It’s market day in a tiny hamlet when Cehmai sees her, and he would have walked past unknowing if her hands weren’t dripping blood. She’s thinner, now, her midnight hair silvered. But with her crimson-streaked apron and upraised butcher’s knife, she looks the picture of a vengeful ghost.
Vengeance makes him think Idaan, makes him look closer, makes him see the past in her age-worn face.
“The price for the goat?” he asks inanely, throat dry.
She recognizes him, too. Her fingers tighten--then let the knife go.
“Too high.” Her smile is bitter. “You know the price always is.”
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the follies of our younger days may yet bear some strange fruit, Long Price Quartet, Cehmai/Idaan
Date: 2011-10-11 11:36 pm (UTC)It’s market day in a tiny hamlet when Cehmai sees her, and he would have walked past unknowing if her hands weren’t dripping blood. She’s thinner, now, her midnight hair silvered. But with her crimson-streaked apron and upraised butcher’s knife, she looks the picture of a vengeful ghost.
Vengeance makes him think Idaan, makes him look closer, makes him see the past in her age-worn face.
“The price for the goat?” he asks inanely, throat dry.
She recognizes him, too. Her fingers tighten--then let the knife go.
“Too high.” Her smile is bitter. “You know the price always is.”