Chapter Eighteen #3
In the midst of the packed crowd, the thin, fair-skinned woman sitting on the curb was easy to overlook.
The little boy and girl seated beside her shared her dark hair color.
They were holding little flowers made of carefully folded paper, waving hopefully to passersby.
No one was even looking at them. Vesper’s stomach twisted hard.
She recognized the hollowness in the woman’s cheeks, the desperation in the children’s eyes.
“Evans?” There was new concern in Maximilian’s voice. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
He looked between her and the woman, before something passed over his face. Then, without warning, he was marching over to the woman and children. He stopped in front of them, then knelt, so that his eyes were level with the woman’s.
“Excuse me,” he said cordially. “I’d like to inquire about these.” He pointed to the paper flowers.
The woman looked at the little boy, who appeared to be about ten.
“My mama doesn’t speak Victerran,” he explained. “But I can translate. My sister can too.”
“Very good.” Maximilian turned slightly to address him. “What exactly is your family selling here?”
“Paper flowers!” the little girl chimed in. She looked to be no older than seven. “Two gild each!”
“Two gild?” Maximilian’s brows rose. “That’s outrageous.”
The boy and girl both flinched. Their mother looked at Maximilian, her face lined with worry.
Maximilian picked up one of the paper flowers, a rose, and inspected it. “For this level of artistry and craftwork, you should be charging at least ten gild each.” He smiled. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll take ten for that price.”
The boy gasped, then turned to his mother and translated.
She nodded fervently, and Maximilian produced a hundred-gild bill.
He handed it to her, then whispered something in another language.
The woman nodded again, looking much calmer.
She gathered ten paper roses into a bouquet wrapped with a string, then handed it to him. Then she looked to Vesper and gestured.
“Vour ka viat onjeli.”
To her surprise, Maximilian turned slightly pink. He took the paper rose bouquet from the woman, then handed it to Vesper. “For you.”
“Uh…” Vesper looked from Maximilian to the bouquet. “Thank you.”
They bade the woman and children goodbye, then continued down the street. Vesper waited a few minutes before speaking.
“The language that you spoke to that woman in,” she said. “What was it?”
“There are several names for it,” said Maximilian. “But colloquially, it’s called Freetongue. It’s spoken in the Interlands.”
“How do you know it?”
“My mother taught me when I was little,” he said. “My father’s family is from here, but hers came from the west. They called themselves the Free People. I don’t remember most of what she taught me, but I’ve retained enough.”
Vesper was stunned. She’d always thought Maximilian descended from a long line of rich and powerful Victerrans.
The idea that some of his ancestors might have been like her own, simple people who’d come to East Victerra looking for work and possibly a better life, rocked her presumptions about the sorcerer to the core.
Several beats passed before she spoke again.
“What did you say to her in Freetongue?” she asked.
“I told her to use the money for her and her children,” he said.
“And what did she say back, when she pointed at me?”
“Ah…” For the second time, Maximilian’s cheeks reddened. “Nothing, really.”
Vesper stopped walking. “Tell me.”
Maximilian stopped walking too, then met her gaze. “She told me to give the bouquet to my pretty wife.”
“Oh.” Now Vesper felt her own cheeks warming.
“Miss Evans.” His voice was strained. “There’s actually something I’ve been meaning to speak to you about while I have you here. I—”
“Belver!”
Maximilian frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“It’s Belver. I can see him a few feet away,” she whispered. “He’s here, in the farmer’s market.”
Maximilian’s brows knitted. “Why on earth would he—?”
But Vesper was already moving past Maximilian and into the crowd.
She felt more than saw the sorcerer fall into step with her, staying on her heels as she kept her eyes glued to the black curly hair she recognized.
She wove through the customers, careful not to lose Mr. Belver in the crowd.
Within a few feet, she’d positioned herself so that she was almost to the immediate left of him.
From this angle, she could see that Mr. Belver’s face was red, his eyes harder than she’d ever seen them.
“He looks like he’s on a mission,” Maximilian whispered, keeping step with her.
Vesper nodded. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something didn’t feel quite right.
Belver was walking quickly, and kept glancing over his shoulder.
Vesper cringed, afraid he would spot them, but he only looked back, then accelerated to a jog.
Something clicked in her mind, and the hairs on the back of Vesper’s neck stood on end.
“Belver’s not walking toward something,” she said, “he’s running away from—”
The rest of her words were lost in the sharp crack of a gunshot.