“You’re right,” I said, “these are your people. Both from your ancestry, and as the future empress. And thanks to the peace treaty and your upcoming marriage to the emperor, you will be able to advocate for them.”
She grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “You make a good point,” but I decided not to push.
We came to the baker’s stall then, and Zara’s eyes lit up. The bread was lined up on clean white cotton cloth, each loaf still steaming. The merchant was a robust woman with gray hair pulled back in a neat bun on top of her head. She watched us with eyes almost hidden by deep folds, and a smile that revealed several missing teeth.
“Will you have some trifala, lady?” she asked Zara, who had drifted closer to the loaves than I was. Kestrel moved forward, too, until he was nearly breathing down Zara’s neck. I shot him a quelling glance, but he only shrugged.
Zara suddenly glanced at me, a blush touching her cheeks. “How will we pay for the food? I didn’t even think of bringing coins with me.”
I took out a golden pendant I wore on a chain around myneck. It had the symbol of the emperor raised in the center, a crown uplifted by two eagle wings. The baker grinned when she saw it. “This will buy us anything we’d like.”
Zara let out a breath in relief. “That’s handy. In that case, since you’re buying,” she added to me with a teasing grin, “I’ll have a loaf for myself and one for my mare.” She turned to the rest of us, arching a brow in question. “One for each of you?”
“Yes,” I said after Baz and Zamir each gave me a polite nod. “So that’s four more, please,” I told the baker.
“Two for me,” Kestrel said, rubbing his hands together. “With butter,” he added as the baker’s plump hands reached for the bread.
“That’s the only way to eat it,” the baker said with approval. She handed each of us our loaves wrapped in cloth and dripping in butter. I took my own, savoring the warmth of the bread in my hands.
Zara immediately began feeding pieces to her mare before she took a bite herself, and I was once again grudgingly impressed. It’s what I would have done for Neo, too.
“This is delicious, thank you,” she said to the baker when she finally ate a piece.
“My pleasure, lady,” she said with a polite bow.
We started to walk away, but Zara’s horse bumped her arm, and she turned back to the merchant with a sheepish expression. “May I have two more loaves, please?”
“Of course. There you are,” the baker said as she handed over the bread. “Anything else?”
The mare bobbed her head, but Zara shot her a look that clearly said,Enough. “No, thank you.”
“We have more in common than I thought,” Kestrel told Shazeera as he finished wolfing down his second loaf.
“Disgusting,” Zamir commented, taking a dainty bite of her own.
“Shazeera wanted a sack of grain,” Zara said to us with a grin as we turned away from the stall.
“The palace clearly isn’t feeding her enough,” I said, and she laughed.
“Don’t forget the race today,” the baker called from behind us.
Zara whirled around with eyebrows raised. “Race? What race would this be?”
“The Naharu Cup,” the baker said, with a nod toward another Zephyrian goat walking past us, this one led instead of ridden.
I had forgotten all about the race today—not that I cared much for it—but Zara’s eyes were lit up even brighter than they were when she first tried the trifala bread.
“And the goats will be racing?” she asked.
“I’d give you a strange look for such a question,” the baker said with a smile, “but it’s obvious you aren’t from around here. Yes, they race Zephyrian goats.”
“Thank you,” Zara said before turning to me. “We have to go watch. Will it be soon?”
“If you hurry, you can still get a good spot,” the baker said.
“Thank you,” Zara said again, starting in the direction the goat had gone without even waiting for me.
“I take it you like races,” I said, and she glanced back at me with a grin.
