Men of Shienar, Women of Arad Doman

Her sister snickered. "Oh, so he was a servant, was he?"

"NO!"

"So, a cook. Labouring in the kitchen's all day, flecked with soot..."

An hour later, the older woman was still probing for information with an incessant, practised insistence.

"A tavern brawler, a bouncer who throws out those who throw up too much. Is that it, Melisa? I bet that's it."

She had had enough.

"A Soldier, okay? He's soldier in the keep! Are you happy?!" She thought some of the drivers of the other wagons had heard that. Probably some of the wall guards back in Fal Dara too. She had screamed.

Erise was taken aback for a second but then her lips split into a grin. "Oh, sister..."

"Let me guess how you spent your night, Eri." She said cuttingly, sniffing. "Some overweight, rich merchant? Drinking in his room until sunrise -- or should I say mimicking drinking - while he drunk himself into a stupor, promising you a price so low he lost a fortune?"

"No. Of course not." The merest flicker of her eyelids told her she'd hit the mark square on.

"Of course not." She repeated sarcastically, giving another pointed sniff that should have conveyed her disgust.

They were quiet for some time.

"It's how we make our coin." Her sister reminded her after a while. A faint red sheen marked her cheeks and she seemed mollified.

Melisa harrumphed loudly, but patted her sister on the shoulder to show her that her comments had not been taken poorly.

"So...how was he?" Erise finally asked.

"Exquisite." Was her answer, delivered with a coquettish glance at her sibling.