Chapter 11
eleven
When Vade said they were half a mark’s walk from Ricaboro, Orelia’s elation bubbled over. She’d asked him so many questions about what to expect that he’d finally stopped answering.
Standing on the hill overlooking the city draped in the colors of dusk, Orelia had no words. She could faintly make out two ships headed to sea and one with maroon sails entering the harbor. The bay sparkled and twinkling lights decorated the shoreline, beckoning her to come see.
The dirt path turned into cobblestones when they entered the southern edge of the city.
Trees were replaced by buildings of every shade of brown, but it was the music that called to her first. Beautiful string instruments welcomed them into Ricaboro with an upbeat tune, accompanied by singing, dancing, and laughing.
People sat on window ledges, legs swinging over the side, watching others meander through the streets.
And gods, the smells. Orelia inhaled deeply, scenting everything wonderful that wasn’t fish, like it would have been in Minro. Spices, smoked meats, sugary fruits, and scents entirely foreign to her.
“Light Above, it smells divine.” Her eyes were so wide she could hardly take it all in. Even Bute had emerged from his moss ball and was looking out the side of the jar like he was just as captivated by it all.
They passed a group of dwarves sloshing their ale, enthralled by a bard gesturing wildly with his hands as he told an outlandish tale.
Humans, rens, and stivs filled the streets, loitering at market carts and relaxing on benches set along the main road.
Pointed ears, round ears, fighting leathers, dresses, robes, and weapons of all kinds were present.
The stiv she was watching began cackling. The white, rectangular tattoo under his right eye that all stivs were born with caught the light as he playfully shoved a ren’s shoulder.
“I thought rens and stivs despised each other,” she said to Vade, who walked beside her with his hands resting on his weapons belt. After The White War, both races had returned to their opposite corners of the world, and a barrier of hatred had gone up between them.
“Most do,” Vade said. His tone was calm, posture stiff. “Keep close and watch your pockets. These streets are full of people looking for any sign of weakness, so stay sharp.”
She pressed her hand to her hip, feeling the six silver still tucked inside her skirt pocket. Vade had told her to always store money on her person, never in something she was carrying.
A group of Watchers patrolled the area, their pastel eyes ever-alert. The batalins towered over the crowd, and their weapons were even larger than the greatsword Vade carried.
The village Watcher in Minro was a pudgy batalin who was usually finding the bottom of a glass in Shaley’s Tavern instead of patrolling and keeping Minro safe. Nothing like the batalins she was looking at now.
They were in impeccable shape, with arm muscles so big that sleeves could not contain their limbs. She noted the plethora of shiny gold rings lining their spiral horns like bracelets. Out of the four of them, the blue female had the most.
“What are those rings around their horns?” Orelia asked.
Vade followed her eyeline. “They represent years of service as a Watcher. It’s mostly only city batalins who wear them. Just a way for the brutes to show off.”
That explained why Minro’s Watcher didn’t have any.
“I picked a fight with one in a tavern outside Oak Harbor once and took a few rings off her. She wasn’t too happy about it.” Vade smirked, clearly enjoying the memory.
She shook her head. Of course he had taken on someone of the largest, toughest race. Even if they didn’t have magic, batalins were unbelievably strong.
They turned a corner and headed down a street with banners strung from building to building.
White pennant flags bearing a single gold sun.
Races of all shapes, colors, and sizes walked about the area intensifying in mouthwatering smells.
Merchant carts lined both sides of the cobblestone walkway—baubles and trinkets hung from the stands, sweaty cooks stood over small fires, fruit stands were inspected by shoppers, and clothing merchants hung up their pieces for sale.
She’d never seen a place so teeming with life.
“A beautiful scarf for a beautiful lady, perhaps?” a man with an eyebrow full of silver rings and salt-and-pepper hair asked.
Orelia approached and ran her fingers over the sky-blue fabric. “Wow, this is so soft.”
He hurried around his cart and looped the scarf around her neck. “Ah, how lovely! For you, I only ask four silver. Special deal.”
Orelia dug into her pocket for her purse. “Well, I only—”
Vade reappeared by her side. “Four silver? These are worth two, at most.”
The man huffed and wiped away the sweat on his upper lip. “These are satin scarves made from the finest fibers Ricaboro has to offer, sir! I assure you, they are worth far more than the cost of a meat plate.”
Orelia looked at Vade. “I have enough.”
He leveled her with a look. His eyes went over her head, and he stepped around her to stop a woman and her child who both paled.
“How much did you pay for that scarf?” he asked, pointing to the same one around the woman’s neck that the man was trying to sell Orelia.
“T-Two silver, sir.” The poor woman cowered, tucking her daughter in close.
Vade gave the merchant one of his classic sneers.
The man fumbled over his words, trying to recover.
“We’ll be going now.” Vade grabbed her upper arm and led her back into the crowd. “Everyone on this road is trying to con you, Orelia. You’re an easy target, and they’ll take advantage of it.”
She pulled her arm free. “Excuse me? I am not an easy target.”
“Please,” Vade chided. “That merchant took one look at your doe eyes and knew he could charge anything and you’d pay it. You’re ripe for the plucking.”
She glared up at him. “I’m not a peach, Vade.”
He chuckled, and Orelia eventually found herself doing the same at such a silly statement.
They stopped briefly to watch a group of dancing rens in feathered masks and beaded clothing.
Half of the women smacked their hands on circular instruments lined with jingling bells while the others cast pyro spells and sent fireworks shooting into the air, exploding in an array of colors with loud pops.
They reached a particularly busy section of the market with weapons of every kind lying on long tables. “We get the necessities, and that’s it,” Vade said. “You’ll need a short sword and more daggers.”
“I don’t want to carry a sword.” She didn’t enjoy weaponry the way he did, and Orelia hoped to never have need of a sword. She barely tolerated the two blades currently on her belt, especially the seidr dagger Vade hadn’t asked to have back.
He picked up a dagger and inspected the blade. He ran a finger down the edge, then surveyed the hilt wrapped in braided leather, similar to his. A man who didn’t like to stray from the familiar.
“How much for two?” he asked.
The merchant with eyes half open perked up. “I can do eight silver for two.”
“Five,” Vade countered.
“Seven.”
“Five.”
The man looked at her, then back at the fae, chewing on the inside of his lip. He twirled a ring around his finger like he had all the time in the world to wait for Vade to come back with a better offer.
Vade set the dagger back on the table and ushered her along. Orelia reached into her pocket, but he stopped her. “I’m buying these,” he said.
“Six!” The man called out.
Slowly, Vade turned around. “Six, and you throw in a sheath.”
The man pressed his lips together but grabbed a black sheath from a crate and placed it next to twin daggers.
Vade flicked his head in the direction of the crates. “Got anything from the Drain back there?”
The man’s mouth fell open, a hand pressed to his chest. “I beg your pardon? I am a respectable merchant! I don’t deal with the likes of such business.”
Vade set the coin on the table and gathered the weapons he’d purchased. The merchant was quick to snatch it up as he gave the fae a scolding look.
“What’s the Drain?” Orelia asked as they continued to a table covered in short swords.
He lowered his voice when he spoke. “A place you never want to go.”
“Why not?”
Vade quietly surveyed the steel-covered table. She was used to him not answering her questions, despite how annoying it was.
“I can pay for my own weapons, by the way,” Orelia said.
“I’m rich. This is nothing to me.”
She rolled her eyes. So damn arrogant.
“Plus, all the money you own is in your pocket,” Vade said. “You don’t have enough for much out here.”
He was right, but the comment wounded her pride. He could probably buy the entire table and it wouldn’t put a dent in his purse.
Vade tucked the daggers he’d bought under his arm and pocketed the sheath before picking up a short sword and handing it to her. “How does the weight feel?”
Orelia hadn’t touched a sword since sparring with Tommen years ago, but she stepped out of the crowd and went through a few simple movements that came back to her more easily than she expected. “It’s a little heavy.”
Vade plucked another out of the pile. “Try this one.”
She swung the blade once across her body and back up in a diagonal sweep. “Better.”
“Twelve silver,” the woman standing behind the table said. Her lips were painted the most vibrant shade of red, and her eyelids were surrounded in cosmetics so dark she could barely see her eyes.
“Ten,” Vade offered.
“Eleven.”
“Deal.” Vade paid the woman, and Orelia offered to carry the weapons. The least she could do since he’d bought them.
“I got it. No one will try to take them off me.” The fae looked so formidable against the joyous crowd, decked in darkness with the humorless expression she’d come to expect.
He was much too serious, and she wondered what he would look like if he actually smiled.
Not a cocky grin or a condescending smirk, but a real, genuine smile.