Free The Devil's Garden by Jane Kindred

posts around the tent. Pieces of parchment clung to them, announcing An Evening of Meeric Poetry. Upstairs, Riverdock Public Tavern, at Dusk.
    “Works like a Meeric charm.” Azhra tucked her bowl, bought for two coppers, on top of the breadfruit. “What Deltan in his right mind would accidentally wander into that?”
     
    Azhra came up to Ume’s apartments to wait for her to change. It was probably wiser for Cillian to attend than Ume.
    “What lovely rooms you have.” She wandered through the parlor where Ume entertained when a patron preferred not to use his own quarters. “So this is how the courtesans live.” Her words had an edge of bitterness.
    “It took me many years to earn them.” Ume spoke from the bath chamber as she scrubbed the smudges of kohl from her eyes.
    “Many years?” Azhra appeared in the doorway. “Ume, you’re seventeen.”
    Ume loosened the ties at her shoulders. “Five years feels like a lot to me.” When she dropped the tunic over her bare legs onto the ground, Azhra stepped back with a slight gasp of dismay.
    “I’m sorry.” Ume grabbed a towel to cover herself. “I suppose it’s disconcerting to see the illusion shattered right in front of you.”
    Azhra shook her head, cheeks pink over the hem of her veil. “It’s not that. I…I’ve only ever seen one man naked.”
    “I thought you were a courtesan once.”
    “No. Just a girl who found herself in the arms of a Meer.” Her eyes were solemn. “A very dangerous place to be, Ume. Don’t forget that.”
     
    At dusk they walked downriver to the pub, receiving polite smiles and nods from passersby as if they took them for a couple in courting. The upstairs room was packed with people from every caste. Cillian recognized a templar or two out of ceremonial dress.
    “Cillian!” Cree waved them over with a pleased smile and gave him a masculine kiss of greeting on each cheek. “I didn’t think you’d come.”
    She made space for them on the rag-weave rug she shared with Sylus and Dehr, who looked up with a brief acknowledgment from their game of jack-stones. Sylus’s glance was noticeably briefer, as if to avoid trouble with Dehr.
    Cillian spoke low at Cree’s ear. “There are templars here.”
    “Spies?”
    “I don’t think so.” Azhra answered before he could, arranging her skirt around her ankles. “I think our message is finally being heard. They’re no more happy living under tyranny than the people are.” She shared what she’d heard in the marketplace, and Cree pondered the news.
    “I heard something myself.” Cillian spoke reluctantly. “I understand things are moving more quickly than I realized. Is it true the expurgists plan to move against Alya after the Autumnal Vetma? ”
    “I haven’t heard that.” Cree looked to Azhra, who shook her head.
    “It came from a high-level templar. He’s an avowed supporter of the movement, but he may be a spy.”
    “Or you could be the spy.” Azhra’s piercing indigo gaze settled on his.
    Cree glared. “Enough, Azhra. He’s not. ”
    “But he might warn the Meer.” This charge Cree did not immediately repudiate.
    “What good would that do me?” asked Cillian. “If the whole of In’La is rising against him, I can hardly stem the tide. It would be like standing with the reeds against the river. I’d drown just the same.”
    “You would,” Azhra assured him. Another veiled threat.
    “All the same.” Cillian’s folded arms matched Azhra’s stubborn stance. “I still don’t see how he’ll be persuaded to abdicate. He’ll use his magic.”
    Azhra’s laughter was loud as a speaker appeared at the podium and the murmur of voices ceased.
    After a long speech that laid at MeerAlya’s feet the increasing number of beggars in the streets, the high prices of grain and coal and the heavy tariffs on river-shipped goods, the speaker confirmed Cillian’s report. A march was planned on the temple the morning afterward to demand Alya step down. Key members