THREE #2
It seems a trifle extravagant to use magic to make coffee, but the shop is brimming with people willing to pay. Someone chooses a brew infused with clarity. Another, a drink that claims it calms the nerves.
I shake my head. “This is a waste of money.”
Kieren raises a brow. “You sure you don’t need something to calm your nerves?”
Leave it to Kieren to know me well enough to spot that something is off today.
“I’m just anxious.” It’s a bit of an understatement. “Why did I have the bad luck of coming of age during the Quincentennial?”
“It must be your destiny,” he teases, but his smile slips when I don’t grin back. “Hey, don’t worry. The chances you fall on your face in front of every noble in Antares are nearly zero.”
“Nearly?” I widen my eyes, suddenly queasy. “I wasn’t worried about falling.”
Until now.
My stomach rumbles from that fresh hit to my nerves. “Let’s go. I’d rather spend my money on food. Regular food. Please.”
“Fine.” He holds up his hand in surrender. “We’ll find food and try to fill that bottomless pit you call a stomach.”
As soon as we step out the door, my panic settles to a low hum.
“Where are we going?” I ask as Kieren leads me away from the High Street.
“You’ll see.”
I poke him in the ribs. “I better see food.”
He starts to walk faster. My best friend is well-versed in what happens when I don’t get fed quickly enough.
I glance over to offer a quick smile, but he’s too focused on steering us through the crowd.
His jaw is tight, his eyebrows drawn together as he sweeps an arm out to keep someone from bumping into me.
A beautiful woman in a high-necked dress offers him an interested look, but he doesn’t seem to notice, and her face falls a little as she passes.
She’s not the first, but Kieren has only ever had eyes for Isidore.
He guides us deeper into the heart of Wintour, where the buildings start to shrink. The storefronts and businesses sit closer together on streets half the width of the High Street. There are more people here and even more Marius guards.
Kieren hurries us along, unconcerned as we walk toward a glass-domed market that looks like it takes up several city blocks.
“What is that?”
“I’m pretty sure you’ll think it’s heaven,” he says, stepping aside to give a young mother room to pass with her pram.
I’m not sure my idea of heaven is plastered with posters and bulletins or guarded by men with swords. But at least it’s busy here.
A wooden sign hangs over the entrance with the words The Grand Arcade painted in sweeping letters.
Next to it, the Civicus, a large, ever-updating notice board, delivers news.
It’s twice the size of the one in Damalis, because it displays stories from all over Antares as well as job postings and announcements.
A call for dock workers in Isoldoro posts as we pass, sandwiched between a story about a murder on the western shore and an advertisement for a dress shop we passed only an hour ago.
Kieren pauses to read the job listing, nonplussed by the gruesome illustration of the crime next to it that I can’t bear to look at.
More proof that tonight’s celebration of peace is overlooking a few things.
I finally pull him away before he gets any wild ideas about running away to be a sailor, something he’s always fantasized about thanks to an old pirate novel he was given years ago.
The Arcade has none of the leisurely energy of the High Street and its aristocratic shoppers.
People are here to do business. While permanent storefronts make up the Arcade’s outer perimeter, the center is crammed with tables of goods, selling everything from Ardermarian spices to bolts of silk and wool to trinkets for children.
The briny scent of the ocean wafts from a stall where a fishmonger hacks the heads off still-flailing tuna.
Sprinkled throughout the chaos are makeshift stalls hawking every type of food imaginable.
It’s overwhelming enough that for a moment, I forget about tonight’s ceremony.
Customers bicker and barter with vendors, haggling over the fairness of prices. Regardless of whether they’re wearing the sort of fine clothes we saw in shop windows earlier or simple pants and tunics made from homespun fabrics, everyone is trying to get the best deal for themselves.
But I’m here for the food.
We step up to the first food stall we see and study the various options.
We both settle on hand pies filled with tender chunks of roast chicken and potatoes.
The crusts are so flaky, and I want another immediately, but with our meager coffers and plenty to eat waiting at the palace, it seems like too much of a waste.
That doesn’t keep me from drooling over the noodles in broth and grilled lamb skewers in the next two stalls.
“Go ahead.” Kieren motions to the skewers, and I give in and purchase one, nibbling on it as we continue to walk. At least everything here is gloriously, temptingly cheap.
I finish the last bit of tender meat and drop the skewer into a nearby rubbish bin. “When I die, bury me here.”
Kieren laughs, although he knows I’m not joking. “Noted.”
He digs into his coat pocket and frowns, withdrawing his astrolabe.
I know that look. The giddy, floating sensation that’s been growing in me for the last hour starts to leak away.
“Ignore it.” I’m not ready for this adventure to end.
“It’s your brother. I can’t.” He spins the summoning dial to reset it, but it instantly rotates back to its previous position. Kieren sighs. “And apparently, whatever he needs is urgent.”
My stomach twists. “It’s probably nothing.”
“We should take the postern on the next street back,” Kieren says, ignoring me.
I grimace. I don’t want to return and sit in the palace, watching the clock tick closer to whatever mistake I’ll make tonight—this time in front of the entire court. “Why don’t you do that, and I’ll walk?”
“Arden, I can’t just leave you here.”
“Why not?” I press. “I’m twenty-five … which is a year older than you. Plus, like you said—there are guards everywhere.”
Not that I find them comforting. The sense of being watched snakes down my spine even now.
But Kieren shakes his head. “It’s your first time in the city.”
“I know the way.” I lower my voice. “Just walk until I hit the palace.” Since the palace is visible from nearly every street in the city, I can’t get lost.
Kieren holds my gaze, then lets out a long sigh. Bending over, he fiddles with something in his boot. When he straightens again, he’s holding his sheathed dagger and its leather strap.
“I don’t need that,” I protest when he tries to pass it to me. Why does everyone keep trying to give me knives?
“Seven hells, you don’t.” He forces it into my hand. “And be back in time to get dressed for the feast or your brother will hand me my ass.”
I try not to grin and fail.
He doesn’t return the smile. “Seriously, promise me.”
“I swear. I won’t get lost. Or be late. Or do anything stupid.” I draw an X over my heart. “How would I live without you?”
“Be late tonight and you’ll find out, because your brother will murder me.” He takes a deep breath but doesn’t turn to leave.
I roll my eyes. “Technically, I could order you to leave without me.”
He gives me a look that says one thing: try. But he almost grins as he shakes his head. “Already abusing your position.” He backs away before adding, “My lady.”
He’s around the corner before I can yell at him.
I shove the dagger into my coat pocket with my last silver crowns, cursing him quietly when I find at least twice as many as I had when we entered. Enough money to take a starsforsaken postern. Kieren will be getting those dumped on his head as soon as he’s asleep tonight.
I slip back into the bustle of the Arcade and wander among the tables and noise for a few minutes, trying to work up the will to climb the steep streets back to the palace.
Instead, I find myself heading out the opposite exit and onto a muddy, roughly cobbled road. There are no guards stationed on this side of the Arcade, as if no one in this part of the city has to worry about thieves or safety.
Or maybe no one here cares.
The sound of striking steel rings through the smoke-filled air.
Here, the closely clustered homes and businesses rely on wood fire rather than expensive heating stones.
A small gang of children runs in front of me, almost colliding with a man dragging a cart behind him.
The smallest pauses to squeak an apology, showing off a gap-toothed smile that makes me grin back.
Everywhere I look is a curious mix of dirty and clean.
A house with flowers planted in a window box next to a grimy pub with a smoke-stained chimney.
I walk carefully to avoid holes and loose stones in the street, but something in me relaxes.
It’s simpler here, more like our village in Damalis, only busier. No shops selling the latest magical innovations, no gilded signs and glass storefronts, no expensive coffee or diamond jewelry. I’ve found the backbone of the city.