The streets ahead open into the famousNightMarket, and for a moment evenIhave to slow down to take it all in.
The market spreads through a broad plaza and down two branching lanes, every stall lit by hanging lanterns or colored witch lights suspended in glass globes.Musicdrifts through the air from somewhere deeper in the crowd—pipes and strings with a soft hand-drum rhythm beneath it.Thewhole place smells of spice and sugar, incense and hot oil, and too many bodies packed too close together in one place.
Bright awnings of scarlet and peacock blue and deep green ripple overhead.Vendorscall from every side—each louder than the last—hawking their wares to the evening crowd.
Elowen looks around with wide eyes andIcan’t help looking with her—there’s a lot to see.
There’s aTrowwoman selling glass bottles of liquid moonlight, pale and silvery and swirling with trapped sparkles.Besideher, a one-eyedGoblinmerchant has trays of enchanted lockets that open to reveal moving portraits instead of painted ones.Abroad-shoulderedSatyrin an embroidered vest is grilling skewers of spiced lizard-meat over blue coals that smell unbelievably good.
Farther on,Isee a cloth merchant with bolts of fabric that change color when touched, shifting from rose to gold to midnight black beneath his customers’ hands.Anotherstall offers jars of glowing beetles for lantern-light, while a bent old witch with iron-gray braids sells little packets of luck powder and dried dream-herbs from a table covered in charms and bones.
EverywhereIlook there’s something strange…something magical…something for sale.
Elowen turns in a slow circle, taking it all in, and despite the insult at the gate, a little wonder comes into her face.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispers.“I’vealways wanted to see theNightMarket—I’veheard so much about it.”
“It’s wonderful,”Isay, thoughI’mnot looking at the market anymore.I’mlooking at her…at the green of her eyes in the lantern-light and the soft line of her lipsI’dlike to kiss.
But now isn’t the time for that.
I guide her through the crowd until we come to a jewelry stall set beneath a canopy of deep blue silk.Lanternshang on either side, making the gems glitter like captured stars.Rings, necklaces, bracelets, ear-cuffs, chains and more gold and silver thanI’veever seen in one place are all on display.
Elowen realizes where we are and stops, frowning.
“Theron, what’s this about?”she asks.
I ignore the warning in her tone and turn to the merchant, a narrow man with silver spectacles perched on the end of his needle-sharp nose.
“What are you buying?”Iask him.
“That depends what you’re selling,” he says, eyeing me and thenElowenwith quick professional interest.
I reach up to my neck and unclasp the chainI’veworn for years.Thedragon tooth pendant drops into my palm, warm from my skin.
For a secondIjust look at it.
Kline made it for me whenIlost my firstDraketooth.It’sthe same as when human children lose their baby teeth, only ours come in sharper and stranger.Iremember him laughing whenIcried over the blood, telling me any properDrakeought to make a weapon or a keepsake from something like that.Hecarved the tooth smooth himself, drilled the hole for the chain, and handed it to me with a grin that showed his own missing teeth.
“Something from your firstShiftshould stay with you, lad,” he’d said.“Soyou remember you survived it.”
I haven’t taken it off once since he gave it to me, but nowIplace it on the merchant’s velvet cloth.
His brows rise immediately as he picks it up with two careful fingers, turning it so the light gleams along the ivory curve.
“A realDraketooth,” he murmurs.“Thisis rare.Acollector would pay well for it.”
“Then you’re in luck—it’s for sale,”Itell him.
Elowen catches my arm at once.
“Theron, no!Youdon’t have to do this.”
“Yes,Ido,”Isay firmly.Ilook at the merchant.“Howmuch will you give me for it?”
The merchant names a price.Ialmost laugh at how high it is, then realize he means it.Itmakes sense—Draketeeth aren’t just rare—they’re almost impossible to get unless aDrakegives one willingly, and none of us ever do.
I nod in agreement.
