“Wait for me here,” she told the boy. “I won’t be long.”
He nodded without saying a word. He was staring out at the forest when she left him, a faint breeze rustling the leaves of his hair.
Priya slipped down a narrow street where the ground was uneven with hidden tree roots, the dirt rising and falling in mounds beneath her feet. Ahead of her was a single dwelling. Beneath its pillared veranda crouched an older man.
He raised his head as she approached. At first he seemed to look right through her, as though he’d been expecting someone else entirely. Then his gaze focused. His eyes narrowed in recognition.
“You,” he said.
“Gautam.” She tilted her head in a gesture of respect. “How are you?”
“Busy,” he said shortly. “Why are you here?”
“I need sacred wood. Just one bead.”
“Should have gone to the bazaar, then,” he said evenly. “I’ve supplied plenty of apothecaries. They can deal with you.”
“I tried the Old Bazaar. No one has anything.”
“If they don’t, why do you think I will?”
Oh, come on now, she thought, irritated. But she said nothing. She waited until his nostrils flared as he huffed and rose up from the veranda, turning to the beaded curtain of the doorway. Tucked in the back of his tunic was a heavy hand sickle.
“Fine. Come in, then. The sooner we do this, the sooner you leave.”
She drew the purse from her blouse before climbing up the steps and entering after him.
He led her to his workroom and bid her to stand by the table at its center. Cloth sacks lined the corners of the room. Small stoppered bottles—innumerable salves and tinctures and herbs harvested from the forest itself—sat in tidy rows on shelves. The air smelled of earth and damp.
He took her entire purse from her, opened the drawstring, and adjusted its weight in his palm. Then he clucked, tongue against teeth, and dropped it onto the table.
“This isn’t enough.”
“You—of course it’s enough,” Priya said. “That’s all the money I have.”
“That doesn’t magically make it enough.”
“That’s what it cost me at the bazaar last time—”
“But you couldn’t get anything at the bazaar,” said Gautam. “And had you been able to, he would have charged you more. Supply is low, demand is high.” He frowned at her sourly. “You think it’s easy harvesting sacred wood?”
“Not at all,” Priya said.Be pleasant, she reminded herself.You need his help.
“Last month I sent in four woodcutters. They came out after two days, thinking they’d been in theretwo hours. Between—that,” he said, gesturing in the direction of the forest, “and the regent flinging his thugs all over the fucking city for who knows what reason, you think it’s easy work?”
“No,” Priya said. “I’m sorry.”
But he wasn’t done quite yet.
“I’m still waiting for the men I sent this week to come back,” he went on. His fingers were tapping on the table’s surface—a fast, irritated rhythm. “Who knows when that will be? I have plenty of reason to get the best price for the supplies I have. So I’ll have a proper payment from you, girl, or you’ll get nothing.”
Before he could continue, she lifted her hand. She had a few bracelets on her wrists. Two were good-quality metal. She slipped them off, placing them on the table before him, alongside the purse.
“The money and these,” she said. “That’s all I have.”
She thought he’d refuse her, just out of spite. But instead, he scooped up the bangles and the coin and pocketed them.
“That’ll do. Now watch,” he said. “I’ll show you a trick.”
