Teri McLaren
glistened, and a small ruby-studded dagger dripping with the dark red juice lay very close to the woman's hand.
"My name is Riolla Hifrata. I have, as you see, a certain interest in antiquities. Perhaps i can help you. May I see the object?"
Cheyne hesitated, his gaze impolitely fixed on the creature before him. He had never seen anything like Riotla. She seemed to be a little older than he, but it was hard to tell-under the heavy, pale face paint, she could have hidden either youth or age. Her eyebrows arched up her forehead in thin, dark lines, and her bright pink smile seemed to be drawn permanently on full lips. Her eyes were vivid blue, the color of the high mountain lakes in Tarnrish, back home in Argivia. But the feature that continued to hold Cheyne's attention crowned Riolla's entire head. A bright, brassy sweep of curls rose to an impossible height and then cascaded halfway down her back, tendrils of it curling around her throat, framing her pendant: a single black pearl. Never had he seen such hair. Or such red hair. Though she affected the manners of the Fascini, Riolla looked as Neffian as the runners who bore Maceo's sedan.
"I said, may I see the object?" she repeated, a note of perplexing urgency in her voice.
"Oh. The object. Yes, well, I was wondering if you could help decipher the markings. I believe they must be Old High Sumifan, and it seems that no one reads that anymore. That's really all I need, you see." He fumbled, pulling the totem cautiously out from his pack.
"Of course, Muje…" She smiled, the corners of her mouth dimpling.
"It's Cheyne. lust Cheyne," he replied.
"Cheyne. Of course." She startled for a moment, then shifted her eyes distastefully away from him. He had no last name-an unforgivable sin in Sumifa. And he looked like a slave, with those blue eyes and that