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“I read about this technique years ago,” Lotta said with a nostalgic tilt to her eyes. “My dream is to one day open up a shop and make pieces not from the finest fabrics with the strongest, most expensive threads, but from things that are otherwise deemed useless or unsalvageable. Everything is worth something and can always have fresh life breathed into it.”

“That is inspiring and all,” Marcellus deadpanned, “but how does it help us get into the Desert Kingdom?”

Lotta angled the fine point of the needle in his direction. “If we do not wish to stand out, then we need to look the part.”

Bern gasped. “Are you thinking what I am thinking?” she asked, barely able to contain her excitement.

Lotta pulled out another handful of leaves and grinned. “I am.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Sand swirled around their feet as they passed underneath the large, pointed archway that marked the city’s entrance. It was carved from the same red sandstone as the surrounding mountains, only time and the harsh beat of sun had lightened the rich crimson to a tan peach. About a dozen guards were posted on either side, arrows strapped to their backs. Thicket pulled her scarf higher over her face, heart beating faster as they followed the bustle of people and wagons entering the city.

Lotta had fashioned one for each of them, using dyes made from a variety of flowers and fruits she had gathered to stain the fabric with deep hues of magenta, yellow, and green. At first, Thicket had been worried the color would make them stand out, but she should have known better by now not to doubt Lotta.

Everyone in the Desert Kingdom wore dark, vibrant colors. Dark browns, crisp yellows, and deep sea blues. She could tell why almost immediately. The red of the sand clung to their fabric, kicked up by gusts of wind or by passersby as they wound through the endless market stalls. The vibrant colors hid the red well, unlike the white tops to the wagons and booths, which had been stained a muddy russet.

No one looked their way as they entered the city, yet it didn’t stop Thicket’s entire body from sweating as she noticed more guards, pacing the length of the streets. They may have gotten in without any problems, but that didn’t mean they were in the clear. She risked a glance over at Marcellus. Only his eyes were visible between the gap in his sage green scarf. They were trained straight ahead, gaze steady and sure. She bit the inside of her cheek and tried to mimic the same confidence.

“Relax your face.” Marcellus’ voice rumbled beside her, low enough so only she could hear. “You look guilty.”

She was guilty—or about to be. But she flattened her lips together, trying to force her face into a neutral expression.

They headed towards the intricate domed rooftops scraping the sky above the city. Unlike Dymree, whose streets had been made of perfectly paved brick and pristine glass windows, the Desert Kingdom was chaotic and full of life. Boisterous voices called out from nearby stalls, pitching their wares to the swell of the crowd. Jewels glistened under the sun, intricately woven fabric swayed in the breeze, and smoke hovered through the air, carrying a mixture of spiced meat and floral perfume.

Lotta sold some of the extra scarves she made for coin, allowing them to indulge in a few meat skewers and chunks of dried prickly pear sprinkled with sugar.

“We should split up,” she said as she polished off her skewer. “I will scope a path to the palace and see what I can learn about its entrances.” Her eyes flicked to Elian. “You are coming with me.”

“Me?” Elian echoed, surprised.

“Your Aneuma could be useful,” she said. “We will meet back here within the hour.” Lotta made to depart, not giving Elian a chance to object. He hesitated, glancing back once more at Thicket. “Be safe,” he said.

She swallowed, clutching her arms tighter around her waist. “You, too.”

Elian’s gaze lingered for another second before following Lotta into the crowd.

Bern’s arm found Thicket’s. “Let’s go!” she chirped. “I want to explore as much as possible.”

“Priorities, Bern,” Marcellus grunted.

“As I already established,” Bern said with a dramatic wave of her hand, “I am an excellent multitasker.”

Marcellus raised an incredulous brow.

“Shopkeepers love gossip,” Bern said. “If you show enough interest in their products, they will often give you a little something extra to convince you to buy it.” She tossed a coin, catching it with a wink. “Let’s go!”

Bern dragged Thicket through the never-ending row of stalls. She watched in awe as vendors instantly warmed up to Bern, insisting she try on various scarves and jewels and raving about how exuberant she looked in each of them. Bern drank it all in, saying things like, “It is all because of your incredible items!”

The vendors gushed and Thicket knew Bern had them wrapped around her finger.

They learned there was indeed a prisoner from another kingdom being kept at the palace and, to Thicket’s relief, confirmed the death of the phoenix that instigated it.

It was reassuring to know that part of her dreams hadn’t been a lie.

They ventured on.

Birds zipped through the sky, some with feet bound with parcels and letters. Thicket almost walked straight into one as it shot past her into a nearby tent. She ducked her head inside. The sharp, metallic scent of ink mingled with the comforting notes of parchment. It was hard to make out many of the shop’s details with the abundance of birds flitting about, yet she spotted a row of wax stamped letters stuffed into shelves along the back wall.