Chapter 2
It had been a little more than seven days since my brother returned.
At night, we would walk outside while he told me about all sorts of adventures he had lived through.
He said he swam in the sea hidden among the rocks, and that with the villagers he drank the worst mead he had ever tasted.
But the truth was that something had truly changed.
Although always free-spirited and smiling, my brother now seemed even happier.
His eyes shone, and the smile never left his face.
He never told me exactly what had happened, but in his dark eyes danced a different kind of fire.
I was pulled out of my thoughts, literally pulled, by Welme, who tugged my hair a little too hard.
“Ouch,” I said, my hand flying to my head.
“I beg your pardon, my lady,” she said softly, but she continued braiding. My head rested in her lap as she wove small braids near my ears. I felt her fingers dance across my scalp as she braided tiny red flowers into my hair.
“What do you think about going to the port again today?”
she asked. “The day before yesterday, while you were buying that dress, I spoke to a fisherman. He believes they’ll return with shells today… says there was a storm at sea.”
I looked up at her. Her eyes flickered, and a faint smile appeared on her face.
Just like me, Welme couldn’t resist the thought that Nuso shells might soon be in our hands.
She only nodded and gently nudged my back for me to stand.
“Then we must hurry, Princess. The sun has already begun to dance on the horizon.”
I quickly slipped on my old shoes, bought long ago at one of the markets, while she found our two hooked knives for opening shells. “Here you go, my lady,” she said, handing me my red one while tucking hers into her pocket.
“We’ll be faster through the passage,” I said, nodding toward the bookshelf.
Welme stood in front of the shelf and pulled while I pushed. The old wood creaked, and after one heavy step, wind and the scent of damp, ancient stone surrounded us. We slipped through the passage and, with even more effort, pushed the bookshelf back into place.
With lowered heads, we moved through the walls, silently slipping between them.
We passed through a corridor beneath the castle entrance and stopped under a wooden hatch. Welme pushed it open with her hand and lifted herself to look around. When she was satisfied, she climbed out first and shook out her dress. I heard voices in the distance, people walking and talking.
At last, the rope swung in front of me, nearly hitting my face.
I grabbed it tightly and began to climb while she pulled from above.
When daylight washed over me and I shook dust and cobwebs from my hair, we closed the hatch and covered it with planks.
From a hollow in the wall, we took peasant-looking clothes and nearly skipped all the way to the port.
The port was louder than usual for two reasons. The first was that the tournament was drawing closer, and new traveling merchants and visitors had already begun to arrive early. The second reason was the one that made my heart dance in my chest and stretched a smile across my face.
Shell season had officially begun.
People stood in lines, greedily pushing just to get their hands on a few pieces.
Along the promenade, with their legs dangling above the calm morning sea, those who had already managed to buy some ate slowly and quietly.
The scent of the sea and fresh shells made us practically run across the port in search of a smaller crowd.
When we finally found a less crowded stall, the one belonging to “Grumpy Benamin,” as we called him, we joined the rather short line.
Benamin, with his wrinkled face and trembling hands, tossed shells into cloth bags and shoved them toward customers.
Then he would stretch out his old, cracked palm and wait for the silver coins to heat it.
He never said thank you, never smiled, only waved a hand and looked to whoever was next in line.
His behavior often made people wait longer elsewhere rather than let him ruin their day.
Luckily for Welme and me, we were more than a match for old Benamin.
When I saw there was only one woman ahead of us, I turned to Welme and raised my eyebrows with a grin while she impatiently but excitedly rose onto her toes to peer into the crowd. With a snorting sound, the woman ahead of us left.
“Hello, Cranky,” I said.
He only lifted his mustache.
“I know you’re happy to see us,” Welme added, “but we’re even happier to see your pretty face.”
“Ten pieces, please,” I said, smiling in a way I knew annoyed him.
The shells clinked against one another as he dropped them into the bag, his cold stare no match for my excitement. First, he extended his empty hand while holding the bag close to himself. I raised an eyebrow and extended mine.
He raised his eyebrow back.
Keeping his right hand outstretched, I placed several copper coins into his left, along with one hidden gold coin.
Benamin hadn’t had an easy life, and no matter how unpleasant a vendor he was, he wasn’t a bad man.
Just an unhappy one.
His eyes narrowed slightly, his lips turning into a thin white line. Slowly, still holding out his open palm, he moved the bag toward my free hand.
If Welme had blinked, she would’ve missed how fast we swapped coins for the bag.
He only grunted, which was our cue to leave.
We went straight to the edge of the wall and sat down.
Beneath us, the sea whispered softly, shimmering in its emerald-blue hue, while the cries of seagulls echoed overhead.
I noticed a few other people sitting nearby, but I paid them little attention.
Just like us, they were irrelevant now, united only by the desire for this delicacy.
At the same time, we pulled out our knives and a shell each, turning them the right way. We drove the hooked tip into the hidden muscle that connected the two halves, and the shells opened.
When I separated the meat and let it slide onto my tongue, I almost moaned. I couldn’t stop the small dance of my shoulders or my legs, which began to sway with happiness. Welme, too, had her nose buried in her half and didn’t say a word.
Just as I reached for another shell, a quiet “fuck this” rustled to my left.
I turned and saw a man sitting some fifteen feet away, struggling to open his shells.
He looked as if he belonged to a different world altogether. Dressed in a long coat with a hood pulled low, he hunched over the shell in his hands.
I opened mine without taking my eyes off him, lifted it to my lips, and chewed when he cursed again, slamming the shell against the wall beneath him. When it still didn’t open, another heavy curse fell from his mouth, and the shell flew into the sea.
I gently nudged Welme and tilted my head toward him. She leaned forward and smiled quietly. ?Give me one moment, please,” I said without thinking and stood up.
Welme looked at me strangely but could not protest.
I approached him slowly and realized he was younger than I’d first thought. A small bag of shells sat beside him as he stared out into the distance.
When I crouched about three feet away, he startled and looked at me.
My heart skipped, and what I wanted to say got stuck in my suddenly dry throat, for he was the most beautiful man I had ever seen in my rather short life.
Soft brown eyes were hidden beneath brown curls, and dry pink lips were pressed into an irritated line. His nose was straight, and a faint beard traced his jaw, like he hadn’t shaved for a day or two, perhaps too tired to bother.
Before he could speak, I did.
“You’re using the wrong knife.” He tilted his head. “Uh… I hope you understand me…” Awkwardly, I shifted and lowered myself onto one knee. “You need a knife like this,” I said, pulling out mine and showing him the blade. He frowned, then looked back into my eyes.
“Like this.” I took a shell from his bag and moved closer.
His scent- wheat, smoke, and forest almost made me forget what I was doing. I turned the shell the right way and slowly showed him where to cut. The small creature opened in my hands, and I smiled.
He didn’t say anything, but his eyes seemed to light up.
He turned slightly and took the shell from my hands.
The palms were nearly twice the size of mine, and when his fingers accidentally brushed against mine, a shiver ran from my fingertips all the way to my shoulders.
Goosebumps rose across my skin, and instinctively, I pulled my hands back, rubbing palm over my arm.
“So now what?” he asked.
His voice was rough and deep, yet carried a softness so rare in this cruel world.
I laughed. “Now you eat.”
He tipped the shell to his lips and clumsily pulled the meat into his mouth. I watched every movement as if something had taken hold of me. He closed his eyes, his hand flying to his mouth.
“This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” he mumbled, his accent heavy. From his olive-toned skin and the way he spoke, it was clear he came from the south, perhaps the Southern Isles, or Dorrada.
“Your turn,” I said, turning the knife handle toward him and offering it. My fingers lingered far down the grip, as if seeking those sparks again. I truly didn’t know what had come over me.
“What’s your name?” he asked as he awkwardly followed my instructions. Without thinking, I pressed my fingers over his and guided the blade properly. I licked my lips before answering. “Sol.”
“Just Sol?” he asked, tipping the shell to his lips again and closing his eyes in pleasure. I clicked my tongue when he opened them again. He looked at me with kind warmth that made me smile softly. “Well then, ‘just Sol,’ thank you for the help.” I smiled and sat beside him.
“You throw the shells back into the sea,” the words slipped from my lips.
“Hm?” He turned toward me, clearly not understanding what I meant.
Only then did I realize he was almost a head taller than me, even while sitting.
“The shells remain; you throw them back so the young ones can take them for themselves. That’s how we do it here…” My words drifted off as a strange wind passed through, carrying cherry blossom petals from the trees.