But she’d piqued their curiosity. I looked back and one of them, apparently the most sober of the group, had narrowed her gaze at me.
“Was it you?” she asked. “The girl who saved him?”
I could accept there were times when it was handy to be noticed. This—in a crowded inn in a market full of people—wasn’t one of them. “Saved who?”
“The prince, for the gods’ sake.”
I snorted. “How would I know a prince?”
“You’re pretty enough,” another girl said. “You should bounce him.” She wiggled her chest. “That could be your reward for saving his life.”
“You got the wrong person,” I muttered, and drank deeply.
Another woman shook her head. “Royals are trouble anyway. Best to stay as far away from them as possible.”
“Cheers to that,” Wren murmured, and lifted her cup.
“Everyone’s trouble. It’s the way of the world. Best get some joy out of it while you can.”
I wondered if they’d believe me if I told them what I’d done, what I’d seen. That I’d fought bandits, chased an assassin in the woods, snogged the prince in a Vhranian caravanserai. I didn’t think they’d believe any of it. But it didn’t matter. I’d gotten my joy out of the prince, and that story was done.
On to the next one.
The parade led to a party, with musicians and a farandole dance beneath the glow of paper lanterns. Jonas showed up and offered me his hand, and we joined the line of strongholders snaking down the road, most already out of breath from joy and laughter. Dancing was still dancing, after all, and moving felt like freedom. But when he tried to kiss me, I ducked my head and joined a different line.
There were more partners—young and old, skilled dancers and not—as we celebrated beneath the twin moons that shone luminously over the stronghold. The scent of something delicious flowed through the market; a woman pushed a wooden cart bearing trays of fried dough knots. I glanced back at the inn, found Wren in the window watching the world, waved my arms until she saw me, then pointed at the cart.
She didn’t smile—she’d warned me not to go wandering—but I got a thumbs-up for the food.
The crowd was thick and hungry, and I wasn’t the first to reach the seller. I pulled my purse from my tunic, then stared down at the drawstring coin pouch the prince had given me when we’d returned from Vhrania.
I had a pouch, patched and threadbare, in my room. It was old enough that the seams were ready to burst like the skin of an overripe plum. I’d used this one instead, only so I wouldn’t have to worry about losing coins through holes in the fabric. Definitely not because I wanted the reminder of the adventure I probably shouldn’t have had.
I’d sell it tomorrow. Right now, I only needed the silver inside it. I pulled out a coin, imagined biting into the sweet, the edges crisp from frying and the sprinkle of crunchy sugar.
And then I heard a woman’s cry. I felt no pinch but looked around just in case, searching the crowd for trouble, and saw a cluster of uniformed garrison soldiers at the edge of the alley a few strides away. The taller of the group held the arm of a young woman half his size, her fingers clutched tightly around a green apple.
Rill’s voice was instantly recognizable. “Thieving on Springmarket,” he said. “You lot are supposed to have extra coins to spend, instead of stealing from hard workers.” There were surely at least a few decent soldiers in the garrison, but if so, I hadn’t met them yet.
“I didn’t steal it. I paid my coins.” She was about my age, with blond hair and a long dress of good-quality linen. She looked like she’d have had coin enough for an apple, especially on Springmarket.
But Rill just leered. “Oh, I doubt that very much. You look like the type to steal.”
Others walked past the scene, averting their eyes to avoid the soldiers’ attention. It was a bold bully that harassed a strongholder in a market of imperial soldiers, but Rill had never been the type to overthink.
I cursed, palmed a coin in my hand, and left the line for dough knots with only a little twinge of regret.
“You’re new,” Rill said to the woman, and had the other soldiers twittering.
I marched up, took the woman’s arm, and saw the flare of shock in her eyes. And could smell the cheap wine and old sweat on the soldiers. “Eleanora, I wondered where you’d got to. Thanks for buying me an apple.”
I snatched it from her hand, took a bite, and looked up at Rill. “Hello, acting commander. Any sign of the Aetheric practitioner?”
His lip curled. “This is none of your concern.” But he dropped his hold on her.
“My friend bought the apple for me, so of course it is.” I glanced at her, smiled. She smiled cautiously back.
“We’ll let you get back to work,” I said. “I’m suddenly hungry for a meat skewer.”
