CHAPTER 18
These aren’t even the right color. They look like they’re sick. What if they poison our food instead of preserving it?” Clover sniffed at the big bright green fungus growing from the clay trays.
“Grums don’t get sick. They’re mushrooms,” the vendor countered. “If you can’t afford them, stop wasting my time!”
“Forty dens for six and no more.”
“Sixty!”
“Forty-five!”
“I have children to feed.”
“Feed them these mushrooms then!”
“They’re not edible!”
Next to me, Reynald in his work clothes and lancer’s coif quietly heaved a sigh.
I had finally made it to the Dog Market.
The Magnars had returned victorious but banged up.
Gort had a black eye, Shana had taken a shallow gash to the side, and both Will and Lute came back with cuts and bruises.
Filderon had had bodyguards who were in on his scheme, and when the Magnars confronted him, all hell broke loose.
Apparently, he was also meticulous about following client instructions, because he’d written the whole Falcon Point plan down.
Will found it when they searched the house and pinned it to Filderon’s corpse with the broker’s own knife.
Shana had taken yesterday to rest, but this morning she was back in the kitchen, cheerfully doing scary things like chopping the head off a big fish with one swing of her cleaver.
She needed groceries, I needed more soap supplies, and so to the market Clover, Reynald, and I went.
Reynald’s menace meter was all the way up, and people gave us plenty of room.
The Dog Market was everything I’d hoped and more.
It occupied several city blocks bordered by a wall, and despite the morning hour, it was already crowded.
We had gone to get Shana’s groceries first, then to order my soap stuff, and were on our way down the Center Row, toward the gate, when Clover spied the grums. Big, fat, and green, they resembled foot-tall, weird mushrooms growing in pots, and they were highly prized because they somehow kept food from spoiling.
According to Clover, we didn’t have any and it was vital that we get some, so she’d launched her haggling barrage.
I didn’t mind the delay. I was having an awesome time.
Most merchants self-segregated by the type of their merchandise, selling their wares in clearly labeled rows.
There was a Grocery Row, a Forge Row, and a Fabric Row, and so on.
Between the defined rows lay the no-man’s land, where merchants whose goods didn’t fit a specific category hawked their wares.
The Center Row, where we were now, was exactly that kind of place, and I was doing my best not to gawk.
It was weirdness. So much wonderful weirdness.
Magic amulets, odd trinkets, a stall that sold colorful powders that might have been dyes or spices, jewelry, glass sun catchers, bizarre-looking knives .
. . It was like a dozen books from an epic fantasy list had gotten together with some dungeon master manuals, had a drunken party, and thrown up on a flea market.
Across from us, a vendor was selling little beasts that looked like tiny Pomeranians crossed with miniature foxes.
To the left, another stall offered hair ornaments, delicate like lace, each beautiful blossom woven from silver wire and studded with tiny gems. So pretty .
. . I looked at them for a while, until I finally saw the prices. Ouch.
Past the jewelry cart, a toy-peddler was putting on a show at his stall.
He held up two wooden knights with very realistic looking swords and pretended to have them clash as a gaggle of kids watched.
The knight in royal purple with a black cloak and a steel crown on his helm was definitely King Sauven, and his counterpart wore lavender and green, which made him Ralinbor of the Wilds.
When it came to the Savarics, good and bad were rather arbitrary. Both half brothers had been terrible people, but one of them sat on the throne and the other was dead. History was written by the winners.
I drifted closer to watch.
This year marked the twenty-fifth anniversary of that battle.
Sauven hated any reminder of it, but twenty-five was a number of significance in Rellas.
Despite all the “mad king” vibes Sauven was putting out, he wasn’t irrational all the time.
He had episodes of paranoia and violent outbursts, but between them, he was calculating and shrewd.
As a seasoned political animal, Sauven would make the most of this anniversary.
There would be celebrations and festivals . . .
The vendor swung Ralinbor’s wooden sword at Sauven’s chest. Sauven parried. The vendor’s helper, a lanky teenager who was probably his son, hopped out from behind the stall holding a stuffed toy monster with wide wings.
The monster swooped above the two knights. A dursan, one of Ralinbor’s pet abominations, the ones he used to command in battle.
The kids gasped.
Sauven ducked and swung his sword at Ralinbor’s neck, and the knight’s head went flying. The children squeed. Yay joyful beheading.
“Horrid little things, aren’t they?” a male voice said by my side.
I turned. The man from the Garden stood next to me. He wore a plain brown cloak and a lancer’s coif that hid his face, but the eyes were unmistakable. A rich, golden hazel, slightly wild.
All my alarms screeched.
I kept my voice calm. “Do you mean the toys?”
“Those, too.”
I stood facing the side of the toy stall.
The jewelry stall was behind me and slightly to my right and the grum stall was even farther.
The man from the Garden had come up between the toy and jewelry stalls, from the other side of the row, and positioned himself to my right, so the jewelry stall blocked him from Reynald’s view. Everything about this was deliberate.
He tilted his head, looking me over. “We meet again, my lady. You’re moving up in the world. From a barefoot beggar to someone who can afford embroidery. Quite a leap.”
He’d seen me in my corpse cloak. He’d probably watched me come into the Garden and then deliberately waited for me to emerge from the baths, so he could talk to me. Why?
“You haven’t changed a bit,” I told him.
“Oh?”
“You were a lord in disguise then and you are a lord in disguise now.”
He chuckled softly. That voice was off the charts. I didn’t even know what to compare it to. Melted chocolate, warm velvet, amused wolf . . . All of the above?
A sound of a commotion made me look over my shoulder. At the grum stall, two men crowded Clover. The older one waved his arms around, irate. Reynald glanced at me. Our eyes met, and he moved into the space between Clover and the two men.
“Your nursemaid is otherwise occupied,” the man from the Garden said.
“Is that your doing?”
“Yes. I cherish privacy, and we have many interesting topics to cover. Why don’t we take a stroll, my lady? You didn’t answer any of my questions in the Garden. I’m still so curious. Come with me.”
Yeah, no. “Does that usually work for you? Do you just slide up to a woman and tell her ‘Come with me,’ and she allows herself to be meekly led away from her bodyguards?”
“Sometimes.”
“I’m going to stay right here. If you would like to say something to me, now is your chance.”
“You’re getting more interesting by the moment,” he muttered. “Why are you here?”
“Why are any of us here?” He wasn’t giving me much to work with. Maybe if I frustrated him enough, he’d slip up. “To pursue happiness and discover the meaning of our lives.”
He laughed softly.
“Or are you asking why I am at the market? To buy supplies and look at interesting things. Why are you at the market?”
Tell me something.
He moved to the side so fast, he almost glided.
Reynald bore down on him from behind the jewelry stall. He’d circled from the other side. Somehow the man from the Garden had sensed him and moved out of the way.
The two men stared at each other, both with their faces covered and their hands not too far from their swords. I had landed in the middle of a medieval spy thriller.
The man from the Garden narrowed his eyes. “Do I know you?”
Reynald’s voice was casual and even. “Draw your sword and let’s find out.”
“Tempting, but I have places to be. Another time, perhaps.” He leaned to the side, meeting my eyes. “Have no fear. I’ll find you again.”
“Not if you value your life,” Reynald said.
“If you want to see something interesting, my lady, you should head north, to the pavilions. Trust me, it will be worth a look.”
The man backed away and took off, vanishing into the market.
Reynald and I turned left at the same time and started north.
Clover caught up with us. “I bought six grums . . .” She saw my face and fell silent.
We headed deeper into the market along the Center Row.
“Who is he?” Reynald asked quietly.
“No idea. We met in the Garden.”
Reynald’s eyebrows came together.
“Not that kind of meeting,” I told him. “I was watching Hreban make an entrance, and he stopped by and said a few words.”
“What did you talk about?”
“He called Hreban a gilded toad. The attendants treated him with deference. He is a lord of some sort.”
“I know him from somewhere,” Reynald said. “I know the eyes and the voice. I just can’t place them.”
A faint yell came from ahead. It sounded like a woman who’d choked off a scream.
The crowd was growing thicker.
A woman about my age hurried past us, going in the opposite direction, wide-eyed, her face pale. Terrified.
Yep, that’s exactly the kind of “interesting” I was expecting him to point out.
Another woman, an older one this time, in a good quality dress, with a maid and two bodyguards, barreled up the street. Reynald not so subtly put himself between us and them. The small group rushed past us.
Ahead, the Center Row widened, flowing around three large pavilions, set in a column. A crowd had gathered in front of the first one, squeezing into a knot of tightly packed bodies.
I had to see what it was.