It was more dangerous now that she was so far beyond Silverwater Wash. The white-hairs who shared this land with the Y'Qatt had no particular cause to dislike the Mettai, or to shun her for being one, but they were Fal'Borna, and no Qirsi hated the Eandi more. She'd learned, though. She wouldn't be caught unaware again, as she had been by that fool of a girl near Tivston. And she was ready to take on something greater, something more than just these tiny villages she'd visited thus far.

C'Bijor's Neck. She'd passed it by heading north, because she hadn't been ready yet. The others had been preparing her for this. Now, though…

C'Bijor's Neck was one of the largest Y'Qatt settlements in the north, nearly as large as the great white-hair cities on the Ofirean. She'd been there once before, many years back, as she'd started preparing in earnest for this day. She'd heard of the place from peddlers she met while trading her baskets. The Neck, they called it, because it sat on a spur of land that jutted out into the Silverwater, just below Turtle Lake. They'd encouraged her then to sell her baskets in the marketplace there-they told her it was huge, the largest market along the northern half of the river. But she'd known then that she should wait, that to show herself and her wares in C'Bijor's Neck too soon would be a mistake. So she nodded, and she listened, and she tucked away every bit of information she could glean from them, like a beggar hoarding coins.

They liked deep baskets in the Neck, or at least those were the ones that sold best. Deep, with high handles, usually braided, because they felt best against the hand when the baskets were laden with fruit or grain. They liked bright dyes, or else earth colors-nothing in between. And they had little use for small baskets, ornamental ones with no practical use. The Y'Qatt of C'Bijor's Neck were a sturdy, sensible people, well adapted to the harsh life afforded them on the northern plain.

So early that morning, in the cold, dim grey that precedes a cloudy dawn, as Lici prepared to make her way into the village, she gathered all her small baskets and hid them in her cart. She left her horse and wagon within the shadows of the small copse in which she'd bedded down the night before. Then she dragged the blade across her hand, as she had so many times before, and cast her spell on the baskets that remained with her. These she packed up and carried to the city, arriving in the marketplace with the first of the peddlers. Without her cart she was left to spread out her blankets on the ground. She arranged the baskets in neat rows; sturdy, sensible rows. She almost laughed aloud at the thought.

Before she'd finished, there were people standing before her wares, silently admiring them, no doubt trying to decide what to offer her, so that they might go away with a bargain, as well as a fine basket. They didn't know just how eager she was to sell them. They didn't know that if she'd had to give them away in order to get these ensorcelled baskets into their hands and their homes, she would have. Nor could she give them any reason to guess at this. She'd drive a hard bargain. She'd leave the Neck with gold heavy in her purse, and the need for vengeance resting just a bit lighter on her shoulders.

Yellow eyes. White hair. Narrow, bony, pale faces. Did they really think they were so different from the Qirsi who lived south of here? Did they really believe that there was virtue to be found in denying who and what they were?

"You made these yourself?" one man asked, eyeing her shrewdly. "Yes, sir, I did."

"Where do you come from?" he asked.

"East of here. A small village near the lakes. I'm sure you wouldn't know it."

"You're Mettai, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am."

"And the colors in these baskets?"

She knew what he was getting at. She'd have to answer the same question throughout the morning, as buyers tried to determine the value of her work. Dyed baskets were worth far more than those colored with magic.

"Dyed by hand, sir. I assure you. Pick one up. Examine each osier if you must. Each strand of grass." Hold it close. Breathe deeply of its scent. Rub your hands over it, as if in a caress. And die well. "I do good work, but you'll see that the color isn't uniform."

He stooped and picked up one of the more colorful baskets. He eyed it closely for several moments before returning it to the blanket.

"That can be feigned. You can use magic to make it look like that."

She smiled, hating him. "Yes, I can. But I didn't. You don't have to believe me, of course. An eye as discerning as yours should have no trouble seeing the truth. And if you think there are better baskets here in this marketplace, you should buy them." Lici looked past him to another man, who'd also paused to admire her weaving. "Can I help you, good sir?"

"Wait now," the first man said, glancing over his shoulder before facing Lici again. "I didn't say I was going to look elsewhere. I just wanted to be certain that you weren't trying to sell ensorcelled baskets in an Y'Qatt city."

"I'd never do such a thing, sir. I'm quite aware of where I am and what sort of people live in your fine city."

He stared down at the basket for several moments, his eyes narrowed. He was tall and lean, like so many Qirsi, with eyes the color of pinewood, and short-cropped hair. Eventually he met her gaze again.

"How much?"

"Three sovereigns."

He laughed and shook his head. "Too much." But he didn't walk away. She'd get two. She could get more, but she didn't want the price going too high.

"I'd go as high as one sovereign, two silvers."

"The price is three."

"Come now, madame," he said. "You can't expect to get three sovereigns for a single basket."

"It's early," she said. "Look how your friends gather around my wares." There were at least ten people standing in front of her blankets now. Seeing this, the man frowned.

She was tempted now to get two and a half sovereigns, not only because she didn't like this man, but also because with so many watching, this first sale would set the price for the rest. Some baskets would go for more, of course. Others would sell for less. But all would be measured against this first one. She had to remind herself that she wanted them to sell quickly, that before the day was through, she wanted her baskets spread throughout the city. And she herself wished to be on her way out of the Neck by midday.

"Two then," he said.

She couldn't appear to give in too easily. "Two is low," she said. "But I'll let this one go for two if you'll buy a second at the same price."

"I have no need of two."

"None?" she asked coyly. "Your wife wouldn't find a use for a second basket of this quality?"

He frowned again and rubbed a hand over his face. "Four for the pair."

Lici nodded.

"Very well." He quickly chose a second and paid her the four sovereigns, before hurrying away, as if afraid that she might enchant him into buying more.

After that, she did a brisk trade, selling nearly a dozen baskets in the first hour of the morning. As the day progressed, however, business slowed, so that as midday approached she'd only sold two more, and still had ten left. She'd watched from afar as the other villages succumbed to her curse, but she had no desire to be anywhere near C'Bijor's Neck when her magic began to take effect. The city was too large; too many people would be sickened. Not that she didn't want to see, but she feared the outpouring of so much magic. Magic, the likes of which would bleed a Mettai to death. Magic that would leave this entire city in ruins.

"Slow day."

She turned at the sound of the man's voice. He was Qirsi, his white hair tied back from his face, his skin nearly as dark as her own. Fal'Borna. He was an old man for one of their kind. His hair had grown thin, so that she could see his golden scalp between strands of white, and he wore a fine, pale beard that made him appear gaunt as a mountain goat.