Gilene didn’t shift her gaze from her task, but she did smile at the caravan leader.Not yet, she thought. Not quite yet. Since their arrival, she’d given herself a neck ache and blurry vision as she searched the crowds for any hint of a Savatar clansman or clanswoman. She’d even walked the entire market twice without any luck. “It’s very promising so far,” she replied out loud.
The sight of an acquaintance caught Hamod’s attention and he was off, striding through the crowd to make himself known and likely do his best to swindle the person out of a purse of coins.
“I think all of the Empire and the lands beyond are here,” Halani said. “I’ve never seen so many people in one place.”
Gilene filled the last bag with tea, made her mark, and set down her quill. She grasped Halani’s hand in hers and gave it a squeeze. “Or so many thieves either.” She snatched back a canister of tea leaves from a boy with quick fingers. He moved on to his next mark with only a brief shrug her way.
The Krael Empire convulsed at the loss of its physical and spiritual capital. The Savatar who attacked it had returned to the steppe without further fighting. There had been no looting or pillaging of Kraelag. Everything of value had been burned or melted. The Empire itself had not fallen, but the cracks in its armor were widening as vassal territories reclaimed their autonomy once they realized their master wasn’t invulnerable.
Everyone assumed the emperor had died in Kraelag’s inferno,though there were more than a few conjectures that his wife might have taken that golden opportunity to rid herself of her co-ruler.
Empress Dalvila had been wounded by a Savatar arrow but survived and currently hid behind the walls of her summer palace while her empire teetered on the brink of collapse. Gilene had no doubt a wake of vulturous Kraelian nobles gathered to swoop in and take control.
As the caravan trundled its way toward Goban, Gilene had thought of Azarion constantly andprayedto Agna that he would be at the market.
Halani interrupted her contemplations with a tap on her arm. “Can you watch the tables? I’ve started negotiating with a trader out of Palizi for a shawl I know Mama will love.”
Gilene shooed her off. “Of course. Go on, and good luck!”
She was in the middle of a transaction with a customer when Halani raced back to their booth, eyes shining with excitement. “I just heard. Several of the Savatar clans have arrived.”
Gilene’s heart instantly took up the hard beat of a war drum. She blinked at Halani, afraid to believe the news. “Are you sure?”
The other woman nodded so hard, the pin holding her braid coiled at her nape fell out, and the braid tumbled down her back. “They’re roaming through the market now. Word is their chieftains are honored guests of the Goban chief who controls this territory.” She stood on tiptoe and craned her neck to stare above the crowd, as if a Savatar might suddenly pop up amid the crowd, astride their horse.
A loud whistle made both women look to where Hamod motioned for Halani to join him and a group of traders surrounding an item covered by a square of indigo silk.
Halani groaned. “Probably another statue Uncle wants me tolook at. I’m better than he is at spotting a fake. I’ll have to leave you again for a moment.”
“It’s all right. See to your uncle. We’ll switch places when you return.”
The moment Halani came back, Gilene planned to escape the trade stall she worked and find the Savatar encampment. Was Azarion here? Did he walk these crowded streets? Would she sense his presence even if she couldn’t see him in the throng of people? Her heart raced and her hands shook so hard, she abandoned the task of measuring tea.
He thought her dead, consumed by Agna’s possession. Did he mourn her? The thought made her cringe.
An odd prickling along her back warned her she was being watched. She made a show of straightening the tables, all the while casting quick glances into the crowd to find the source of that regard.
Her gaze lit and stayed on a dark-haired woman with a dour face. The woman’s eyes went wide when Gilene met her gaze, and she mouthed Gilene’s name as if she didn’t believe what she was seeing.
“Tamura,” Gilene said.
Azarion’s sister was too far away to hear her, but judging by her reaction, she’d read Gilene’s lips.
“Azarion! Come quickly!”
Tamura bellowed so loudly, it set dogs to barking, goats to bleating, and children to crying. The steadily moving traffic that wove a maze through the market halted, and people stared at Tamura slack-jawed.
She ignored it all and repeated her brother’s name in that same booming voice.
A ripple of movement in the crowd, and Azarion burst into thegap that had opened around Tamura, sword unsheathed, ready to do battle.
Gilene clenched her teeth to hold back her gasp. He’d aged in the months since she’d last seen him. Still handsome, still commanding, he looked haggard, weary. Bleak. He wore leather armor over a long, sleeveless tunic that highlighted his muscular arms. The summer sun hadn’t yet done its work in darkening his skin to the nut brown she remembered, but his green eyes were still as vivid. His hair had grown past his shoulders, and sunlight highlighted the silver filaments sprinkled in the long locks as well as in his beard.
He swept the crowd with a single glance before turning to his sister, confused and exasperated. “What? What is it?”
Tamura pointed to where Gilene stood behind the line of tables. Azarion followed the direction of her gesture and froze.
A muscle worked in his jaw as he continued to stare at her. Gilene drank in the sight of him like a woman dying of thirst who’d just been handed a cup of water.
