46. Chapter Forty-Six #2
The others change into their less conspicuous black and white training gear while I feel foreign being back in the wrinkled, baggy tunic and leggings I used to live in, like slipping into a stranger's clothes.
We'll need to find fresh water as soon as possible too; the thick, soupy air is heavy with a muggy heat I've never experienced.
If this is what winter is like, I'd hate to be here for summer.
Mounting our restless horses, we head toward the outskirts of their Trivialis.
The looming presence of Sirro's castle and grounds is high on the immense flat plateau behind it, protected by huge stone walls exactly like Raviaz.
But where our citadel is built into rolling green hills and surrounded by forest, theirs is separated from the Triv by plummeting cliffs of vibrant orange and brown sand.
Piles of ruby red rocks, desert palms, and spiky cacti litter the base, interrupted by the one winding road providing access to the castle and the Orztralis nobles. It's intimidating.
Hendrix and Jeska find a shady spot to wait with the horses while I finger-comb my hair in an attempt to make it look like I haven't spent the last gods know how many weeks sleeping on the ground and to hide as much of the purple as I can.
No need to call attention to myself by wearing clothes that could pass as a Triv with the hair of an attuned rider.
Then, Zenn and I make our way over the last few dunes.
He disappears into the shadows once the road meets the outskirts of the Triv, giving me strict instructions to be quick so I'm not on my own for too long.
When I make it to the alleys surrounding their central square, it's impossible not to slow and breathe it all in.
This is nothing like the markets in our Triv.
I expected to find a few textile options, some craftspeople, a couple of taverns, maybe a handful of stalls selling limited types of food.
This is a feast for the senses. Breads, pastries, and cheeses, woven baskets of jewel-toned spices I don't recognize, delicious scents of roasting meat and sugar-dusted delicacies, bright stems of flowers, rich gowns and fabrics in every color imaginable.
And of course, a wide array of multi-colored salts from the mines we spotted in the distance. I'm astounded to even see a few carts piled high with crispy fresh fruit, vegetables and bundles of herbs, apparently recently sent down from the castle grounds in honor of their crown prince's birthday.
It's novel to be conversing with strangers and using coin after being on the road for so long.
I make quick work of buying the lighter cotton clothes favored by Orz nobles, as well as caps to hide our hair and some grey tunics and pants in case we need to impersonate staff to get access to the castle.
Then, I stock up on enough provisions to last us a few meals.
Sensing Zenn's impatient presence hovering close by, I force myself to walk past the small stands selling handcrafted chocolates and glossy candied nuts, but I can't ignore the siren's call that is the aromatic scent of fresh ground coffee. I swear, I hear a warning growl from above when I duck inside the billowing muslin curtains of the stall, as if he won’t benefit from this purchase.
"Looks like you've just about got your hands full there," the beautiful, dark-haired woman behind the counter remarks in a lilting accent as I scan the open sacks of beans in varying shades of rich browns, and the small paper bags of coffee grinds.
"Gearing up for the day after tomorrow, are you?
I've just sent a large order up myself. More than tripled my usual monthly takings. "
Returning her smile, I point out one of the bags. "What's happening then?"
Eying me curiously, she hands over my purchase and change. "Why, the prince's masque, of course. It's all anyone's talking about and will be talking about for weeks. Not that any of us get to go, but it's doing wonders for our income, not to mention the rumor mill."
Wincing internally at my stupidity, I blame my faulty memory on the lack of caffeine.
She laughs, saying something I don't catch, my focus shifting over her shoulder to a figure slowly surveying the stalls on the far side of the busy market.
Did I imagine the flash of a familiar face hidden beneath a battered straw hat? Could it really be that easy?
Hurriedly thanking the woman, I tuck the paper bag into the top of my overfull satchel and rush back into the glaring sunlight.
Squinting against the brightness, I race across the square, scanning every person in the area where I swear he was standing just a moment ago.
Spotting a set of three steps in the corner, I squeeze through the crowd and climb them, hoping they'll give me a decent enough vantage point.
But it's not Zenn’s familiar shape my gaze lands on when I make a sweep of the square's edges. Face cast half in shadow and partially obscured by a bucket of white roses, is Dexil, our family guard who accompanied my sister to the Grotto.