in a social circle several notches higher than Sedric’s orbit. He wondered why he had followed him out into the night. His long deep-blue cloak was nearly black in the dimming light. The collar was turned up high, framing his face.

“It’s just rain. I came outside to clear my head of a little too much wine.”

Hest listened to him silently, head cocked mockingly. He raised his sculpted brows in a rebuke for his lie.

“I’m not weeping,” Sedric added defensively.

“Aren’t you?” Hest came toward Sedric through the wet snow. It was definitely snow now. Big flakes of it spangled the tall man’s dark hair. “I saw you watching the happy couple and thought to myself, now there’s a spurned lover, watching his dreams stroll off without him.”

Sedric watched his approach warily. “I hardly know her,” he said. “Prittus was my tutor. I’m just here to wish him well.”

“As we all are,” Hest agreed smoothly. “Our dear friend Prittus enters a new stage of his life now. He takes on the duties of a husbandman. And his loving friends, though we wish him well, will see far less of him now.” The light was waning from the sky, and the shadows of the evergreens made the winter afternoon even darker. The fading light took the colors with it; Hest’s face was a study of planes and shadows. He was smiling. His narrow lips were chiseled into a fine smile as he asked him, “And what did Prittus tutor you in?”

“Chalcedean. My father says that every Trader needs to speak Chalcedean well, without an accent. Prittus speaks it like a native; he had a Chalcedean tutor.”

Hest stopped, not even an arm’s length away. “Chalcedean?” His smile grew wider, baring even teeth. “Yes. I agree with your father. Every Trader should know Chalcedean. Some say they will always be our enemies. I say, that is a good reason to learn as much as we can about them. Not just their language, but their customs. Ancient enemies or not, they will be our partners as we buy and sell goods. They’ll cheat the man who is vulnerable to them. But you’ll need more than just the language. A man can speak the language of a place, but if he lacks knowledge of the customs, he will always betray himself as a foreigner. And thus not be accepted. Don’t you agree?”

“I suppose. Yes.” The tall Trader was drunk, Sedric decided. He had come close enough that Sedric could smell the spirits on his breath.

His dark eyes roved over Sedric’s face in a disconcerting way. He licked his lips and said, “So. Let me hear your accent. Say something in Chalcedean.”

“What?”

“That’s not Chalcedean.” Hest grinned. “Try again.”

“What would you like me to say?” Sedric felt trapped. Was the man mocking him or trying to make his acquaintance? His conversation walked a knife’s edge between taunting and friendliness.

“That would be good. Yes. Say, ‘Please, sir, what would you like?’”

It took him a moment to parse it in his mind. When he spoke, the words came smoothly, but Hest shook his head and made a sad mouth. “Oh, dear. Not like that. You need to open your mouth more. They’re a very voluble people.”

“What?”

“Say it again, but open your mouth more. Purse your lips out.”

It was mockery. Sedric was certain of it now. He made his words brisk. “I’m cold. I’m going back to the Traders’ Concourse now.”

But as he strode past him, Hest’s hand had shot out suddenly and gripped Sedric’s left shoulder. He’d tugged him sharply, spinning the smaller man so that Sedric almost collided with him. “Say it again,” he urged him pleasantly. “In any language you like. Say, ‘Please, sir, what would you like?’ ”