Robin shook her head.
“This is Isa Bielsa,” he said.
“Bielsa?” Robin asked, repeating the name. “As in the family that gifted the monks with the Allysian villa?”
Isa nodded. “My father and mother.”
“I assume we have them to thank for the food as well?” Ian said. “I hope you did not empty the Bielsa larder?”
Isa shook her head, her glossy, dark curls slipping loosely over her shoulders. “My parents will not starve,” she replied. “Oh—” She pointed to the chest Ian had just carried in. “That one was supposed to stay in the wagon. It comes along to the castle with us.”
Ian flexed his wrists, stretching out the stiffness in his muscles from just carrying it the one way. “What is in it?”
“Books!” Isa said, her eyes lighting up. “Brother Elias and I found some ancient texts that reference Majis history. I brought them for Ashlin and Aizel.”
Ian looked back at the chest, considering it with far more care than he previously had.
Robin also looked at the chest, then up at him.
Ian lifted his eyebrows.
Robin gave him a subtle nod.
Ian turned to Aden with a smile of victory. “I am afraid you will be remaining in Lockwood for a few days, brother.”
Completely confused by this statement, Aden looked from Ian to Robin, and then to Isa.
“We have several Majis here,” Ian explained to Isa. “If you would be willing to share your books with them for a few days before you continue on to the castle, I am sure you could exchange invaluable information.”
Isa’s face was beaming. “Yes!”
Ian reached out, slapping Aden’s shoulder. His hand landed on solid muscle. “Meena,” Ian asked, unable to resist a final jab at his brother. “Has Aden always been this tall?”
Chapter 26
The following morning, Robin walked through the crowded marketplace at the heart of the capital city. Despite the general sense of fear and panic that seemed to permeate every social gathering and conversation in light of the Return, the Iseldans still managed to come out in full colors for the ritual of the harvestreign festival. Perhaps Gareth’s presence at the castle was giving them hope. Robin’s stomach twisted at the thought, and she focused on her next goal.
Her ears rang with the sounds of conversation, music, and shouting vendors filling the open marketplace around her. The smells of roasted meat and charred nuts floated across the stench of the sweating crowd.
Colorful awnings rose above her head, lining the buildings and beckoning to passersby with signs of food, drink, and wares.
For a moment, Robin relished the normalcy of it all. The excitement of a group of people coming together to celebrate something, anything.
But then the crowd in front of her parted, and people jumped out of the way as a group of soldiers sauntered down the center of the street toward her. Wearing the purple livery of Chendas,the men shouted loudly, already deep in the mugs of ale they held aloft. As if this was their festival, or their kingdom.
Robin wanted to stand her ground, to force them to part around her instead of moving out of their way. But now was not the time to be noticed. Grimacing to herself, she stepped aside with the rest of the Iseldans, giving the soldiers their right of way.
The group of soldiers continued on.
Avoiding the notice of soldiers and guards was nothing new for Robin, but as she watched the Chendas men continue to press the crowd, she thought back to previous festivals. She could not recall the Iseldan soldiers ever controlling the street in such a way. They had been loud, but so had been everyone else. They tended to move through the festival as though they were a part of it, not to dominate it.
Moving further up the street, Robin made her way toward the open green hill above the city where the archery competition was held each year.
When she passed by a tavern, she heard a familiar boisterous laugh coming from the rooftop balcony above her. She looked up to see Lane standing against the rail with a group of young noblemen. He wore a tailored green jacket that was far fancier than his usual garb. Perfect. As the younger son of a wealthy Iseldan merchant, Lane had a wide network of friends and acquaintances in the city. He had created an image for himself of being the comfortable, empty-headed rich boy who spent his time traveling. This allowed him to continue to move amongst the noble class on occasion and learn valuable information for Robin.
As she turned up the main street out of the city square, she saw Jette standing behind a small food cart. “Sweet breads!” Jette called, her deep voice resonating across the busy street. Ulli was quietly providing her with hot stones to warm the breadbasket, letting the tempting aroma of the bread waft out into the crowd.
Robin walked past, sending her friends a quick smile but not stopping.
