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 loudpops.
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.”
