by Anya Josephs
We have to ride in a litter again to get there, which is hardly my favorite mode of transportation. Still, with the presence of the King, I’m not surprised that security is necessary. He is, as always, accompanied by his silent and masked guard, but we have to remain separate from the crowd, nonetheless. One bodyguard, no matter how intensive his training or ferocious his fighting prowess, can hardly be expected to defend all three of us against a riot or assassins or any of the other dangers that could be lurking in so large a crowd.
When the long ride finally ends and we are at last permitted to dismount, I realize we aren’t as far away as I’d thought from where we’ve spent the last few months. The fair is just outside the palace walls. There are hundreds of tents set up around the City, pressed close to the wall and spanning as far as I can see in every direction. The crowd parts around us, in the wake of the King’s guard pressing them to either side, but I am still overwhelmed by the sheer number of people there. I’ve never seen so many people all at once, not even at the ball. They have every shade of skin from paler than the King’s to darker than Sisi’s; some have figures imposingly tall and others as short as children; some are dressed in everyday clothing like the simple shifts we wear at home and others in costumes that barely seem to be clothes at all. There are strange flared dresses, some people wearing nothing but cloths tied around their waists, and several people with bright green tattoos across their faces. I try not to stare, knowing how rude it is, but it’s difficult not to when the people are so interesting.
At the very center, between the tents divided evenly on each side, there is a tall platform. My family and I stand off to one side as the King climbs to the top. He looks small and lonely up there, with no one but his silent shadow accompanying him. I’m sure he must be used to addressing large crowds, since after all he is the King, but I can’t help but imagine how nervous I would feel in his place, if I were standing up at the top of that platform with so very many eyes on me.
I can hear him clear his throat, a small, scratchy sound that echoes over the open space, over the suddenly silent crowd. But when he speaks, although the words seem to be memorized by rote, his voice is clear.
“Ladies, gentlemen, all peoples, all go’im from all Corners of this great Kingdom and our Mother Earth, I welcome you to the One Thousand Three Hundred and Twelfth Spring Grand Market. Thank you for making the journey to our Capital, my home city. As always, you honor us with your presence. Our city is enriched not just by the trade that will take place here today, but also by the gathering of so many people from so many widespread places. As many of you are too aware, our Kingdom has faced dark times recently. The harmonious union of many peoples has always been our strength, and the will of our Mother Gaia. I hope that today, we will experience this harmony again, and take a step toward again enshrining that value in our Capital city and throughout every Corner of the Earth. Simply by being here—by bringing your trade, and yourselves, to the Grand Market—you are aiding our Kingdom in this most vital work. I will say no more, since I am sure you are eager to do what you came here for, but only to say once again, welcome.”
He speaks better than I would have expected, given what a nervous man he is. But then, he has always seemed fiercely intelligent in his breakfast debates with Sisi. The crowd certainly seems impressed, rewarding even this brief speech with uproarious applause. However, no one lingers long—they must be, as the King said, eager to begin their trade.
I wish we had free rein to wander, but Aunt Mae informs us strictly that if we wander off, there’s every chance she’ll never see us again, and besides, there are parts of the market that are simply unsuitable for two young ladies. That, of course, just makes me want all the more to go explore what on Earth these people could be selling that’s improper even to look at, but Aunt Mae’s expression is forbidding enough that I decide to stick close, even though it would be temptingly easy to duck off into the crowd and spend a few hours unseen, unremarked upon in the anonymity of the crowd. Still, even with the fuss we attract in the King’s wake, there’s no shortage of interesting things to see.
The first stall we stop at is a jeweler’s, a smiling woman who’s stockpiled a set of centuries-old treasures made by one of the long-extinct tribes of the pahyat. If I were still in my homespun dress and looking like my normal self, she’d never let me near her precious wares, but accompanied by the King, we’re allowed not just to see them, but also to touch and admire them.
We spend nearly an hour under the black velvet of her tent, examining the many treasures of her collection. Many of the items are made of thickset gold and glittering with precious gems. Some of the necklaces are several feet long, with every inch covered in pearls and rubies. Instead of these eye-catching treasures, though, I notice a delicate bracelet lying on a black velvet pillow. It’s a very thin circle of silver, inset only with one large, teardrop shaped gem. Despite its small size, it draws my attention, and I can’t resist the urge to slip it on my wrist.
“It’s so beautiful.” I turn my hand slightly, watching the clear stone send sparkling shards of light everywhere. I take it off quickly, not wanting to risk damaging something so beautiful. “Thank you, madam.”
“Do you like it, Jena?” King Balion asks me.
“Oh, very much. It’s the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“It is indeed very nice. And it suits you.” He turns to the merchant. “Lady, how much for that bracelet?”
“For Your Majesty, it is a gift,” she stammers, her eyes widening.
“Nonsense. I won’t take profit out of your hands. Tell me how much it is worth.” For a moment, his voice sounds commanding, even regal. Then he smiles again. “If it will help, I can go back outside and leave my purse with the ladies, and you can simply pretend I was never here.”
Still reluctantly, she says, “It would be eight hundred and fifty shekin, ordinarily.”
I wince at that. It’s a fortune, hundreds of times what my father’s farm had made in even more prosperous years, much more than Lord Ricard sent us for our journey here, and likely more money than I have ever seen in my entire life. “Your Majesty, you mustn’t—” I begin.
He sighs heavily, but his good humor still seems intact. “Gaia below, everyone certainly is making this complicated. Jena, your cousin tells me she would never have agreed to come to the Capital without your advice and your company. Consider this a small recompense for that service, if you cannot just accept a gift from me as a friend.”
I’m not sure what would be worse: accepting such an exorbitant gift, or arguing with the King himself. I look to Aunt Mae for advice, but, unhelpfully, she only shrugs. I suppose it’s up to me, then. And I do so want to keep the bracelet. Feeling guilty nonetheless, I curtsy slightly. “Your Majesty is too kind.”
He seems to feel a little awkward about that. Good. I’m happy to pass the awkwardness along. “I’m glad to. Let’s get on, then. Lots to see.”
He pays the merchant what she asked and a bit more, brushing off her many thanks, and we set off. Though I continue to feel ashamed of the fact that I’m wearing enough value on one arm to feed a Quarter’s worth of hungry families, I can’t help but sneak glances down at the bracelet on my wrist, admiring the way it catches the sunlight as we walk through the crowd.
We stop next at a merchant of silks and other fine cloths. Aunt Mae exclaims aloud at the workmanship of the textiles, the even, invisible weave, but I’m more interested in the other customer perusing the wares. While Aunt Mae pelts the shopkeeper with questions about her work, I watch this other woman. She’s taller and darker than even Sisi, with her lips stained a bright red. Something about the way she moves, a little faster and more graceful than everyone else, her hands almost disappearing as she traces them quickly over the fabric captivates me—and then she turns toward me, and I see her eyes flash. Though her eyes are brown, I see a ring of crimson around her irises, like a pahyati in one of Sisi’s illustrated tomes about the Peoples of the
Earth.
I realize suddenly how rude I’m being. A small part of me still wants to approach the woman and ask her if it’s true, if she’s descended from the go’im or if she is one herself, if she knows any magic, but I dare not. Instead, I focus my eyes downward and onto my new bracelet, pretending I’ve been admiring that rather than staring at this stranger. When Aunt Mae has made her selections, I’m relieved to leave the tent before I can make too much of a fool out of myself.
Our next stop reveals a rich array of teas and spices, out for display in flat-bottomed copper bowls. The merchant is a grinning, grey-bearded man, who happily urges us to smell the rainbow of peppers and salts he has out. I do as he says, taking in the bright and spicy scents. Sisi leans over a particularly brilliant golden-hued powder and takes in a deep breath—and then sneezes right over it, scattering all the little flakes of spice everywhere.
The man only laughs. “Turmeric, it makes you sneeze. You cannot help it. Do not worry, this is only for smelling, not for selling.” He gestures toward the back of his stall, where he has many small boxes stacked on top of each other. “Those, I sell. Here, just to look at. Let me tell you.”
He explains the origin of every individual item. Every one of these spices is from a different part of the Kingdom: a bright red one is distilled from peppers grown in the North, the auburn powdered cinnamon from the East, the salts from different regions of the sea. I imagine all the different farms it would take to make such an array of riches—dozens of families just like mine, spread out across the entire Earth, their own crop of these exotic things as familiar to them as the apples we grow back home.
We wander from that stall to another selling rich old wines—the King samples several, as does Aunt Mae, toasting each other and laughing with every cup—to another jeweler, to a fresh flower market, to an old bookseller that fascinates me, though with my still-limited ability to read, I cannot make out the old-fashioned print in any of the books. By midafternoon, we’re all weary and overwhelmed, so we purchase our lunches, hot curried chicken in a warm flatbread, and sit in a niche in the castle wall, overlooking the action of the market. The tents where merchants have their wares laid out stretch on and on as far as I can see, and everywhere people are moving to and fro.
Lunch leaves a little trail of the spiced sauce around each of our lips. The King doesn’t notice his stained face, and so Sisi laughs and leans in to wipe it away. He thanks her with a quick kiss, which Aunt Mae pretends not to see.
I could have spent hours more wandering around the marketplace, but my feet are growing tired and the King’s guard leans in close, whispering something to him. “I am reminded,” the King says to the three of us, “that I must return home before it begins to get dark. The crowds, you see.”
I frown, and Sisi nearly protests, but to my great disappointment, we have to head back to the palace. As soon as we return to our rooms, though, I can to admit to myself that I’m quite weary and content to sit down on the couch, put my feet up on the table, and admire my beautiful bracelet.
Sisi is in another of her quiet moods once the King has left. She doesn’t reach for her books, just sits next to me and takes my hand. I don’t want to be the one prying into her business—again. Or perhaps I just don’t want to be the one she’s pushing away—again. So I simply ask, “You all right, cousin?”
She gives me a very small smile. “Yes, Jena. I think I’m happy.”
Chapter Nineteen
By now, I can read nearly anything I set my mind to. Several months of weekly lessons with Jehan have me able to keep up even with some of Sisi’s denser texts. She still saves the thickest volumes for herself, but at least I can scan an index and read a few passages fast enough to direct her attention where she wants it to go. Her attempts to uncover where the Kingdom’s once-rich magic has fled have not slowed since she met the King. Quite the opposite, in fact—her frequent, lively debates with him seem only to spur her into further exploration of the hidden secrets that so fascinate her.
I’d be lying if I tried to pretend like I wasn’t interested myself. I don’t mind acting as a kind of research assistant, when she invites me to. It’s the most time we spend together these days since she spends most waking hours with King Balion. And even without that, I’ve been drawn into the mystery—I want to know too.
I want to be as clever as Sisi is, and as knowledgeable. More so, even. If she is the beauty, I ought to be the clever one, right? And since I can’t change my looks—if ever any magic could do that, it’s been long since lost to time—I might as well aim for the improvement within my own control. Namely, I ought to try to become clever.
So, I read whatever she puts in front of me, even when it is head-poundingly difficult or eye-wateringly dull. Today’s selection is a book on the history of the Grand Market.
At first, I don’t see the point of reading something so boring, but Sisi suggests, “It might once have been more than a mere festival. If people came from every Corner of the Earth, could they have been having some kind of political congress?”
“You mean, like the Three Powers?” Now that my cousin and the King are officially courting, I know more about how the Kingdom is ruled—namely, that the King has to get approval from his Guard, the Priests of the School of Magic, and his own Royal Family before he can make serious changes.
“More than that,” Sisi explains. “The author seems to be saying that important decisions used to be put to a vote—not of a few different powerful figures here in the Capital, but of anyone who chose to make their voice heard.”
“That makes sense. The trade at the festival could encourage a lot of people to come.”
“But it’s hard to believe that the Kingdom was ever so fair and equitable. It seems like the whole system was set up to put all the power of rule in the hands of one person, always a human, always a man, always from a singular bloodline.”
“You haven’t seen the palace the way I have,” I retort. “There are wings for the adirim and pahyat too, set up for what they need. It was never meant to be just for humans.”
“But maybe the throne always was.”
“That doesn’t mean no one else was ever allowed any influence.”
So absorbed in debate are we that I don’t hear the knock at the window. Instead, a glint of movement catches my eye, and I see a black-clad figure, like a moving shadow, creeping in over the sill.
I start to scream, but fortunately bite it back in time, as I recognize the strange shadowy figure of the King’s guard.
“His Majesty sent me for you,” says the voice behind the mask. “He wants to show you something.”
At once, Sisi is no longer engaged in her argument with me. She’s grinning eagerly, and all but throws herself out the window. I look down at the book, blinking away tears. Another time I’ll be left behind, I suppose. I really ought to be getting used to it by now. At least I’ll get a chance to practice my reading, which I know I should make more of a priority.
But just a second later Sisi’s head reappears, popping up in the windowsill. “Are you coming, or what?”
I didn’t think I was invited on this expedition, but if she wants me, I’ll go. I sigh and follow her.
The King is waiting just beneath the window with a grin on his face. He takes Sisi’s hand in his and shows us the way beyond the palace wall. It’s a long walk from the center, through the darkening streets of the City, to wherever he’s leading us. If not for the presence of the King and his silent, strong guard, I would be terrified of the dangers that could lurk around any corner. Fortunately, Sisi and I aren’t alone.
We duck through walkways and scurry over bridges, turning left and right and every way until I am thoroughly confused. Finally, we turn at the end of a long, thin alleyway and find ourselves in an immense and splendid courtyard. Everything is green and blossoming, and the first flowers of springtime are just visible as the sun sets in the west.
“It’s the Dawn of Spring,” I say aloud, realizi
ng. I remember these ceremonies from when I was a girl, when Kariana was still alive. Everyone for miles around used to gather for the four ceremonies every year, as one season spun into the next and we celebrated the bounty of our Mother, the Earth.
“The first day of the new season, yes. My brother’s asked that we no longer make the old festivals part of court life, and I agreed, but… well. People will still gather,” King Balion replies with a shrug. He seems almost apologetic, like he feels guilty for denying his brother’s request.
But he’s right. People are gathering for the Dawn of Spring, just the way they used to, just as they always have.
And they seem to appear from everywhere, from hidden corners and the stones surrounding us. We are not many in number—perhaps thirty or so people, mostly women of Aunt Mae’s age and older, though there are a few men and some younger folks as well.
This time, the King makes no speech of welcome. Instead, he joins with the rest of the celebrants in a great circle, hand in hand. I take Sisi’s left hand and join a stranger on my other side. Someone begins to turn, slowly, and then all at once, movements swelling between our joined hands like a current running through still water. All I have to do is keep up the pace with the other dancers. Even the clumsy King manages to follow along.
We are dancing, turning in perfect, even circles, when someone begins to chant. The words are all in the Old Tongue, and they’re carried out in time with the heavy, pounding rhythm of the dance, but I think I recognize in them some of the familiar words of the blessing Kariana once made over our fields. The dance, too, now that I think of it, is not so dissimilar from that simple circle step.
I try to listen to the words of the prayer, but they blend into one another, making an endless flow of sound. Along with the steady step of the dance, I feel myself drifting away from this time, this moment. Around and around we go in the circle, again and again, and I can imagine all the previous generations of worshippers performing the same motions, spiraling endlessly, back and back and back.