Jeweled Fire

by Sharon Shinn

  Somehow Corene ended up in a carriage with the people she didn’t know as well: Garameno, his attendant, Greggorio, and Princess Alette. The three men had gallantly crowded into the backward-facing seat so the women could travel in more comfort for a ride that Corene had been told would take about forty-five minutes.

  At first, she tried to make conversation with Alette. The Dhonshon princess was very tall, with rich dark skin, huge blue eyes that could be unnervingly direct, and very short, very curly black hair. Her Malinquese was worse than Corene’s, but her Coziquela was flawless.

  “Have you been to the Great Market before?” Corene asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you like it? What did you buy?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I’d think someone there would carry Dhonshon items, if that’s what you were looking for.”

  “I brought with me everything I need.”

  Well, this wasn’t a very illuminating conversation. Corene tightened her lips in exasperation, and was annoyed to see Garameno had caught the expression. He was facing her, almost knee-to-knee; he would practically have to shut his eyes to avoid looking at her.

  “Indeed, there are vendors at the market with delicacies from all the southern nations,” Garameno said smoothly. “I’m sure you can find Welchin goods if you already miss the tastes and scents of your home country.”

  “I’d much rather buy things from Cozique and Berringey,” Corene replied. “Things I couldn’t get at the Plazas back home.”

  “The Plazas?”

  “The markets where we shop.”

  He seemed interested, so she described some of Chialto’s landmarks and customs, interrupted by Garameno now and then when there was some Palminera attraction he wanted her to notice. After clearing the massive gate set into the city walls, they turned south. Their pace was slow, as the wide streets were cluttered with vehicles—mostly one- or two-horse wagons, a few fancier carriages like their own, and a number of small four-wheeled conveyances that seemed to be powered by human riders diligently pedaling. Onlookers waved and cheered as the royal procession passed by, but they were nowhere near as enthusiastic as they’d been when Filomara was riding through town.

  No matter what the skyline, Corene could always see the tower of fire dominating the southern landscape, its restless flame visible even against the clear morning sky. She tried not to turn her head too often to gaze at it, but the incessant flickering kept catching the corner of her eye.

  They’d been outside the walls about fifteen minutes when Garameno slewed around to stare ahead of them. “Usually by the time you’ve gone this far, you can catch a glimpse of it—yes, in front of us and a little to your left. See the building with all the levels? That’s the Great Market.”

  Corene shaded her eyes and took in the sight of the multilayered, multicolored structure. She supposed the word Great should have prepared her, but she hadn’t anticipated anything quite so big. “It’s enormous,” she said.

  “They say if you pack people in as tightly as they will go—chest to back and shoulder to shoulder—you can fit five thousand people on each level. I tend to doubt that,” he added, “and no one’s ever tried it, as far as I know. But it is big.”

  Their pace became excruciatingly slow as they drew close to the market, since apparently everyone else in the city had spent the last few rain-soaked days wishing they could get out and go shopping. Their coach had been sitting in the same snarl of traffic for ten minutes when Corene came impulsively to her feet.

  “I’ll go on foot the rest of the way,” she said.

  Greggorio looked up in alarm as she set her hand upon the door. “Princess Corene—royalty can’t just walk unescorted through the market. It’s not safe—”

  She didn’t even have to look to know that Foley would already be off his borrowed horse and at the carriage door, ready to help her down. But, of course, she looked and, of course, he was there. “I’ll be fine,” she said, taking Foley’s hand and swinging both legs over the side of the carriage.

  Garameno watched her with hooded eyes. It would probably be difficult for him to maneuver his wheeled chair through the traffic, so he had to remain with the coach, but he let his reproachful expression be his only rebuke. “We’ll see you there,” he said.

  She gave him a saucy smile, tightened her grip on Foley’s fingers, and jumped down.

  There was a sudden scramble from the second vehicle. “Wait for us!” Melissande cried. A moment later she and Steff had exited more conventionally through the carriage door. A handful of soldiers detached themselves from the larger contingent and fell in behind them as they picked their way though the welter of carts and wagons and made for the market.

  Close up, it was even more impressive, with the huge archway of the main entrance big enough to drive six carriages through, three stacked on top of three. Through the immense opening, Corene could see people everywhere—not quite stomach to spine and shoulder to shoulder, but not much more spread out, either. Corene was glad to feel Foley at her back, a solid shape of safety and reassurance. Still, she wasn’t surprised when Melissande reached out to take hold of Corene with one hand and Steff with the other.

  “I am terrified that we will get separated among all these millions!” Melissande exclaimed. “I have never seen so many people here!”

  “Well, let’s see what they’ve got that everyone’s so eager to buy,” Steff said practically, and they stepped through the giant archway and into the tumult of the bottom floor.

  It was a little cooler inside, but the odor was overpowering. Corene thought it consisted of equal parts sweat, manure, and frying meat.

  “What—they’ve got livestock here?” Steff asked, amused. He sniffed. “And horses somewhere.”

  “I do not see horses,” Melissande said faintly. “Only cows.”

  “I’d know that smell anywhere.”

  “It is not quite so unbearable when you climb up to the next levels,” Melissande told them. She pointed. “See? There’s the stairway.”

  Corene glanced back over her shoulder, but she couldn’t see if anyone else from their party had abandoned the carriages and followed them in. They probably should have made a plan for reconvening at some designated place or time—although surely the others wouldn’t dare to leave them behind?

  “And all the best stuff is on the upper stories, too, right?” Corene said. “Let’s go.”

  “I want to look at the horses,” Steff said.

  Corene glanced at Melissande, who rolled her eyes and said, “Boys.”

  “But I don’t think the three of us should get separated,” Corene added. “So let’s go with him.”

  They fought their way through the throngs to find one whole row of the market given over to horses. Melissande, it turned out, was a rider, so she could admire the fine-boned geldings and soft-nosed fillies who poked their heads over the stall doors. She was less enthralled with the burlier animals who could be harnessed to plows and threshers, though Steff was impressed by a matched pair of large brown working horses and spent ten minutes discussing their weight and strength with the owner.

  “My father would love a pair like that,” he told Corene and Melissande when they finally managed to drag him away. “Probably have to feed them a ton, but it would be worth it in time saved. You might plow a field in half the time.”

  “A little piece of advice for you,” Melissande said, linking her arm through his and guiding him toward the central stairwell. “When you are courting various princesses and noble ladies, try not to talk too much about farm animals and plowing dilemmas and other so very mundane topics.”

  Steff grinned. “Liramelli and I talk about farming all the time.”

  “I can’t imagine why,” Corene said candidly. “You couldn’t wait to get off your father’s farm.”

  Steff rubbed his jaw wi
th his free hand, considering. “Maybe, but I’m seeing it differently now. I don’t want to go back, but I don’t mind so much that I was there. That I had that life. It seems a lot more real than some of this.” He swept his hand out to indicate the market—or perhaps all of Malinqua. Or, Corene thought, all the trappings of this new royal life.

  “Well, I do not think you should waste your time talking to Liramelli when Corene and I are so much more interesting.”

  He grinned. “You think you’re more interesting.”

  Corene laughed. “He has a little sister,” she said. “And it shows.”

  The spiraling metal staircase was wide enough for the three of them to climb side by side while others passed them going down. Corene glanced over her shoulder but, yes, Foley was just a pace behind.

  “I do not think we should bother with the second and third floors,” Melissande said. “The really fine items are on the top.”

  Steff looked like he might want to see what was on display here even so—not because he was interested in shopping, Corene thought, but because he was generally curious. He liked to understand how things worked, and she had the feeling he viewed the whole of Malinqua as one big puzzle. He was trying to put the pieces together, and the market was one of the most colorful pieces on the board.

  But he allowed Melissande to tug him away from the second-floor landing. “If you worked here, you’d be running up and down these stairs all day,” he commented.

  “It would be very tiresome,” Melissande agreed.

  He laughed. “I was thinking it would keep your muscles in good shape.”

  Melissande glanced over at Corene and sighed loudly.

  All of them—except Foley—were panting by the time they made it to the fourth floor, but Corene could immediately see that the exertion had been worth it. Everything about this level of the market had an elegance that had been lacking on the lower stories. The colors were more muted, the proportions were more pleasing, and the scents of incense and potpourri masked the animal odors drifting up from below. Best of all, it was much less crowded up here, with only a handful of well-dressed customers browsing through the booths, some of which were as big as the shops back in Chialto.

  “Oh, yes, this is where we want to spend our time,” Corene said.

  “And our money,” added Melissande.

  They passed a delightful twenty minutes strolling down the first row of booths, fingering bolts of silken fabric and sniffing at exotic perfumes. At first Corene thought Steff might be bored, but he almost immediately struck up a conversation with a Berringese clockmaker and started discussing the mechanisms used in his intricate creations. Melissande and Corene exchanged smiling glances, then moved on to the next row.

  “The last time I was here, there was a man selling the most lovely little music boxes—made of glass, so dainty!—and I want to show them to you,” Melissande said. “Even Steff would like them, I think, because you can see inside them and watch the gears turning.”

  “Those do sound nice,” Corene agreed. “I’m thinking I should buy presents to send back to Josetta and Zoe.”

  “There will certainly be something here to suit them. And here is the booth I mentioned! And see? Are these not exquisite?”

  The glass music boxes were, indeed, delicate and charming, though the man who seemed to own the booth was neither. He was large and bearded and rather alarming-looking, and Corene was glad when Melissande’s incessant questions took up all his attention.

  A young woman—his assistant or maybe his wife—moved over to wait on Corene. “Are you looking for anything in particular?” she asked.

  She spoke Malinquese, but Corene detected a familiar accent. “Are you Welchin?” she asked in her native tongue.

  The assistant smiled. She looked to be in her early thirties, a little slimmer than she should be for her sturdy frame. Her rich brown hair was drawn back in an unflattering knot; her hazel eyes were brimful of curiosity. “I am. I don’t get many chances to speak the language, though.”

  “Well, I’m getting better at Malinquese, but I’m still not good at it,” Corene said. “I’m so grateful when someone will speak Coziquela instead. But Welchin is even better!”

  “I saw you looking at the music boxes. Did one catch your eye?”

  “I need gifts for a couple of women—one elay, one coru.”

  “Oh, the music boxes are very elay. Wait, I have the perfect one.”

  She stepped away to search through a tall wooden cabinet and returned with a tiny item cradled in her hands. “This is my favorite one,” she said, holding out a crystal box scarcely bigger than her thumb. It was graced with touches of gold—four small filigree feet, a tiny crank, and the inner workings, clearly visible through the glass. Etched on top of the lid were three birds in flight. “The song it plays is so pretty, too. Try it.”

  Corene obligingly turned the little handle, and a lilting melody drifted out, sweet and ethereal. Without question, an elay creation.

  “I have to have this for Josetta,” she said. “But I need something else for Zoe. She’s much more—robust.”

  “If she’s coru—I know! We just got a shipment of hammered metal pitchers from Cozique. There’s a whole shelf of them behind the curtain in back. Would you like to come into the booth and see them all?”

  Corene glanced around. Melissande was still absorbed in negotiations with the large bearded man and Steff was nowhere in sight, but Foley stood just a foot away, both patient and watchful. It didn’t seem like she could come to any harm by stepping into the stall.

  The woman sensed her hesitation. “Or I can bring a few of them out to show you! It’s no trouble.”

  “No, I’d like to see them all. How do I get inside?”

  The assistant drew her to the side of the booth and swung open a hidden gate. “How long have you been in Malinqua?” she asked as Corene came through.

  “Half a nineday. I arrived right before the rain.”

  Two steps took them to the rear of the booth. The woman held back the curtain and motioned for Corene to precede her into a cramped, overcrowded storage space full of shelves and boxes. “Is this your first trip to the Great Market?”

  “It is! It’s been so much fun.”

  The woman let the curtain fall, and Corene had the sudden illusion that—in this very crowded, very public place—they were suddenly alone and private. The woman said, “And has anyone tried to sell you any red gemstones?”

  Corene froze.

  It was a code phrase, one she and Josetta had concocted years ago. It could mean almost anything—Are you in danger? Have you been hurt? Is the person so casually standing beside you actually holding a knife against your ribs?—and they had employed it a half dozen times in the past five years. If this woman knew to ask it, she could only have learned the question from Josetta.

  Or from Darien, who had asked Josetta what sentence would make Corene trust a total stranger.

  Unless—it was just barely possible—it was a random question a merchant might ask any wealthy customer on her first visit to a famous shopping district.

  “No,” Corene answered, trying to keep her tension out of her voice. “But I haven’t been shopping very long.”

  The woman had already dropped the obsequious manner of a shopkeeper; her expression now was deadly serious. More natural to her, Corene thought. “I have messages from your father.”

  “Who are you?”

  “My name is Leah. I have been in Malinqua for five years, working for the regent.”

  “He sent you to look for me?”

  Leah gestured at a pair of stools stacked on top of each other in the corner. “Would you like to sit? We can talk a few minutes before your friends start to worry about you.”

  Foley is probably already worried, Corene thought. But she nodded, and sank to the stool when Leah se
t it before her.

  “I’ve received several letters from your father, informing me you were on your way and asking me to make contact with you,” Leah said briskly. “He was most worried that you might have been brought to Malinqua against your will and he wanted me to ascertain your state of mind and the level of your safety. If you are in any danger at all, we will find a way to remove you from Malinqua and get you home.”

  Corene felt a tightness in her ribs, as if her lungs had stopped functioning or her heart had swelled to an uncomfortably large size. Darien hadn’t sent her gifts and letters—oh, no—he had mobilized agents across the southern nations to look out for her. He was efficient, not emotional, but she had the sudden unshakeable conviction that he would rearrange the continents of the world if that was what it took to ensure her well-being.

  “No—not in any danger—at least I don’t think so,” she added, thinking about the murdered heirs and missing girl. “And I certainly came of my own free will. I thought I made that clear in the note I left behind.”

  “You could have been coerced into writing something. He’s been very worried.”

  “Darien doesn’t seem like the type to worry.”

  “Maybe you don’t know him as well as you think.”

  “Maybe he’s never worried about me before.”

  Leah narrowed her eyes and studied Corene for a moment. Corene straightened on her stool, wondering what the other woman saw. “His secret sweela daughter by a ruthless manipulative woman,” Leah finally said. “I would think he’s been worried about you since you were born.”

  And didn’t that cast much of her life in a wholly different light? Corene would need to think about that at some more leisurely moment. “You can tell him I’m doing well. Everyone has been very kind.” No one’s tried to harm me. So far.

  “He’ll be glad to hear it. Can you come and go from the palace at will?”