Rio Celeste #2
He’d never been to Rio Celeste, but he had to say .
. . it was quite a quaint, removed town.
Aside from the main market bustling with fragrant fruits, fried foods, and the laughter of children playing, the houses were spread around the countryside.
Colorful pastel homes dotted the hills, many with doors open, no doubt their owners taking a stroll through the market.
If it wasn’t for the pressure on his shoulders to find the loyalists, he might have even let his guard down.
But a few imperial sailors walked by, their uniforms of dark purple and gold stark against the brilliant greens and blues of the landscape.
They were laughing as they drank some mavi, a fermented drink made from the bark of the mavi tree, but Antonio didn’t want to know how quickly they could become a threat.
Hand on the hilt of his sword, he stepped around them and entered the inn at the edge of the marketplace.
The stone structure of the two-story building kept the space relatively cool, and large windows circulated air across the open space—and allowed Antonio to hear idle chatter outside.
He forced his shoulders to relax and put a smile on his face as he approached the innkeeper at the front desk.
Maybe being mistaken for an imperial sailor could work in his favor. “Good morning, senor,” he said, hoping that by altering his accent he could sound like a foreigner. “I’m looking for a friend of mine.”
The innkeeper glanced up from his notes, his dark eyes peering over his spectacles. “I don’t care for whatever trouble you sailors are up to now,” he said with a huff. “You tell me he’s your friend, but he could be someone who wronged you for all I know.”
“That’s not—”
The innkeeper shook his head. “Disturbing the natural order of things here, that’s what you’re all up to.
Two days ago a group of you all went to the tailor—and I don’t want to know any of it.
What could you be doing on those ships? Putting on a play to pass the time?
” He shook his head again and grumbled, waving Antonio away with a gnarled hand.
“Go find another place to stay,” he said with a huff.
“I’m still cleaning up from the mess your group made. ”
Antonio would get nowhere with the man. “Gracias,” he said.
He exited the inn. Crossing around the edge of the market, sticking to the shadows, he found the tailor shop and ducked inside.
Bolts of fabric lined the wall, but there were many bare spots.
Trade was still plentiful with the Empire, even though Monte Rico had seceded and gained independence ten years ago, but prices went up on imports every few years.
The law was such that taxes were paid twice, and some goods were hard to sell at a reasonable price.
Now, it appeared the tailor had sold out of almost everything.
Either he couldn’t afford to have much in stock, or as the innkeeper had said, a group of men had bought out his store for . . . costumes?
A figure rushed toward him, and Antonio flinched, his hand gripping his sword hilt.
“?Dígame, joven!” the tailor greeted cheerfully, a gleam in his eye. “How can I help you?”
Antonio released his grip, forcing himself to unclench his jaw.
The man was not a threat, just a tailor, and one that might charge a steep price, the way he studied Antonio like someone he could rob of great wealth.
Not that Antonio’s appearance showed anything, what with his dark cloak.
But those sailors who had come through must have paid handsomely, for the tailor to expect the same from him now.
“Antonio?” a voice called from behind the tailor.
Lorelle stood at the far end of the shop, examining a dress in the back.
“Would this be all right?” Her fingers moved over the edge of the cotton fabric.
A blue dress with green ivy embroidered along the hem.
Reminiscent of the other dresses worn around the village.
The tailor let out a frustrated sigh. “That came from the Empire,” he said, nose crinkling. “Just like the imperial merchants to think that I would be able to sell a long-sleeved dress in this heat. It’s too much even in the winter months!”
“I’ll take it.” Antonio shot the man a glare, noticing how Lorelle pinked at his words. “And I’ll be getting something for myself, too.”
The tailor, either surprised by Antonio’s brusque tone or just relieved to be rid of the long-sleeved clothing, rang them up quickly. Lorelle slipped a little triangle of fabric onto the counter, and with a sigh, Antonio passed it to the tailor.
“This too,” he said. “For the dog.” He nodded at Peluche in Lorelle’s arms.
The tailor fixed Peluche with a curious look. “Strange dog,” he said. “Take the scrap, on me. He’s a cute one, for coming out a bit different.”
Antonio’s chest constricted. The man’s praise of the pup, with his missing paw, was such a stark contrast to how people spoke with Antonio when they realized he was missing a leg.
He took his chance to ask what he needed. “Have you seen anything weird come through here?” he asked.
“Aside from your perrito?” The tailor shrugged. “Just some sailors buying enough fabric to carry me through the next few months.”
“Why did they buy so much fabric?”
“They were picking up an order placed last month. Seems like they’re traveling to Elevsk soon enough.” Antonio shifted, his knee creaking loudly, and the tailor narrowed his eyes. “Why do you want to know?”
Antonio swallowed a groan of frustration. Exporting fabric wasn’t a threat to the kingdom, and digging further was certainly not worth the tailor’s scrutiny. “Just curious,” he said. “Good day, senor.”
He took the package and left the shop.
Now in the marketplace, he wanted nothing more than to push through and make it out of town. The voices of the people all around him felt like jeers and shouts. He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head to focus, but it didn’t help.
“Antonio?” Lorelle’s quiet voice cut through the noise. “Are you all right?” Her sea-green eyes shone with concern. He took a deep breath, let it out through clenched teeth.
“Just fine,” he answered.
She pursed her lips like she didn’t believe him. “Here, can you hold Peluche?”
He took the wriggling pup into his arms, while she pushed through the throng of the market to a nearby vendor. After a few moments, he followed her, glancing about for any suspicious sailors, and found her bartering with the vendor for carambola, or starfruit.
“One coin for two,” she said, raising the silver piece. The vendor begrudgingly gave her the two carambolas, and she went to another vendor, where she picked up a packet of red spice.
She held it out to him. It smelled sweet and slightly spicy.
“Have you tried this before?” she asked.
He shook his head.
Her grin widened. “You’re in for a treat,” she said, then led them to the edge of town, where she sat in a shaded area.
Antonio set Peluche down next to her and retrieved his red uniform jacket from the foliage before sitting across from her.
She handed him a starfruit and directed him to cut it into slices.
While he did that, she pulled out a small beef empanada and started breaking off pieces for Peluche.
He laid out the starfruit pieces on a handkerchief, glad that Peluche was too occupied to be interested in the fruit.
He’d had starfruit as a kid, since it grew so plentifully, but it’d been years since he’d seen it cut in star-shaped pieces.
They reminded him of simpler times in his youth, back when his greatest worry had been keeping up with his older brother. Things he wouldn’t be able to do now.
His mood soured.
“Here, try it.” She held out a piece, this one with some of that red spice sprinkled on top. “Take it,” she said. “I can’t very well use my other hand to pick up another piece for myself.” She laughed.
He quickly took the piece. The sweet taste of starfruit exploded in his mouth, made all the sweeter by the contrast of the spice.
“Good, right?” She took a second piece for herself, and Antonio found himself smiling at her joy. How she enjoyed these simple moments. He might have too, if only he could forget the burden hanging over him.
“I was born this way,” she said, playing with Peluche.
She didn’t have to say what; he could guess very well what she was talking about.
“I can’t remember how my parents treated me,” she said, voice quiet now, as if she was lost to another time.
“They passed when I was eight. And then my aunt and uncle put me in the academy. They’re the ones that commissioned my hand, but I know it was out of guilt.
They didn’t want me.” She let out a shaky breath and met his gaze.
“But you learn to live with it,” she said, shooting him a rueful, wry grin, “even if the rest of the world doesn’t quite understand. ”
The starfruit churned in his stomach. “Well,” he said. “I think the world understands plenty what happened to me.”