Chapter 23 Caspia #2
“No more than most other cities. Ozarth is known for their iron mines,” Andreas said.
“It’s heavily traded with other kingdoms. Lumber from Turah.
Spices and gold from Laine. Oil from Genesis.
Grains and livestock from Quentis. Most of the iron mined here is sent raw, but some of the finest blacksmiths in Calandra live in Ozarth.
They craft weapons and bring them here to sell. ”
“Ah.” I nodded.
“Would you like one?” Andreas asked, gesturing to a table covered with a plum velvet cloth and an assortment of swords and knives. “Take your pick.”
It was easy.
I chose a kukri to replace the one I’d lost in Genesis. The pommel was inlaid with a gleaming amber jewel that reminded me of Andreas’s eyes. The grip molded perfectly to my palm, and the silver cross guard was etched with swirls and lines that reminded me of waves.
With the weapon secured across my back, we kept winding our way through the streets, moving into the area of the market where the tables were crowded with fruits and vegetables.
Andreas stood head and shoulders above most. His height seemed to intimidate people in the market, and wherever we walked, they moved out of his way. Or maybe it was simply his commanding presence that sent them scurrying to clear a path.
His confidence was catching, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like the princess I’d been in Showe. The woman who held her head high.
We came to a congested area that smelled of flour and spices and yeast. When I spotted a baker’s cart, my stomach growled. The clam stew we’d eaten for our noontime meal was delicious, but I was hungry again.
“Can we buy a loaf of that bread?” I asked Andreas, pointing to the cart.
“Of course.” He dropped a kiss to the top of my hair.
The baker smiled as we approached, waving a hand to his offerings.
I opened my mouth, about to ask for a loaf with a leaf design in its crust, when a yelp came from Andreas’s side.
He dragged a boy with olive skin and straight black hair out from behind us, keeping hold of the child’s arm.
The boy, possibly around Graciella’s age of six summers, thrashed and pulled against Andreas’s grip.
“Stop,” Andreas barked.
The child obeyed, blowing a puff from his mouth to force the hair from his dark eyes. Then he glared up at his captor, his blue starbursts flashing. “Lemme go.”
Andreas arched an eyebrow as he dropped to a crouch in front of the boy. “Give me back my coin purse.”
“What coin purse?”
The corner of Andreas’s mouth twitched. “You’re good, little cutpurse. But not good enough.”
Andreas plucked his teal coin purse from where the boy had stuffed it in the back of his pants. Then he looked up to the baker. “Two loaves, please.”
The baker gave him a sideways glance but picked out two loaves, wrapping each in a thin cloth before handing them to me. “Two darrics.”
Andreas fished two small coins from his purse and handed them to the baker. Then, still holding the child’s arm, he took a loaf of bread from me. “One day, you will steal from a man who won’t be kind when you’re caught. Quit stealing before that day comes.”
The boy’s eyes bounced between Andreas and the loaf. Then he seemed to notice me watching. He met my gaze and shied away, like he was scared for the first time. With a quick swipe, he took the loaf from Andreas, who finally let him go.
The child scampered off, hugging the bread to his chest as he disappeared into the crowd.
Gone. Until I blinked and saw him again.
…
T he boy whips open the flap of a tent. The fabric is so dirty and faded it is impossible to discern its true color. Tan or cream or white. The sun is setting, the sky alight with pink and yellow and pale blue.
He glances over his shoulder, making sure he is alone before slipping into the tent.
Once the flap is closed, he sits on a pallet in the center of the cramped space.
His tattered blanket is a discarded Ozarth flag from the marketplace.
He plops down on his makeshift bed, taking a bite from his loaf, chewing as he sits alone in the near darkness.
He signs the Eight, circling a hand from his forehead to his heart and back.
When the tent opens again, a flash of light illuminates the dusty, cramped space. The boy takes a bite so large his cheeks bulge. Crumbs escape his lips. He chews with ferocity, trying to hide the bread behind his body, swallowing too soon. He chokes.
The larger child who burst into the tent rips the bread from the boy’s hand.
The tent flap opens again. Closes again.
And the boy, empty-handed, hugs his knees to his chest as tears fill his eyes.
…
“Caspia.” Andreas shook me by the shoulders.
I snapped out of the vision with a gasp.
“Are you all right?” His hands came to my cheeks, tilting my head back as his gaze roved my face. “What happened? You were staring off at nothing. I kept saying your name, but you were…”
Lost in a tent somewhere in this city, where a starving child needed another loaf of bread.
“We must find that boy,” I told Andreas, taking his hand and pulling him in the direction that the child had run.
“Caspia, what is—”
“Please.” I kept pulling, my grip on his hand tightening. “If we hurry, maybe we can catch him.”
Maybe we could keep him from starving.
“Caspia.” Andreas stopped, tugging on my hand until I faced him. “What the fuck is going on?”
“I saw him in a tent. Another child took his bread.”
Andreas stared down at me, his forehead furrowed. “What do you mean you saw him?”
“In a vision.” The only vision I’d had while awake. A vision of the future.
And if I could change that boy’s fate, maybe I could change Andreas’s, too.