Ahead, Nymaris unfolded like a painting brought to life. The air, thick with salt and blooming jasmine, carried flutes and laughter—a festival, lighter than the solemn rites of Xûen-Sarai or the hardy harvest feasts of Tremore. Children wove through the crowd, crowns of olive leaves and honeysuckle on their heads. On a makeshift stage of wine barrels, musicians played a tune that made the air seem to dance.
From every sandstone balcony, saffron and sea-green pennants fluttered, each embroidered with three interlocked crescents. The market square was a tapestry of sun-gold lemons, twilight-blue silk, and glazed pottery. And the smells—oh, the smells—were a delightful assault: fresh bread, spices she didn’t recognize, and the warm, comforting aroma of roasting honey pecans.
A deep ache tightened beneath her ribs. Her stomach growled. The boat passage hadn’t included food, and rations hadbeen scarce. What little edible ingredients she had—dried lotus root, lily bulbs, kelp—was gone by the third night.
She passed an open-air eatery where trestle tables spilled into the street. Stacks of crusty bread sat beside steaming bowls of broth. The scents stopped her in her tracks. Her belly churned, sharp and aching.
“Hungry, dear?” a woman called from behind the table, her sleeves dusted with flour. She spoke in Isseric instead of the local Aethairis.
JingYi jolted but nodded.
“Come. Today, Nymaris celebrates the return of our princess and her husbands after a long journey. Eat, eat.” She smiled and gestured toward the cauldron. “Our traditional seafood broth, made fresh with sea bass and late-harvest clams caught just this morning.”
JingYi’s throat bobbed, hunger warring with caution. The only currency she had was the limyerite crystals. But how wise would it be to pay with a rare gem in an open market like this?
Her cheeks turned pink. “I’m sorry, I don’t have?—”
“You’re alright to take a bowl,” the woman interjected kindly. “Today, no one is turned away, not in the princess’s name. The palace already paid us. Here.”
The soup bowl nestled into JingYi’s hands, fragrant steam curling beneath her chin. A fresh loaf, flour-dusted and still hot, was tucked into her arm. She bobbed in silent thanks, the kindness almost heavier than the food.
She found a seat at the edge of a sun-dappled table and cradled the bowl, whispering thanks to the faceless princess who’d made this possible, then dipped her spoon into the broth. She lifted a mouthful of tender fish, clams, barley pearls, and slivered roots. Her mouth watered at the aroma—salt, lemon, and bay—like sunlight distilled into soup.
But before the first bite reached her lips, a muffled cry fractured the market’s hum.
JingYi looked up.
Just across, a small crowd had gathered around a flower stall. A woman had doubled over, one hand braced against the cart, the other clutching her rounded belly. Sweat plastered her golden hair to her forehead as pain suffused her pale face. Beside her, a tall, brown-skinned man hovered, murmuring something too low to catch.
Urgency rippled through the crowd.
“She’s hurting?—”
“Fetch someone?—”
JingYi was already rising, soup forgotten. With uneven steps, she wove through bodies, murmuring apologies in Isseric. The flower cart came into full view now—a riot of peonies, heliotropes, and pale oleander.
Even bent with pain, the woman possessed a stark, undeniable beauty—sea-blue eyes, full rosy lips drawn. But each shallow gasp stole another fragment of her poise, leaving her trembling with agony.
“I’m fine,” she whispered.
“No, you’re not,” the man replied. He crouched beside her, rubbing slow circles into her lower back with a tenderness that belied the tension in his shoulders. His eyes flashed as he scanned the crowd. “Call a healer!”
JingYi stepped forward, heart racing. “I can help, if I may.”
The man turned at once, his broad frame shielding the woman. Brow furrowed, his golden eyes snapped to JingYi’s—sharp, assessing, unmistakably Alpha. She met the scrutiny without flinching.
“Are you a healer?” he asked.
“I am, Sir.”
“Help her,” he said, voice softer now, but still edged with desperation. “Please.”
JingYi turned to a woman hovering near the flower stall with a handful of crushed blossoms still clutched in her fist.
“Is there somewhere private the lady can rest?” she asked.
The woman blinked as if waking from a trance, then quickly nodded. “Yes, yes, of course.” She turned to the blonde woman and her companion. “This way, Princess. Your Highness.”
