Kushiel's Dart

the horses of Bois-le-Garde loose, driving them southward. Unexpectedly, Danele and Taavi's girls grew instantly enamored of our Skaldi pony, and begged their father not to loose him. With a thoughtful mien, he acceded, and our faithful pony was tied behind the wagon.
    "A little truth seasons a lie like salt," he said pragmatically. "You have turned the horses free; we will say we found the pony wandering, if they ask. If they find us."
    They did.
    It happened a scant hour after we'd come upon them, and not long after we'd been ushered into the back of the wagon, our gear stowed and hidden. Danele supervised our concealment with level-headed efficiency, marshalling her giggling daughters to move skeins of wool and fabric to hide us; Taavi, it transpired, was a weaver, and she had some skill as a dyer. They made space for us in the tidy, well-ordered wagon, the girls giggling and nudging each other. Joscelin, charmed, smiled at them; they giggled all the harder.
    My ears sharpened by Delaunay's training, I was the one who heard the hoofbeats.
    For all that had befallen us, I'd never felt so helpless, crouching in the dark behind bolts of fabric while Taavi answered the riders' questions-two of them, by the sound of it-with disarming frankness. No, they were not bound for the City, but for L'Arene, where they had kin. Yes, they had found the pony on Eisheth's Way, wandering alone and packless. No, they'd not seen anyone else. Yes, the Camaelines were welcome to look in the wagon. The curtains were yanked aside, and three Yeshuite faces gazed at the Bois-le-Garde riders, silent and apprehensive.
    From my hiding place, I caught a glimpse of one of the scout's faces, weary and uninterested. The curtains clashed closed; we were free to go onward.
    The girls gave muted squeals of excitement as the mules trotted stolidly forward. Danele shushed them, her arms around them both. I sighed, quietly, and felt Joscelin do the same beside me.
    We were three days with the Yeshuites.
    There are those who do not hold that there is any innate goodness to mankind. To them I say, had you lived my life, you would not believe it. I have known the depths to which mortals are capable of descending, and I have seen the heights. I have seen how kindness and compassion may grow in the unlikeliest of places, as the mountain flower forces its way through the stern rock.
    I had kindness from Taavi's family.
    They asked us no questions, only shared with us wholeheartedly what they had to give. I learned a little bit of their story; I wish I knew more. They came from one of the inner villages of Camlach, where their families had settled a generation ago, filling a need for village weavers and dyers. But fever came to the village, and the Yeshuites were blamed, for all that a courier had clearly brought it from the City of Elua. So it was that they fled, southward, the whole of their livelihood packed in that wagon.
    It was a strange thing to me, to see a family entire. I'd never thought, before then-save at Perrinwolde-how such a thing formed no part of my life. I remembered my parents, vaguely; the road and the caravanserai, and after that, the Dowayne of Cereus House. For Joscelin, it was different. Until the age of ten, he'd been a part of a family, a loving household. He'd had brothers, and sisters. He knew how to play with children, to tease and tickle them.
    And they adored him for it.
    Taavi and Danele smiled, well content that they'd chosen aright in aiding us. Me, they regarded with a gentle pity, and spoke to with soft words.
    Such kindness; such misunderstanding.
    I grieved at what I was.
    Some miles shy of the City of Elua, we parted ways. We had discussed it, the four adults, over the past night's fires. They had no wish to enter the City, where it was rumoured that fever still raged; we had no choice.
    "We would take you to the gates," Taavi said, worried. "It is not so far out of our way, I think, and you will be safe with us. Is it not so? No one will trouble with a poor weaver and his family."
    "You've done enough, father," I said fondly; I understood, by then, that the title was of respect to an elder, for all that Taavi and Danele had but a handful of years on us. "We don't know what welcome awaits us. Go to L'Arene, and prosper. You've done more than enough."
    The girls-Maia and Rena, their names were, six and eight years of age-played in the background. Maia had Joscelin's white wolf-pelt on her head and chased her younger