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handed it to his father.
    “At least, you remembered the receipt.
Best get some water before you settle back into work.”
    “Yes, ser.”
    Kian was already absorbed back in working
some sort of embellishments on parchment, perhaps a copy of one of the
declarations, when Rahl returned from the outside pump and settled back onto
his stool and more copying of Tales of the Founders.

VI
    Day dawned bright and sunny, and Rahl had a
spring in his step, although it was still early morning, if well past dawn,
when he made his way from the tiny chamber out to the common room for
breakfast. He enjoyed the end-day because, unless his father had an urgent
commission, after chores, the day was largely Rahl’s.
    Lukewarm gruel, bread, and some peach
conserve awaited him at the table, along with a small mug of redberry. Khorlya
was finishing a basket, and Rahl could smell something baking. He settled
before his modest breakfast, then looked to the other end of the table.
“Baskets on an end-day? And baking?”
    “Have you forgotten? You’re going to see
Shahyla today. I was up early. The honey cake is almost ready.”
    Rahl hadn’t exactly forgotten—more like
put the thought at the back of his mind. “Oh… that’s right.”
    “You could show a bit more enthusiasm,
Rahl.”
    “I’m still a little sleepy.” That was
true enough, but hot the reason.
    “She’s a pretty girl, and she could use a
young man like you. You’re handy and polite.”
    Rahl knew that, but he just took a large
spoonful of gruel to avoid saying anything. Why did they keep pushing on the
consort business? Couldn’t they just let him be?
    “After you finish breakfast and your
chores, wash up and put on your good tunic. You’ll need to start soon to get
there just after midday. It’s at least four kays, and you don’t want to hurry
and arrive all sweating.”
    “You told them I was coming?” That was
even worse.
    “I said you might when I saw Shahyla at
the market on fourday. What would be the point of my baking and your walking
that far if the girl didn’t happen to be there?”
    “Did you say when I’d be there?”
    “Just that it would probably be past
midday. Now, finish eating and get on with things.” Khorlya set the basket
aside and moved to the old tiled stove. “I did make another honey cake for us.
You can have yours when you get back.”
    “They aren’t one-god worshippers, are
they?”
    “I doubt anyone in Land’s End is, and
they’re not single-twinners, either,” offered Kian from the doorway.
    “Single-twinners?” Rahl hadn’t heard of
that belief, but for him the idea of order and chaos was enough, without
believing that the world was controlled by some invisible deity using strange
rules.
    “There aren’t any here. The magisters
don’t allow them. Now… enough dilly-dallying: Finish up and get on to your
chores.”
    Rahl finished eating, then washed his
bowl, and racked it before turning to deal with chamber pots and his other
chores, as well as checking the newest batch of ink.
    Later, he did take his time washing up
and dressing. He’d just donned his better tunic when he heard his mother.
    “Rahl? Are you about ready?”
    “I’ll be right there.”
    Khorlya was standing by the front door,
holding the basket she’d been working on earlier. “Here you go.”
    Rahl took the basket, his eyes checking
it. Right above the base was the linked chain, woven out of the rushes soaked
in thinned ink so that they took up the blackness. The chain swirled up and
into the handle and then down the other side. It took a special talent to weave
and braid a design so intricate that it looked as though a black chain was
actually imbedded in the basket itself. The basket was one that would have sold
for a half silver. That wasn’t good, not at all, not when his mother was
sending him off with one of her best.
    Kian moved toward them from where he’d
been sitting at the table, but the scrivener did not speak.
    “The honey