Chapter Eight #2
My eyes cannot take it all in fast enough.
My head whips back and forth from barge to barge, each painted a different attention-catching color, some flying embroidered flags, others displaying wooden signs that advertise their stock.
I hear Soren speaking to someone in measured tones close beside me, but I pay him little notice, even as his hand lands on the small of my back and he guides me down onto the deck of a flatboat.
The sternman grins at me as it bobs under our sudden weight.
I grab at Soren’s arm for balance, fearing we might pitch over.
He chuckles as he settles us onto the cushioned bench seat.
“We’ll have to work on your sea legs.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “I’ve not spent much time on boats.”
“Define much.”
Flames of embarrassment scorch the back of my neck. “Essentially none.”
“I thought you grew up by the sea.”
“By the sea. Not on it.”
He suppresses another chuckle. “Don’t worry. I have no plans to bring you into the Bay of Blood for a clash with Frostlander longships.” He pauses. “Not today.”
With that rather foreboding remark, Soren turns his attention to the ruddy-cheeked sternman—who introduces himself as Deke—as he guides us swiftly out into the constant stream of boat traffic.
They chat animatedly about a mutual acquaintance’s most recent trade run to the Southlands, which is due back with several months’ worth of coffee, sugar, tybae leaf, and other imported pleasures.
Enough to keep citizens stocked for the summer.
I am content to sit back and listen, well occupied by observing the bustling marketplace that streams to either side of our small vessel.
Occasionally, Soren directs our smiling captain to approach a barge, and he steers us in close enough to barter.
Each vendor we visit beams with unguarded pleasure at the sight of their king.
Soren greets most by name and speaks to them with a familiarity that surprises me—asking after family members’ health, joking about the unseasonable conditions when they clutch their thin cloaks tighter and grumble about the chill.
Though they make a fuss about not accepting payment, Soren continuously forks over fistfuls of coin in exchange for all manner of things—which, in turn, he promptly shoves into my hands for consumption, along with a one-worded order.
“Eat.”
I happily comply, if only to have something to do with my mouth besides gape at him.
Who is this man? I thought I knew, but the mercurial monarch who smiles and laughs with his people is a stranger to me.
For their benefit, he tucks away the darker side of himself I know exists—the one that bubbles up from the depths on the rare occasions he allows his charismatic facade to slip—and gives them a lighthearted version of himself instead. Showering them with his favor.
Two things become inarguably clear as the morning progresses.
First, that King Soren is utterly beloved by his people.
And second, that he is treated less like a sovereign than any I have ever met.
Even Pendefyre, for all his hatred of royal protocol, is greeted with a grave sort of reverence when he walks the streets of Caeldera.
Bowed heads and downcast gazes of respect.
Yet every Hylian we come across acts as though the man seated so close beside me is a long-lost friend, not a liege lord.
Despite complaints about the pervasive cloud cover, whenever Soren appears, those who spot him light up like the sun has finally emerged.
I lose count of the barges we stop at, of the delectables I consume.
I scarcely have time to swallow before Soren deposits something else into my hands.
A cup of green tea so flavorful it makes my tongue tingle.
Two hot pink fruits I have no name for. A handful of steaming nuts seasoned with fiery pepper.
A crispy seaweed wrap stuffed with rice and crabmeat.
A skewer of succulent grilled shrimp that the vendor assures us he caught just before sunrise.
The shrimp in particular are so delicious, I very nearly beg our sternman to go back for a second helping.
I am too busy chewing to talk to anyone, but Soren does enough for the both of us.
Even after Deke steers us out of the market onto a quieter canal, Soren continues to call out greetings to people walking along the banks, passing in their own craft, and, a few times, throwing open their second-floor windows to wave and smile at us.
Swallowing the last sip of my tea, I set down my cup on the low-slung table bolted to the boat’s bottom and press my hands to my stomach. I feel full enough to burst. It’s been a long time since I’ve eaten so much, and so well.
“So? What’s the verdict?” Soren asks, settling back against the cushions beside me. His arms snake along the top of the bench, his boots cross at the ankles—a position of utter repose. “How was your first Ll?rian breakfast?”
“Unlike any breakfast I have ever had before.”
He grins.
“Can I ask you something?”
The grin fades somewhat, but he nods. “You can ask me anything.”
“How is it you can do this?”
“I’m not certain I follow.”
“How can a king move so freely through his city, as though…well, as though he is not a king at all?”
“I didn’t realize you were acquainted with so many kings.”
“You know what I mean.”
He sighs. “You would have me—what, exactly? Hide out in my villa? Live entirely separate from the people I am meant to rule? Lord over them from above without emerging from my privileged cocoon long enough to learn who it is I am responsible for? Make decisions for them without bothering to ask about their needs and desires and fears?”
I blink at him, stunned. “No. No, of course not. I only meant…”
His brows rise.
“Where is your royal guard?”
“I don’t have one.”
“You don’t have one,” I repeat, voice thick with disbelief.
“Haven’t you heard? I’m by far the most menacing thing in this city.” He winks playfully. “Perhaps in all the realm, if you put much stock in Midlanders’ rumors.”
“Why is it so difficult for you to give a straight answer?”
His eyes earn a shade of solemnity. “If someone aims to kill me, I stand a far better chance of stopping them than any hapless soldier with a sword in his hand.”
“That smacks of hubris.”
“If my pride provokes the gods, so be it. I see no need to prop my kingship up with superficial spectacle, surrounded by fawning courtiers and guards armed to the teeth, simply to prove my own power. So far as I can tell, my citizens are happier to find their own debauchery down here in the city than manufacture it for the sake of foolish court politics. And my soldiers are certainly better served at the borders, protecting those in Ll?r who cannot protect themselves, than posted outside my villa at night.”
“So you have no court here?”
“You mean with a golden throne carved specifically for my ass? Tumbling jesters and warbling minstrels, performing for my pleasure? A gilded banquet hall stuffed with sycophants?” He snorts, as though the concept is preposterous to him.
“No, we have no court. Not in any official sense. Occasionally, folks from across the kingdom will gather in the capital for festivals and momentous events. Arwen’s wedding on the coming solstice, for instance, will temporarily double our population.
But as a whole, Hylios does not hold much favor for the pomp and circumstance of other strongholds.
We do not specify courtier from commoner. We are all equals here.”
“Even you?”
“Especially me.”
I do not know how to respond to that, so I tear my gaze away from his and direct it ahead.
The canal we are on is off the beaten path; only a handful of other flatboats drift by as we pass beneath bridges and wind by buildings blanketed with blooming flowers.
My eyes catch on several glass-fronted boutiques, their displayed finery reminiscent of Carys’s once spectacular atelier on High Street.
Resplendent gowns of gold and silver, feathered frocks with remarkable stitching, whalebone cages for formal hooped skirts, glyphed fabrics that lend their wearer a mortal glamour…
Skies, she would love to see this place.
I have no idea where we are in the city.
It is a beautiful maze—one I have no real desire to escape at present.
The only thing to mar the perfection of the day is the lack of sun.
It is nearing midday, but the air is nearly as cold as Caeldera.
A clammy mist coats my skin without a cloak to insulate my limbs. I fight a shiver in my thin uniform.
“I thought Hylios was supposed to be sunny,” I huff, rubbing my hands up and down my arms to inspire warmth.
“Oh, it is,” Soren murmurs absently.
“This is abnormal then? The mist?”
“Most abnormal. And most unpleasant. If you plan to stay with us, I’m going to have to ask that you put a stop to it.”
I jolt in surprise. My head whips around toward him. “Me?”
“Yes, you.” He sounds highly amused. “Or were you unaware that this pall is your doing?”
“Certainly not—I would never—” I stammer. “I do not control the weather!”
“Not intentionally, no. But your dark mood is manifesting quite plainly.” He cants his head back to stare up at the sky.
“I, for one, don’t mind the occasional cloudy day.
Reminds me not to take the sun-drenched ones for granted.
But I fear my merchants will have to import far warmer fabrics if you don’t cheer up soon.
Otherwise, we will all freeze to death by autumn. ”
I do not have the heart to laugh. My mind is reeling. My doing? Absurd! I would know if I were manipulating the weather…
Wouldn’t I?