Joan D. Vinge - Snow Queen 01 by Snow Queen

Author:Snow Queen
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-12-14T22:27:16+00:00

28

Jerusha left the empty rooms of her townhouse behind, left the bread and fruit of her unwanted evening meal half-eaten on the table, and went out and down into the Maze. The twilight beyond the walls at the alleys’ ends marked the end of one more unbearable day that she had borne, somehow — and the promise of another to be borne tomorrow, and another, and another. Her job had been her life, and now her whole life had become hell. Sleep was her only escape, but sleep only hastened the coming of the new morning. And so she walked, aimlessly, anonymously, through the dwindling crowds, past the shops — half of them empty now, half still clinging tenaciously to life and profit, hanging on until the bitter end.

The bitter end… Why? Why bother? What’s the point? She drew the hood of her coarsely woven striped caftan further forward, shadowing her face, as she turned into the Citron Alley. Midway to twilight was a botanery she frequented: herbal remedies and spices, cluttered shelves full of household saints and charms against ill fortune; all imported from home, from Newhaven. She had gone so far as to buy the most potent amulet she could find and wear it around her neck — she who had sneered at her elders back home for wasting blind faith and good money on superstitious nonsense. That was what this job had driven her to. But the damned charm hadn’t done her any more good than anything else she’d tried in all this tIMe. Nothing had done any good, held any purpose, had any effect.

And now the one person who had supported her, kept her from believing that she was a complete and utter failure, was gone. BZ . Damn you, BZ! How could you do this to me? How could you — die? And so she had come here again, telling herself that she did not know why…

But as she neared the shop she caught sight of a familiar face — a familiar shock of flaming-red hair — Sparks Dawntreader coming toward her, dressed like a sex holo. She had seen him only rarely over the past few years, during her infrequent official visits to the palace.

It surprised her now, seeing him again, to realize that he didn’t look a day older than the first time she had seen him, sprawled in that alley almost five years ago. But then, it had surprised her that Arienrhod kept him (in every sense of the word, she supposed) at the palace… had she kept him young as well?

Her interest became self-interest as their trajectories closed; with guilty preoccupation she assumed that he would see her, assumed that he would recognize her even in this disguise, and read her hidden motives in her restless eyes. She slowed, trying to keep her destination obscure until he passed. Gods, am I skulking like a criminal now?

“Hello, Dawntreader.” Defiantly she acknowledged him first; saw by his start of recognition that he would not have looked at her twice if she hadn’t spoken.

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