Sabina shook her head. “Far from it. He comes from there; I suppose he thinks it’s his way of giving back. The others think he’s a martyr, think he’s wasting his talent, especially for how artistic he is, andespeciallywith his debt to pay back. It costs far more blood to heal, no matter how superficial, so he’s out of commission for weeks after one of those little stints. Aesthetic changes cost less and pay far more. It’s why I pranked you, dear Anya – merely a trifle. I do apologize again, for that.” At the last, her eyes lowered, and her voice took on an unaffected contrition.
Anya didn’t quite believe it – it was a bittoocontrite – but she supposed Sabina had her own way of showing Anya her gratitude for saving her life; such as answering all her questions, of which she found she had several more.
“So it costs less blood, and pays more gold, to give someone a new nose than to cure the common cold.”
“Precisely.Andhe has all the wealthiest clients.”
“Then why bother curing a street urchin’s sniffle? Especially with the debt hanging over him?”
“As I said – sentimental.”
“I don’t believe it,” Anya said, shaking her head. But, as she recalled his wistful staring out her kitchen window and plaintive speeches, the way he clung to beauty like a life raft, the way he rushed to pen a spell to help that woman before even knowing she was hurt, she realized it wasn’t so hard to believe at all.
Then how to square that with the vapidity, the carelessness, with the cruelty he’d shown so flagrantly yesterday? He wore many faces; some out of necessity, but not all. So which was the mask, truly?
And more importantly, why in all seven skies did she care?
“Why did you two split up, again?” Sabina pried.
“He didn’t want my services any longer,” Anya dismissed. “Thought he could manage on his own.”
Sabina raised a prim eyebrow. “Wasn’t he wearing those gloves at our ill-fated dinner party?”
“I needed a pair and he had one. Purely practical. Or…no, it must have been charity, as you said.”
A knowing, amused look lit Sabina’s eye, and she shook her head. “No, Anya. Not that.”
“Well, you need a hunter, and we need a wizard,” Perrine said to Sabina. Anya felt a pang at the wordwe. She had to get away, had to catch the phoenix, and interrogating one scribe about another wouldn’t get her any closer. In fact, she was properly sick of scribes.
“Why don’t the three of us work together?” Perrine suggested.
Sabina appraised Perrine, her height, her rifle, eyes lingering on her short, feathery hair illuminated like a halo in the sun.
“A fine idea,” she said uncertainly. “But my king won’t like it very much if I help your kingdom become eternal in place of his.”
“Yes, there is that,” Perrine admitted, crestfallen.
“Tell me,” Sabina said. “How does a woman fare on her own in your country?”
“On her own?”
“You know,” she prompted. When Perrine shook her head, Sabina sighed curtly and lowered her voice. “Unmarried.”
Now Perrine brightened. “Quite well. Once I have the coin, I’m going to purchase and run my own restaurant, with top references. Can a woman do that in Gescany?”
“I’m not sure many have tried,” Sabina returned. “The sort who’d have the funds generally aren’t the sort interested in that kind of thing. Paying someone else to, perhaps.”
“And what are they interested in?”
“Parties,” answered Anya. “Pranks.”
“Power,” Sabina returned. “It’s all I want. A little independence.”
“I admire that in a woman,” Perrine said. “An independent spirit.”
“It is an admirable quality,” Sabina concurred. “The exact kind of thing you’d want in a business partner.”
“In all kinds of partners,” said Perrine.
