Chapter 1 #2
So the draper’s Gift is why her fabrics are so vibrant. I can’t help but be impressed, even though she’s probably a Minor—the lowest class of magic. “How much for four yards?” I ask. “With the ribbon.”
“Ten silver marks.”
Evie’s hand falls from the fabric. “I’ll find something else, Cyn.” She flashes me a smile, and if I weren’t her sister, she’d have me fooled.
“How much without the ribbon?” I ask.
The draper’s lips purse. There’s a fullness in her cheeks that few in our village have. “Nine silver.”
I gave Evie six when we left home. It would be enough for a swath of cotton. Maybe taffeta. But I can tell from the slight crinkle of her eyes that she yearns to twirl in that brocade. “Evie, I’ll be back in half an hour. Don’t buy anything and do not leave the shop.”
Her brows pinch. “Where are you going?”
“To the docks. Swear you’ll be here when I’m done.”
The shopkeeper doesn’t look pleased about entertaining my sister, especially since I told her not to spend my coins. “I swear it,” Evie says. She smiles nervously at the shopkeeper.
Satisfied, I leave and retrace our steps through the market to the front gate. It’s hard not to stop and gawk, but Evie is too naive to be left alone in the capital for long. I hurry down the hill to the docks.
The Bay of Teeth is named for the jagged rocks at its mouth that make it difficult for ships to reach the ocean. The scent of brine and the shrill call of seagulls carry along its shoreline. Moored cogs rock in the rough waves as swearing crews repair sails or transport cargo onto the docks.
It’s not the ships I’m after, but the warehouses lining the road. At the fifth warehouse, I pause at the doorway flanked by a hooded goblin woman and a human man with an eyepatch. The goblin watches me with her unblinking jet-black eyes as the man holds out his hand.
Greedy bastard. I drop a copper mark into his palm. He has the audacity to grunt and shake his head.
“You’re really extorting a woman with shoes so worn the sole is splitting?
” I tip my foot up for emphasis. “My children dine with the livestock. It must anguish my deceased husband that they starve so, Elowyn rest his soul. Perhaps I should recite a prayer to our goddess in the hope she’ll forgive me for my failure as a mother.
O mighty, sagacious Elowyn, supreme mother of our pantheon, please—”
“Enough!” the goblin snaps. “Get inside!”
The thugs slump in relief as I enter the warehouse.
I smirk, then pause as my eyes adjust to the dimness.
Sunlight spills in thin rays from missing roof tiles, and wooden stalls crammed together form narrow alleys.
It’s a different feeling from the Mythos market.
Tense. Quiet. Nefarious. A shiver ices my spine.
Goblins tend the first three stalls, so I pass them.
I have a rule never to sell to goblins after what happened the first time I was here.
Further down, an orc’s stall has no customers, but a cloaked man lingers beside it with his hood drawn.
I avoid him as I approach the orc’s stall.
Anyone who needs to hide their face is trouble.
I open my rucksack and show the orc a delicate copper cuff. It’s engraved with winding vines and set with an amethyst the size of a fish eye. “Ten silver marks.”
The orc’s brows furrow as he inspects it.
Amethyst isn’t worth much. But anyone who takes one look at my dirt-encrusted nails and my patched clothes would think a peasant like me can’t afford even the dullest of gemstones.
They’d assume I stole it. Yet does stealing from the dead really count as thievery?
Seconds pass that feel like minutes. He regards me with suspicion, but since we’re surrounded by illicit goods, he doesn’t ask where I got it. “Eight,” he barters.
“Nine.”
“Eight.”
“Fine.” I hand him the cuff and scoop up the marks he offers me. Arguing would be a waste of time. Evie’s alone, and if we linger much longer, we’ll be walking home after sundown. In Avedor, that’s asking for trouble.
“Excuse me,” the cloaked man says. “That cuff is from the seventh era. Am I mistaken?”
I’m taken aback by his tall stature, the sharp cut of his jawline, and the shadow of stubble along his medium-brown skin.
Dark, loose curls brush against his brows, soft and shining even in the dim light.
His piercing hazel eyes are the color of the forests back home, a warm brown like the boughs I’d climb as a child, emerald-green like the rustling summer leaves. They widen at the sight of me.
I force a laugh. “The era of the seventh king? Where would I have gotten a thing like that?”
“You. . .” He looks me over as if I’m a spectre, then clears his throat. “You stole it from a tomb.”
The orc stallkeeper raises a brow.
Not good. This may be a black market, but few would purchase loot from a tomb. Raiding is sacrilege, an offense to our god of Death. And I don’t have any idea how old the cuff is, only that jewelry always has value.
I turn on my heel, but a strong hand grasps my elbow.
“Wait,” the cloaked man says. His fingers drift along my forearm, and a shiver ripples through me in their wake. “I’ve been looking for someone like you.” He watches me with an astute glint that flips my stomach.
I pull away from him, but not before I notice a silver ring embedded with a bone shard on his index finger and the gold band on his third. Whoever he is, he has more wealth on his fingers than I’ll earn in a lifetime.
My instincts scream to run. What could he possibly want with a tomb raider? Nothing good, I’d bet.
“You’re mistaken,” I reply. Then I weave into the crowd, praying that he won’t follow me. I need to get out of this warehouse before anyone else can ask me another damning question.
There’s a reason I don’t tell my family what I’ve been up to.
When I enter the drapery, a man is speaking with the shopkeeper. Their voices are hushed, and she looks distraught. Evie watches them, clutching the brocade as if it’s a shield. “What’s going on?” I ask her.
“I don’t know,” she replies. “Maybe he brought her bad news?”
Their conversation finishes, and the man turns.
My jaw almost drops. He’s devastatingly handsome, and I have to glance at his human ears to make sure he’s not fae.
A goatee accents his square jaw, and half of his black hair is swept up in a bun.
The rest falls to his shoulders in soft waves.
His narrowed eyes have monolids, and his irises are a bright, penetrating teal like the dragonflies that lick the lake behind our village.
Dark pants hug cords of rugged muscle, and his leather jerkin stops at his shoulders, revealing biceps that rival blacksmiths’. And I’ve seen some beautiful blacksmiths in Mythos.
Two handsome men in one day? I should really venture to Mythos more often. Too bad one was in the city’s seediest market.
My heart skips a beat when he winks at us. This man’s rakish charm is a siren’s song for women to make very bad decisions with him.
“Here to do some shopping?” he asks as he strides toward the door.
Evie blinks herself out of her own awed stupor and smiles at him. “Yes, we won’t be in Mythos for long.”
“Your smile. . .” he stops before Evie and bends to one knee. “No fabric, nor the stars in the heavens, could compare to your beauty.” He reaches for her hand, and she relents, blushing as he kisses it.
The draper stiffens, her eyes widening. Her mouth opens to speak, but no sound comes out.
My hackles rise. This man puts her on edge, and all attraction I feel is doused by suspicion. The glimmer in his gaze is overly charming. He’s too tall, too broad-shouldered to be mesmerized by an impecunious village girl with a tunic no more flattering than a burlap sack.
He eyes me and returns Evie’s hand to her side. “Until we meet again.” With another wink, he leaves.
I approach the draper and set the eight silver marks on the counter. “We’ll take four yards of the brocade and the ribbon. My sister has the rest.”
The draper takes them with a faraway stare, then shakes her head just a second too long. “Let me fetch my tools.” Her shoulders are tense as she walks into the back room. Something’s wrong.
“He was dreamy,” Evie sighs.