“And the triumphant fulfillment of the queen’s wishes, of course,” Tzoja said.

“Of course, Mistress.”

It was secretly satisfying to make rude halfbloods like this one swallow their own words, but Tzoja knew that at this point someone in her position should either walk away from this undignified discussion or call the guards so that such argumentative slaves could be punished. But there might still be some small advantage she could exploit that would fall within the bounds of accepted behavior. “I am too angry now to look for myself. Here is what I have written down of my husband’s orders.” She held out the page on which she had made her list. “Bring me these things.”

“Of course, Mistress,” said the slave. His now-downcast eyes promised that there would be no further questions. “But none of us can read.”

“Then I will read them to you, and you will make haste to find them all.”

•   •   •

It was a long walk back from the order’s storehouse to House Enduya, Magister Viyeki’s clan compound. Tzoja had to pass several dangerous points, including the rear gate of the Order-house of Echoes, the queen’s trusted communicants, and it felt like an even longer and more perilous journey because she was forced to walk slowly, carrying the two heavy sacks. She thought she must look a bit like Old Longbeard, the blue-hooded figure of Rimmersgard legend who brought gifts of food on Midwinter’s Eve. Longbeard, though, rode a great gray horse; Tzoja had to bear her burdens alone, carried only by her own aching legs.

Another month from now and she would have been able to choose from many nicer things to eat, but spring and summer came late and stayed only briefly in the Nornfells, so most of what she had taken from the kitchens was the same sort of provender on which they had been living since the previous autumn—hard-baked bread, equally hard cheese, and of course a great deal of the dried fungus called “winterbread,” which the Norns prepared in dozens of different ways, although Tzoja had not found one yet that she truly liked. As she trudged along, bowed beneath the weight of the sacks, it was hard not to reminisce over the food of her childhood, hot stews, berries ripe from the vine, bread so light that even the oldest of her neighbors could chew it despite having lost their teeth. It was one way that she would never be a Norn, no matter how long she lived under stony Stormspike.

She hesitated when she reached a crossing, six different featureless tunnels that came together like a crooked star. It was easy at any time to get lost in the great stone hive that was Nakkiga, with no sky overhead to orient herself, but what made it worse now was that she was not, despite her lie to the kitchen slaves, engaged in any kind of lawful activity. She was a resident of House Enduya, and could legitimately take food only from its great kitchens, which of course she dared not do—at least not in large quantities—because word would quickly make its way back to her master’s wife Khimabu, the ruling lady of the clan household. Tzoja would be in even greater danger if it was discovered she had been to the Order of Builders’ storerooms, of course, but Tzoja was counting on the terror of making a wrongful accusation against a noble to keep them quiet until she had finished her preparations and could flee Viyeki’s house. Because if she didn’t, she knew that Khimabu would have her killed: she had all but taunted Tzoja with it at their last meeting.

It was always hard to find her way through the deep darknesses of Nakkiga, even inside her own household. Even after so many years living within the mountain, her eyes had not become accustomed to the way the Norns lived, to the tiny, flickering oil lamps that lit most of the passages, especially away from the main thoroughfares, but which barely gave enough light for a mortal to see her hand before her face. Often Tzoja snuck into her husband’s private garden just to stand for a moment in sunshine, however far it might have fallen from its original source and how many reflective surfaces may have redirected and diminished it along its way. After so many years here under the mountain Tzoja had come to hate the darkness, hate it like a living enemy.

After a moment’s fearful consideration at the six-way crossing, she chose the passage that seemed most familiar, knowing that if she picked the wrong one she might end up somewhere she didn’t belong, carrying bags of stolen food. Beloved concubine of a powerful man or not, she would immediately be imprisoned, which would be as good as a death sentence, since Khimabu could reach her anywhere in Nakkiga. That was why Tzoja had spent the last days preparing her escape to a hiding place that Khimabu would not know, a place that nobody but Viyeki himself would think to look for her. And, if the gods were willing, tonight she would take the rest of the goods and clothing she had so carefully obtained and hide herself there until her beloved returned.

To her relief, she saw she had chosen the correct corridor: the passageway led her to the wide and busy Avenue of the Fallen, which ran behind many of the great houses whose estates fronted on Great Garden Passage. Several times she passed other travelers who looked curiously at a mortal woman staggering under the burden of two enormous sacks, but each time Tzoja did her best to take on the bent, long-suffering attitude of a mere slave, and here, for once, her mortal shape and features helped her. Since the end of the Storm King’s War and its terrible losses for the Hikeda’ya, the nobility had begun using mortals for many tasks that had once been done only by their own kind. Also, as with Tzoja herself, the nobles had discovered that mortal women were fertile in a way their own wives and concubines were not. Leaders like Magister Viyeki had worked hard to overturn some of the oldest taboos, to permit not just the legitimate birth of halfblood children, who in the past had nearly always been executed along with their mortal mothers, but to broaden their acceptance in places that had always been barred to them. Even so, the rise of Viyeki’s own daughter Nezeru to the exalted role of Queen’s Talon, especially at so young an age, had astonished many in Nakkiga, not least of whom had been Tzoja herself.

At last she reached the deepward gate of House Enduya, the back door of the clan’s residence. It was guarded, of course, but she had prepared this ground earlier and felt more confident than she had in the royal kitchens.

“Greetings, Queensman Daigo,” she told one of the guards as she set down her sacks. “I return as I promised.”

Daigo, a sullen fellow that she had cheered a few times in the past with gifts of food she had saved for him, looked her up and down. “Haya, Mistress Tzoja,” he said. “You return.”

“And I have brought you something.” She reached into the bag and brought out a stone jar sealed with wax. “Cloudberries. Kept under cold water all winter. Take them to your servant and have her make something nice for you.” Cloudberries were picked in late summer, and were a delicacy even when they were plentiful. At this point in the circle of seasons, during Otter’s Moon when the new berries were not yet ripe, they were like jewels.

The other guard, whom Tzoja recognized but did not know, made a face. “A gift for Daigo but none for me?”

Tzoja blessed the fortunate star that had warned her this might happen. “What a surprise, Queensman—I have some for you, too!”

As she handed the jar to him, he gave her a look that was a bit less grateful than she would have expected, which made her skin tighten. Had she done something to make them suspicious? “Did you see anything interesting while you were out, Mistress?” the second guard asked. “They say that Lord Akhenabi himself was seen on the Glinting Passage.”

She hid a shudder—very few living things in Nakkiga frightened her more than the master of the Order of Song. The noises that echoed at night from his great mansion were heard by many, but spoken of by none.