I like it.
When we turn the last corner into the market, I’m afraid the crowd might swallow me whole.
I’ve never seen so many people in my life. The markets in Kalla are tiny compared to this. There must be at least a thousand people in the square, maybe several thousand.
It’s noisy and crowded and there are a million different smells in the air. Fish, meat, strange herbs and spices I can’t place,some of them genuinely disgusting. When we pass one stall, the smoke that comes from it is so strong I cough violently. I can barely see anything over the crowd, and I can barely hear Soren even as he stands right next to me.
I love it immediately.
“This way,” says Soren. He takes my hand and cuts through the crowd with a finesse that could only come from years of experience, leading me to an area that’s a bit more open.
It’s strange, but I don’t feel the scars I saw earlier on his hand. I realize I didn’t feel them when we shook hands either. Perhaps they’re worse on the other one.
Soren brings me first to a vendor selling curios from overseas. “She’s the real deal,” Soren whispers. “And one of my few friends in the market. A bona fide treasure hunter. These are all authentic. No forgeries.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s my business to know. Come see this,” he says. He holds up a dagger. Its blade is black and roughly carved from some kind of shining metal I’ve never seen before.
“Obsidian. Volcanic glass, likely from the Enez Islands. Practically useless as a dagger. But it’s quite nice for a fire-born.”
To hone their magic, maybe. I’ve heard of items that can do that, although Adria thinks it’s all superstition. I’m not sure why he’s telling me this though.
He offers the dagger to me. “I’m not fire-born,” I say.
“More for me, then. She’s underpriced this by a lot,” he says. He slips a few coins to the merchant without negotiating.
It’s not uncommon to share your magic school with strangers, at least not in Nithyria. But Nithyrians are somewhat more tolerant of the shadow-born than the Selarans are from what I’ve heard, largely on account of our vital role in keeping Nithyria fed before the war. Soren seems friendlier to the shadow-born thanmost, though I’m not certain if that’s because he respects them or simply finds them useful.
I find myself wanting to tell him. There’s something about the way he talks to me, the way he looks at me, that makes me want to tell him things, that makes me want to abandon my caution and just let myself be comfortable around someone for once.
But I don’t. Not yet.
Instead, I ask Soren about the vendor selling the pastry with walnuts and pistachios, and he knows exactly the place. It’s as delicious as Typhon said, if a bit sweeter than I’m used to. I offer a bite to Soren, and he takes it. He’s close enough that I can hear him crunching as he eats. There are people all around us, giving us little room to stand. Someone pushes into me, pressing me against Soren.
“Sorry,” I say, my words muffled by his chest. The muscle there is surprisingly firm, and there’s a lot of it. He must get quite a workout hauling his imports up from the docks.
And he smells really nice, like incense and some of those unnamable spices.
I want to ask him what they are. I want to know him, every little detail.
“Watch your step,” Soren says to the man who pushed, a warning in his tone. Then he gently moves me back from him. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” I say, but to be honest, I’m a little breathless. I haven’t been in close proximity to a man in…well, a bit too long. A year at least.
And the last man who shared my bed was thin and bony, one of our stable boys, someone around my age. Nothing like the body of rock-solid muscle I just felt pressed against me.
“You have a little—” Soren reaches for my face but stops his hand short, gesturing to the side of my mouth.
Crumbs, I’m sure. “Here?” I ask, trying to reach it with my tongue.
He laughs. “No, not quite.”
I reach into my pocket for my handkerchief, but when I retrieve it, I see that it’s still stained with the boy’s blood.
“Let me,” he says, and he pulls a handkerchief from his pocket.
It’s clean and white, a nice linen fabric, and he dabs it at the corner of my mouth.
