Berries and Blades (Marriage Market Misadventures #2)

1. Chapter 1

Chapter one

Midsummer was my favorite time of year.

The heady fragrance of simmerweed flowers wafted through the air, bouquets decorating every stall.

The bright fuchsia flowers only bloomed in this season, and everyone took advantage of this window.

The Everend Market was massive, tents and encampments sprawling as far as I could see in every direction.

Elves from all over made the trek to this central location every Midsummer, whether to procure rare items from the varied vendors, make alliances, or participate in the popular marriage market.

Me, I was just looking for my lost Socks.

Maybe I should’ve chosen a better name for my pagwai though, because everyone I asked kept sending me to the garment booths.

She was a fluffy little monster, all large, black-tipped ears with red fur and a black streak, carefully trimmed paws—I was meticulous—and a mischievous gleam in her golden eyes. Trouble would’ve been a more fitting name than Socks, but I didn’t want people pointing me in that direction either.

“Socks,” I called out, trying to see if she’d scurried under one of the booths.

She was usually responsive to her name, and she kept close to me most times when we traveled outside of the commune.

However, when we’d entered the market, she’d scampered off like she’d found a bucket of jewelberries, which was a possibility in this place.

“Socks!” I shouted again.

“Three stalls down,” a woman called to me from the nearest booth. “They’ve got them in every color you could want.”

I scrubbed at my face. This would be the longest search ever.

Crowds were starting to gather over around the pavilions where the marriage market would take place, and if Socks had found her way into that mess, I was doomed.

She’d get trampled underfoot during all the marriage malarkey.

My tunic was glued to my chest at this point, and a swamp was forming under my tits.

Thankfully, the first stop I’d made at the market was at Laurel’s stand, to get my yearly potion to make me feel right in my body, softening some of my harder edges and giving me the curves I’d always longed for.

I accidentally bumped into someone again, which tended to happen with my size.

Broad-shouldered and built like a wrecking ball, I’d been misconstrued as a fighter from an early age.

I was most definitely not. This was a farmer’s build, strengthened from years out in the fields near the commune where I lived.

And Socks had been my faithful companion for the last five years.

I wasn’t about to give up the search for her just because the market got a little crowded.

Another few people jostled by as they shoved their way in the direction of the pavilions, where a lot of the marriage market shenanigans took place.

Okay, a lot crowded.

Maybe she’d tried to evade the crowds too and had gone to the outskirts.

I shuffled past a few more vendors and made a sharp right, onto the path out to the fringes where the cabins were stationed by the water.

Socks did like trees. She climbed them most days, in between naps and once in a long while helping me harvest our jewelberries.

Maybe she was aiming for the ones around the cabins.

This was my reprieve every year, my break before the harvesting season kicked up in full, and of course, I’d already lost my pagwai.

The stress made this trip feel less vacation-ish and more like I’d made a huge mistake in coming here.

I’d booked a spot at the campsites, but who knew if I’d even get to use it if I couldn’t find Socks.

She wasn’t defenseless, but this was a lot of chaos in a packed and people-y place.

I didn’t do well with people-y.

Strands of my hair itched, plastered to my forehead from the general heat and the summer sun beating down with a relentless steadiness.

A flash of red farther down caught my attention. Something leapt behind a vendor stall selling ornate rugs, handwoven with a myriad of colors and patterns. Was it Socks? Was it a rogue rug? I quickened my pace, heading in that direction at once.

My aunt would be laughing her ass off at me right now. She’d been trying to give me the extra nudge to go to the marriage market this year. Said finding someone would be good for me. Little did she know I’d be spending the whole time finding my pagwai.

Two older women stood behind the booth, calling about thread quality or some shit. Maybe mandisilk? I had no idea. That was less my terrain, as I mostly farmed berries of twenty different varieties.

“Hey, did you see a pagwai go back there?” I asked as I jogged up to their stall.

One of the women glanced behind her, and her brows drew together. “There’s a footprint or two. Leading that way.” She pointed behind her stand to the next row over.

My heart thumped a little faster. Maybe my Socks hunt would finally be over.

“Thanks,” I said, tossing my hand up in a wave before jogging around their stand to loop over to the next row. Red fur flashed through the middle aisle, low to the ground, with very Socks-like mischief.

“Gotcha,” I said out loud, my calves tensing as I prepared to burst forward.

“No,” a voice sounded behind me. “I’ve got you.”

Before I could whirl around, something pricked my neck with a slight sting.

My limbs grew heavy, and I wobbled in place before my eyes closed.

Lights out.