by Lucy Tempest
“Homesick,” Cora stressed. “I miss my dogs, cats, land and home. I miss my mother.”
Cherine laughed humorlessly. “I don’t.”
After that, we fell back into idle silence. Cherine seemed to be fixated on watching every detail we passed on our way down. Cora crossed her arms and lolled her head back as she napped. I split my attention between the compartment’s windows, catching glimpses of the city below on one side, and of Cyrus whenever he passed again on the other.
After two hours, the train came to a creaking halt, on the edge of the marketplace near the town square. We were hustled out and arranged into lines, each walking behind their handler.
Compared to the interior of the train, and the cooler temperature at the palace elevation, the heat felt like a stinging slap to the face. It was the peak of midday, with the merciless sun beating down on the paved streets and reflecting blindingly off bronze domes, whitewashed buildings and stained-glass windowpanes.
As we walked into the city, people hustled and bustled around us in the bazaar, chattering and shouting and bargaining. Merchants called out singsong slogans, advertising their goods from their counters, carts or windows among the cramped view of the ever-changing crowds. Rectangular buildings hovered above us, with spiraling stairs, flat steps and dovecot roofs. Some houses even had what looked like pigeonholes for windows. We were close enough to the river to feel the humidity and hear the barges and boats passing by, carrying merchandise for the market and people to the focal points of the city.
In another circumstance, I would have loved to explore every nook and cranny of those amazing attractions and comb over the stalls and shops. But now, all I could think of was how I was going to slip away, rendezvous with Cyrus and start our search.
“What is this place?” a girl from Master ZuhaÏr’s line asked.
“The downtown of our capital, Sunstone,” Loujaïne said, opening a parasol. “We’re going to take a detour through the city to our destination.”
“You mean we are to walk there?” a girl from Ariane’s line gasped.
“I am not walking through this place.” Fairuza flung her hand toward the market.
“You will walk,” Loujaïne snapped. Then without giving anyone else a chance to utter another word, she linked arms with Mistress Asena and they walked ahead.
“I hate to admit it,” Cherine whispered. “But she’s right. I don’t want to walk here. Common people are dangerous. They might rob us or kidnap us for ransom”
Cora rolled her eyes. “You can always go back to hang out with the ghoul in our room.”
A squeal ripped out of Cherine. “No!”
Not in the mood for another session of bickering, I held out my elbows to them. “Alright then, hop on and off we go.”
Cora roughly linked her arm with mine and shaded her eyes as she looked around. Cherine held onto the crook of my other elbow and bunched her skirt up as we hopped over a puddle where a merchant was washing his fruit pyramid with a hose.
As we waded through the crowds, most of the girls fussed, complained and expressed hyperbolic disgust. I didn’t know if they were genuinely that sheltered or if they were trying to outdo each other on the uppity front. One thing was for sure: Cora and I wanted to punch them all because it wasn’t even that bad. I’d slept on the ground of far, far worse places.
After a lot of huffing, puffing, whining and stumbling, our little field trip ended at the ornate gates of a lofty one-level building. Its huge, shimmering façade was a mosaic made up of octagonal tiles of blue and opalescent marble and too many columns to count. To complete the stunning picture, there were peacocks strutting across the front yard.
“Oh, look at that one!” Cherine cooed, pointing at the end of the porch as we climbed up.
A peacock, white as snow, sat on the porch steps, its tail folded into a train behind it. At the approach of a peahen, it unfurled its tail and shook it at her and at us while cawing loudly. It was beautiful.
Speaking of beautiful, I again wondered where Cyrus was. I was burning with anxiety, anticipating his appearance, and how we’d begin our sweep of the city’s shrines.
Cherine looked mesmerized by the snowy peacock. “How is it that color? I didn’t know they came in that color.”
“Everything can come without color,” I said. “There are people who are like that.”
She jumped around with a gasp. “Really? Have you seen one?”
“Yep,” I said, holding back the “So have you” part of the answer.
“I’ve been dreaming of a man with silver hair and snow-white skin, whiter than the people in the Northland Kingdoms. Do you think I should visit a priestess while we’re here, have her interpret my dreams?”
I didn’t know what to make of her fascination with Ayman, as she had both wonderful dreams and terrible nightmares about him, each starring a different aspect of him.
I finally shrugged. “Sure, why not?”
Cherine ran off to find a map of the city and Cora started roaming the place like it was a museum, checking every statue and decorated wall. As I started to snoop around, too, many of the trinkets on display beckoned me to swipe. Then I remembered what Cyrus had said about angry gods and stealing from temples and focused on the actual reason I was here.
The building was a cross between a courthouse and a temple. Along with sculpted altars and their ancient, preserved shrines, there were alcoves and podiums for priests or judges. It was clear this was where many came to get married, as a line of couples stood in wait, some in full ceremonial garb, others just in their best clothes. All outfits were gorgeous, their complex patterns combining with lush materials, rich dyes and multi-layered jewelry to create a sumptuous whole.
What did the weddings themselves look like if the bride and groom were that festive and extravagant on their own?
Cyrus appeared behind me as I was sizing up an incense burner, whispered in my ear, “Find anything?”
The feeling of his warm breath on my skin was like a charge, raising every hair on my body in an intense shudder and almost making me drop what I was holding.
Gulping down my haywire reaction, I turned to him, handing him the burner. “This isn’t gold, is it?”
He tilted the incense burner, checked its corners. “It’s rusting around the bottom, so, definitely not.”
He offered it back to me with a bow of his head. My fingertips brushed over his as it passed from his grasp to mine, sparking a jolt of awareness up my arm.
Trying to steady my jangling nerves, I pretended to examine the burner, feeling the vine-like etchings in the metal and smelling the burnt remains of myrrh. But all I could really feel was Cyrus standing so close, his warmth radiating over me.
As I placed it back in its nook, he said, “I’ve already checked the place. Nothing gold in here save for the rings.”
It took me a second to get that he meant wedding rings. I swallowed.
“Would you like me to show you around?”
I wanted to blurt out “I would like anything as long as you’re involved.”
Thankfully, I only nodded.
As he held out his arm, I saw Cora watching us from across the room, expressionless save for the quirked brow. I swallowed again, ignoring his arm and moving ahead, hoping she’d take that as him giving me directions.
We moved past the entrance columns and into a darker hall where newlyweds lit candles below shrines.
“This is the House of Love,” he suddenly whispered close to my ear, his voice zapping through me all over again. “Primarily a temple to the water goddess Anaïta, where the lovers come to commit themselves forever in her presence and where the lonely ask for her help in finding their mates.”
In the center of a stone fountain with floating lanterns at its periphery stood a life-size sculpture of a woman who held out her hands with a slight, comforting smile. Her hair tumbled down around her body and she wore a headdress that arced over her head like the spread tail of a peacock. As we approached I cou
ld see her round cheeks, full lips and downturned eyes and that…
…she had the exact same face as that of Jumana Morvarid in the vault!
I turned to Cyrus to ask if he too thought so and found his mouth dropped open at the sight of her. That was answer enough for me.
But if he was surprised by the perfect resemblance between the two statues, did that mean he’d never been in here before?
As I started to ask, he hushed me with a gentle finger on my lips. A couple was ascending past us to the statue. Each slipped a hand into one of Anaïta’s and placed lilies over the floating flames, burning the petals and reciting an oath over their smoke.
The air got heavier with the hot perfumes. It became stifling with the bittersweet tension of Cyrus hovering closer over me as we watched the union of the couple before us.
My every nerve crackled as the back of his hand brushed mine. They almost combusted when his fingers traced across my palm to wrap around it. I didn’t know if I should return his grasp. I didn’t even know if I could, if my hand would obey me if I tried. I hadn’t held hands with a boy since I was twelve, and it surely had felt absolutely nothing like it did now.
No one’s touch had ever affected me like this before.
His thumb brushed the back of my hand in soothing strokes, applying a light pressure to my veins. I hoped he couldn’t pick up a pulse, or he’d know he had my heartbeat stampeding.
“Does everyone go through this ritual?” I whispered, voice raspy and alien in my ears.
He nodded, turning to gaze deeply into my eyes. “Getting married in the eyes of love herself is a must before doing so in front of the law of the land. You have to appease her first or else she might feel slighted and damn your marriage.”
“Goddess of love, indeed,” I said, attempting a sarcastic tone. I only sounded breathless. As I was.
“Is she any worse than your goddess who’s threatening you with severe consequences if she doesn’t get her lamp back?”
His probing gaze told me he believed I was still holding out on him, was hoping I’d give him more specifics.
Since I couldn’t do that, I shook my head. “So, one shrine down. What next?”
A disappointed look flitted over his face before he hid it in a smile and said, “We go shopping.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Why are we here again? What is the point of this?”
At Cherine’s loud, approaching moan, Cyrus squeezed my hand, whispered he’d see me later and slipped away.
Still trembling, I tried to compose myself as I turned to her. “Think they’re showing us what to expect of living here.”
That or they were gauging our reactions to the idea. Judging by most of the group, they didn’t like the heat, humidity, markets, stray dogs or even people because they kept cringing away from anyone who brushed past them. Oddly enough, Fairuza was the only one not overreacting. Her complaints were limited to the heat, the distances we walked and the wet potholes drenching the bottom of her skirt. All of which were, admittedly, reasonable.
I let Cherine drag me back to the entrance where Cora was waiting with the others. In five minutes, we had exited the temple and were walking back to the market. Seemed we really were going shopping.
I lagged behind as we snaked through the fresh produce corner of the market. Everything was under a wide, continuous roof supported by arches and columns, and surrounded by huge blocks of ice that didn’t melt, cooling the passage considerably. I kept looking back for Cyrus, but he remained far behind. Seemed he had to play security officer for now.
Giving up, I caught up with the rest as we stopped near a stand with buckets of blooming flowers, clay pots of herbs and spices and multi-sized satchels of seeds.
“What flowers would you have in your bouquet?” I heard Asena ask.
“Silver roses from the forests of Rosemead,” Fairuza answered automatically.
“Blue water lilies from Rhakotis,” said Ariane.
“Whatever doesn’t smell like dog piss,” Cora grumbled under her breath.
I thought those sparkly lilies in that stand would be lovely.
Cherine outdid all the answers. “Primroses for eternal love, yellow poppies for wealth, white heather for health and ivy for faithfulness.”
“I hope it’s poison ivy,” Fairuza sneered.
“I hope your beast brother ate all the silver roses.”
Loujaïne shut down the brewing fight. “What would you serve at the wedding?”
They fought over who could yell their answer the loudest. I caught “Roasted alligator!” and “Shark fin soup!” and “Stewed prunes!” among other weirder options.
If I ever got married, I would just host our wedding guests in the backyard of our house with food I knew how to cook well. I would serve cakes people would actually like to eat, because in my experience, wedding cakes were just pretty. Pretty inedible, that was.
Anyway, I didn’t know how to make anything that wasn’t pub food.
Then again, people generally loved pub food.
Mistress Asena’s voice rose over the cacophony. “What desserts would you offer?”
The responses got even more enthusiastic and competitive.
Farouk pushed through the clucking girls and came to stand between Loujaïne and Asena. Seemed he’d decided they’d had enough unruliness. “Here’s your task. You are to search the marketplace for elements of those three items and you are to cook and arrange them for us by the end of this week.”
So, that was the shopping Cyrus had talked about.
Farouk made a dramatic pause, before he added, “That is when you will meet the prince.”
The girls erupted in excited chatter, deluging our quintet of judges with questions about the prince, what our task had to do with him and why he’d be there before the penultimate elimination.
“Now!” Loujaïne’s shout ended their clamoring. “You have three hours.”
The group clashed like a gaggle of headless chickens, going in random directions then stopping to complain and yell questions. Some even refused to go anywhere without our handlers and their handmaidens.
Cora wandered off somewhere to sample the local produce, and Cherine was swept away with the crowd. Relieved that I wouldn’t have company, I looked around to see if Cyrus would catch up with me as he’d promised.
He was nowhere to be found.
But I had a deadline and couldn’t afford to waste a second. I had to get this done without him. I also had to secure something first.
I stepped back and took note of what was where before circumventing the flailing bodies of the group. Too engaged in the argument, Meira didn’t notice as I pretended to bump into her and carefully lifted one of Fairuza’s coin pouches. I knew it contained a hefty sum of silver and bronze. I had money, but why spend mine when I could spend Fairuza’s? With that amount, I could probably get myself a few of those sparkly flowers along with everything I had to buy.
That was nowhere near a big enough price for flipping a girl to her bone-crushing death. But there would be time for vengeful robbery of something of real value to her later. For now, I had some serious shopping to do.
With the coin pouch shoved down my décolletage, I zipped around the town square, a mental shopping list getting longer with each consideration.
I soon had to stop in a shady corner. The sun beating down on me was overheating my brain and soaking me in sweat. But I couldn’t stay long. The clock was ticking.
As I stepped back into the street, another shadow came over me.
“A bit hot, isn’t it?” Cyrus’s voice drenched me in its cool drawl.
I spun around to find him holding up a parasol big enough to cover three.
My heart did its usual jig inside my chest at his sight. “Scorching.”
And I didn’t mean the weather.
His smile rivaled the sun as he came forwards, shielding me in the protection of his aura and the shade. “The dog days are by far the worst par
t of the year, but cooler weather is due by the time the competition is over.”
I smirked. “So we go home when it gets good. Typical.”
“Who said anything about you going home?”
“Let’s be honest, there’s no way I’m staying.”
“Who knows what will happen.”
I did. Though I’d thought I did twice before, I was certain there was no way I was staying this time.
I shrugged. “Anyway, no use focusing on anything but the matter at hand. Any idea what I’m supposed to get? A few things and get the rest from the palace, or the whole ingredient list?”
“Depends on what you intend to make. I assume you have a plan?”
Not exactly, but if there was anything I had learned from pub and tavern food, it was that you could never go wrong with potatoes. They were cheap, enduring, satiating, and you could slice them, dice them, boil, broil, mash or fry them and they would be good in any way. I could just make a whole set of potato dishes and pretend that I was so varied and clever.
“Do you have potatoes in Cahraman?”
From the way his brows rose, that was the last thing he’d expected me to ask. “We do.”
“Good, I’ll need about ten dozen.”
“Then you’ll have them.” He grinned as he offered me his hand.
At first, I thought he was handing me the parasol and set my hand over his, fingertips on his knuckles, waiting for them to slide out and leave the handle in my grasp. Instead, he bent his arm so my hand was on the crook of his elbow in a light ladylike hold on an escort’s arm.
I flashed back to the moment in the temple when he’d held my hand. I hoped to pass my blush off as the result of the heat rather than his closeness and the memory of his touch.
He led me to a stall stacked with potatoes, sweet and regular, along with other root vegetables; onions, beets and carrots. It was the front of a shop that sold grains, dried fruit and spices. He picked up a bag of potatoes before we went into the shop, where we checked every colorful barrel and sniffed every aromatic pile.
Though he was playing escort seamlessly, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this exploration was as new to him as it was to me.