“I assumed you would. You’re excellent at it. In fact, you’ve convinced me—I’d also like a few apple tarts.” I nod to Elisaf, who adds another coin to the pile. “That should buy us as many as can fit in the children’s hands, I think. Don’t you?”
Whatever hostile response is stirring within Danthrin’s mind, he scans the soldiers behind me and the crowd, and he must think better of it. He nods to Gracen, capping it off with a scathing glare.
She sweeps in, handing two to each child before ushering them around the table.
“Do you have all your belongings?” I ask quietly.
She puts her hands on her children’s shoulders as she blinks away tears. “I have everything I need, Your Highness.”
Mika’s mouth is occupied by a tart as one of my guards ushers them away.
I turn back to the despicable keeper, whose jaw is clenched so tightly, he might crack his teeth. “It was lovely to meet you. The king and I will be sure to visit Freywich the next time we have the opportunity. I’d love to see these prized apple trees you guard so viciously.”
His eyes flash with understanding. Good. Yet something tells me it’s the least of his crimes.
We continue down the lane, trailing Dagny who keeps peering over her shoulder to beam at me.
But my rage is simmering. The rookery, and now this market. Aside from Port Street—which may ring of sin to some but to me hints of choice—my first tastes of Islor outside the castle walls are as foul as that wormy apple. “Did you see what he did to that little boy? The kid was probably starving.”
“A fair assumption.”
“He shouldn’t have land or a lordship. We should take it away from him. Who gave it to him, anyway?”
“I thought you didn’t have any interest in being queen,” Elisaf murmurs, a smug smile touching his lips.
“I don’t. Zander can take it from him. Who is this Lord Danthrin?”
“A minor lord from Freywich, a town about three hours’ ride outside of Cirilea. And now, your newest enemy.”
“I’ll add him to my growing collection.” But unease slips in. “I assume there is court etiquette or protocol I’ve just trampled over.”
“Yes. Very much so.”
I hesitate. “How annoyed will Zander be with me for this?”
A secretive look passes over Elisaf’s face. “We shall see.”
The textiles section of the market is nearest to the water, and vast. Rows of stalls offer cloth stacked in piles and draped from lines. Silks, linens, and cotton billow in the slight breeze, reminding me of sheets drying outside on summer days. There are hundreds of options. Maybe thousands. I wouldn’t know how to choose.
Thankfully, between Dagny and Odier, I’m sensing I won’t be a part of any actual decision-making.
“I want to see your finest silks and linens in your most vibrant dyes. Nothing less will do for Her Highness,” Dagny demands, standing as tall as her stout frame allows.
“All of my cloth is the finest. My silks? The finest. My linens? The finest. Wools? The finest. Ihave brought the most sublime fabrics with me on this voyage. Cloth that Empress Roshmira herself has requested. You will find nothing else like it among those rags over there.” The Seacadorian clothier is a heavyset bald man who speaks in baritone, bows with a theatrical twirl of his hand, and does not hide his disdain for his competition. “Nothing but the finest cloth should touch Her Highness’s most exquisite body.” He offers another dramatic bow, giving me a chance to steal a wide-eyed glance at Elisaf.
“It sounds like we’re in agreement, then! Show me the best of your best, Odier,” Dagny demands with far more assertion than I’ve ever heard from her.
“They are all back here, for Her Highness’s perusal …” The two of them disappear into the throng of fabric, leaving Elisaf and me on the outskirts, my soldiers loitering.
“Did you not want to see what he has?” Elisaf asks.
“I don’t think my opinion matters here.”
He chuckles. “That may be true. Besides, I think someone wants to speak with you.”
I follow Elisaf’s nod. Bexley hovers at a stall, testing the weight of a material between her fingers, the ginger and gold in her hair glimmering beneath the sun. She rounds the table, her eyes lifting and zeroing in on me for three beats before she refocuses on the cloth.
“Is it safe?” The last time I saw her, she was straddling Kaders’s lap with her teeth in his neck, likely wishing she could sink them into mine.