“Of course! Do you think oracles divine trade routes?” Kidd asked. “They’re set up by merchants who meet at times like this. And what have they got to use? Carts! Someone’s got to repair them. I’ve got a cousin who wants a break from the market this year and is willing to let me rent their stallandtheir house. Prime spot for the stall and the house is on this sweet little island on the Glaesflod. Absolutely magical location. So I’m puttingtogether a crew. We’ll go, earn a little coin, and come home with stories that’ll get our drinks paid for the next couple of years.”
Blaze tightened his grip on his satchel. “Do you think we’d be able to get our hands on a riverboat?”
“Weird question, but I’d bet we’d be able to rent one if nothing else. I plan on traveling by caravan, though, given that we live in the middle of fields and forests.” Kidd narrowed his eyes. “Why ask that?”
“I’ve got a project for the Innovation Awards, but I need a ship to finish it,” Blaze said. “Assuming I’d be able to bring what I already have done.”
“Depends.” Kidd crossed his arms over his chest and scanned Blaze. His scrutiny held no malice; his seriousness was more akin to an elfling’s demeanor when considering how to ask for more sweets. “Do you have any qualifications for caravan work? Mercenary skills? Or wagon repair?”
“I have a degree in mystical engineering,” Blaze replied. “Over half my studies involved repairing magical machines.”
“Then a cart should be simple for you!” Kidd lit up with a smile and clapped him on the back. “Welcome to Kidd Kidderson’s Killer Karavan! Now, why exactly do you need a riverboat?”
CHAPTER 2
Durae had one foot out the window when Uleyri unceremoniously opened his bedroom door. She had the decency to hurry inside, hiding what he was doing from their parents, who were sitting in the common room of their suite.
There ended her politeness. She scowled at him, and before he could commit to easing himself out of the window, she rolled her hand and released a spell. It whipped around his upper torso and yanked him back into the room.
Siblings could be theworst.
“Have you lost your mind?” Uleyri snapped.
“I would have been fine,” Durae replied. The first spell every Navisora elfling learned was one to soften a fall. It was rather handy when one lived in an enormous stone tower with far too many stairs on the top of a sheer cliffside on the third-highest peak of the Drycreaft Mountains.
Uleyri rolled her eyes. Motioning at his clothes, she said, “You’re supposed to be preparing for a private reception with a few of Papa’s old friends and their children, not dressing like a commoner and escaping through a window.”
“Did you hear what happensafterthat reception? Another one with people who wish to get into business with Father. Thena rendezvous with Mama’s peers to reexamine my star charts to see if there’s any hope of avoiding the disaster she swears is coming.” Durae twisted and turned, but Uleyri kept her spell going. “It’s going to be torture!”
“You’re not the only one that has to go to them!” Uleyri said, her voice low but urgent. Unlike at home, the walls weren’t spelled for privacy. If they raised their voices, they would be overheard.
Giving up on breaking the spell, Durae spun to face his sister. They had similar shades of white hair. His skin was the color of the violet flowers that bloomed in the middle of winter, while hers was the hue of the sky just before dawn. Most thought them twins, though he was older than her by two years. Their greatest difference was that Uleyri had been born under the right stars for great magics. Though she was younger, she had more arcane talent than he did. She deserved to become the head of the family business and the matriarch after their mother.
But he had been born first, and everything would, in theory, pass to him. Which, according to their mother, would cause a tragedy. He had been conceived while the wrong comet crossed in front of a distant planet and born under an even worse constellation on the night a falling star struck their mountain. In Gearwick or Emberleigh, that wouldn’t have mattered, but the elves of Dun Steorra—particularly their mother—took cosmic signs seriously. Every time he failed, his mother shook her head and said she should have been more mindful of the sky before sleeping with her partners.
And he seemed to fail alotin her eyes.
Marriage, she had been saying for years, would be the way to save him. If he wed someone who was destined for prosperity, then that would avert whatever chaos was going to rain down on them. As if fixing his supposed fate could happen as easily as righting a fallen telescope.
Still bound, Durae gave his sister his best pleading look. “I know how important my marriage is. And once the market starts tomorrow, every waking moment will be spent spouse hunting. I just want one night to see the world for myself. Please, Riri.”
Uleyri pursed her lips. He knew her every tell better than his own. She was considering running out to the common area to tell their parents about his escape plan.
Durae widened his eyes so they’d water. He wasn’t above crying to get out of social engagements. If he thought it’d work on his parents, he would have cried his way out of marriage.
“I must have something wrong with me,” Uleyri grumbled. But she released the spell. “Fine. I will make excuses for you. But you’re not the only one who has to engage in all these silly rituals.”
He refrained from pointing out that she would be free to leave the market at the end of the two weeks without even a betrothal, while their parents had already set his wedding for the last day of the market. Instead, he kissed her cheek. “Thank you.”
Before she could change her mind, he darted out the window. As he started to fall, he cast the spell to slow his descent. His feet touched the ground as lightly as if he were stepping down from a carriage.
He dashed a few blocks, garnering odd looks from a few kitchen servants at the back of the inn, before pulling a wrinkled note out of his pocket. Given the nature of the looming doom over his head since birth, his parents had never allowed for adventures outside of their home, so snooping through his tutors’ belongings was one of his favorite pastimes. Silsby, the geography and cultural tutor who had worked for two generations of Navisoras, had stashed a map of the Everend Market in a journal he kept under his bed. Should Silsby notice that Durae had taken the scrap of paper, he’d apologize. Butsince Silsby was hundreds of miles away at the tower and Durae was standing in the moonlight, attempting to make sense of it in the middle of the cradle of elven civilization, repenting for misdeeds wasn’t on his mind. He would have mischief and adventure before he wound up trading his life in a tower for a marriage of confinement.
Luckily, he crossed through the market proper without too much trouble. The locals had taken great pride in making the heart of the festivities beautiful. Despite the hour growing later, there were a few elves still finishing preparations for the next day. Near a large stone shrine, a young elf was rehearsing either a poem or a song—he couldn’t tell at a distance. It sounded like it might be the “Lovers Unite,” which was often sung or recited at weddings.
It’s not a portent. No matter what my parents say, I will only marry ifIwant to.Durae hurried onward and focused on his map rather than the lurking knowledge in his gut that standing up to his parents in his mind was simple. Doing so in the world would be difficult.
Once he crossed the stone bridge leading to the islands on the Glaesflod River, his map no longer aligned with what he saw. In theory, he was close to the symbol Silsby had scrawled onto a particular building. According to some of the more interesting texts Durae had read, the icon indicated a brothel, but he couldn’t find anything with the design on it.
