I looked at Sir Sigve's blood soaking the sand, my mind revolting as the men praised a job well done. Meeting my companion's glassy stare, bile rose to my throat. How stupid I had been, believing these strangers, trusting a piece of paper. And now it was too late. A face loomed over me, eyes alight with glee. His dagger was at my throat. Before I could scream, I felt the sting of pain.
I opened my eyes, and the pain lifted. Phantom images dispersed like mist on a mountain, replaced by my serene surroundings. Muffled sounds of a new day carried through the hull. Sailors talked while unloading heavy cargo, and waves lapped against the shore. I was still on the ship, in my cabin where clothes lay discarded in a pile on the floor and the wooden carving of my old pony stood on a shelf by the bed. Outside, a sea of shattered sapphire gleamed beneath the bright sun. My heart, beating something fierce, slowly returned to its steady rhythm.
"I heard—Lady Soledad! What's wrong?" Eyes wild, my companion barged into the room with his sword drawn.
"Why are you here?" I bundled the blankets up in my arms until they reached my chin, covering the essentials.
"You were screaming, my lady." Sir Sigve blinked, shoving brown tufts of hair out of his eyes to take another sweep of the place, as if trolls were about to hop out from behind the bed. Rather than a precaution, his room was next to mine for practicality and old habits. Never had I thought he would run the door down.
"I'm fine. Just a nightmare."
"Oh." His shoulders dropped, although the frown remained. "Good. We've arrived."
"I know, so please stop with the 'lady.' I'll see you outside." My face felt stiff around the smile. I gave a wave for his benefit, but Sir Sigve's gray eyes lingered, and his rigid lips didn't soften one bit. Truth be told, protecting me was a rather unthankful task that Father had pushed upon him. Sir Sigve shut the heavy pine door behind him.
My dampened hair caught on my comb, the long, light strands pulling off my head in sharp stabs. Recognizing removal of the knots as a fool's attempt, I put what remained in a quick braid, masking the influence of three weeks at sea and one nasty nightmare. I could do little for my face and skin, but the plain dress suited the image of an unremarkable girl. Mother would have cried had she seen me.
With my belongings thrown into a bag, I rushed through the door without a backward glance and sure enough, outside was the ocean, glimmering in the morning light. Our ship, the Disandri, had finally made anchor, reaching harbor in a small city called Fiar. The culture, food, and people of Hikari waited for me.
With land beneath me again after weeks at sea, the ground seemed to be leisurely bobbing up and down like a small boat on waves. The bumps in the pavement were set on tripping me. My stomach twisted, and I grabbed onto Sir Sigve for support. More familiar with this than I, he gave me an arm without comment until I could trust my feet.
He was an old soul, Sir Sigve, despite being young in years. Glancing my way once more, he stilled, squinting with tight-knit brows. "You don't look well, L . . . Soledad. Are you sick? If you've fallen ill, we can find a pleasant inn to rest. Let's return to the ship in a fortnight, and then go home." Sir Sigve drew a hand down his well-kept beard.
"Please. We're not going home." Sure, I wanted to go back. Mother would be more than welcoming, thrusting a fresh assembly of suitors in my face. Of course, the not-so-fresh would follow, including Lord Gaute with his forty years and plethora of desperate gifts. But worse—sweat broke on my skin. That voice: my little star—fingers digging into flesh, pressing himself against me—no! I would have my fairy-tale adventure, thank you very much. Worm free. "I will not be locked inside a cramped room. I'm here to explore seas of sand, silk markets . . . and meet people who see me." A grimace pulled at my lips. "I'm fine, just . . . not yet recovered from my nightmare."
"I see. That's a relief." Sir Sigve's shoulders slumped. "But we can always go back. Just say the word, my lady—"
As if his flattering need for subservience, shattering my cover at any opportunity, would tempt me to return. "Stop calling me that, dear Papa. Merchant's daughter, remember?"
His eyes crinkled with the first sign of crow's feet. "Of course, Lady Soledad." Oh, his bad habits lingered. Even worse, stupidity was not among his flaws. It was a question of motivation, and he found this particular arrangement unimportant. I turned away from him to take a last look at the ships.
At port there was the usual hustle of men hard at work. From the next ship over, song filled the air in spontaneous bursts as men with midnight skin worked on the sails. One of them met my gaze with a beaming smile, waving his hand. They looked like good company. I lifted my hand in response, snatching it back to my chest as my breath left me. Flailing arms and a cart loaded with carpets rushed by, only a hair's breadth away from my nose, almost crushing us. My pulse slowed. The driver was clearly too busy and important to even offer an apology.
Sir Sigve shifted the heavy bag on his shoulders, scowling at the offender.
"Come, don't mind him," I said, adjusting my own, considerably lighter bag, and pulled at his shirt. "We'll just have to walk anywhere but the middle of the road."
With a sigh, Sir Sigve moved on.
Fiar was a place of trade for sure, prospering by the influence of outside forces, with shops and stalls so close together they almost overlapped. A jewel shop stood side-by-side with a street stall overflowing with pearls in white, black, and rosy pink, competing against clothes and tea displayed in a strange harmony. By the end of a cramped street, the shops all dwindled into a local market of sorts.
"Only the softest silks for the lady. Have a look at the finest . . ."
"Spices, oi, spices, the best and greatest, spice up your meals, for every occasion, spices . . ."
"Delicate jewelry, the very best of metalwork, the sharpest knives—we have it here, we have it all . . ."
With our fair complexion, Sir Sigve's russet beard and reddening nose, and my wheat-colored hair, we stood out like a torch in the darkness. At home, black hair was a rarity. Here, I saw not a single person without raven curls. Brown eyes peered at us from within crinkling, leathery skin. A few men, adorning rather bulky headwear, rested their shoulders against a sculpture in the center of the square. Between their frames, I identified two dragons coiling around each other.
Dizzy, I stumbled. How did these people endure the heat? Grasping Sir Sigve for support, I barely avoided a cactus and its vengeful armor. Those needles looked more than ready to bite into unsuspecting skin. "I think I need food," I mumbled in reply to Sir Sigve's worried look.
A wonderful whiff teased my nose, more tempting than a gift from the gods. By the corner of the square stood a stall overflowing with small, delicate cakes. I wanted them all.
Sir Sigve didn't quite match my admiration. "My l—dear daughter, we ought not to eat sweets for breakfast." Such words were like hearing Maya, my lady's maid at home. She had surely entrusted Sir Sigve with strict instructions, despite his hasty departure.
My stomach protested the statement with a loud groan. "You're right," I said. "I'll only have that pink little thing then. Oh, and that golden cake!" As a glutton at heart, it was my duty to partake.
Perhaps it was her dark tan, but I had never before seen teeth as white as those of the girl selling cakes. She handed me the pastries with careful fingers and a seller's charm, as happy with the coins as I was with the sweets. Sir Sigve scowled as I put the pink, swirly delicacy into my mouth. It was sugary and crunchy, and it melted on my tongue. The greatest treasure, however, was the golden cake, with paper-thin layers of dough held together by thick, sticky honey. Truly, it was heaven in small bites.
"Have you heard the news?" A voice like a bird's song brought me out of my stupor.
With my mouth already full and my lips tugging into a smile, I swallowed. "I won't know unless you tell me."
"You like that cake? You may want another, perhaps?" A sensible proposal, although judging by her wide and glinting eyes, the girl would spill her news regardless.
I bought one more—not one to waste such a perfect excuse for us both.
"So, you know about the prince, right?"
"No."
The market girl sighed, her gaze reaching for heaven. "It's so romantic. Tragic. Our prince is finally getting married!"
"Oh. Why is that tragic?" With her starry eyes, I could scarcely believe the girl shared my thoughts on matrimony.
"Well, this is his second time." The girl clutched her chest. "And he is still so young, our poor prince. Even as an arranged marriage, it's said they loved each other very much. But he lost his wife in childbirth, and you see, neither of them survived."
Any amusement died within me. I was the sister of at least three siblings I never got to meet, perhaps more. Thank the gods for the two I never lost. Bowing my head for the dead, I focused again on the girl's tale.
Her gaze softened. "And they used to be such a cute couple too. They came riding through this very town once. Oh, it was a beautiful sight! When the princess passed on to Rashim, we all felt his pain. Sorrow is never easy, but he lost himself to it for so long, our grieving, handsome prince." She took a deep breath, and then cast away her gloom with a bright grin, meeting my eyes. "But he finally found a new bride!"
"Who is she?" I leaned closer, oddly intrigued despite myself. But—may the gods forgive me—I was seventeen. Why wouldn't a story of tragic romance with the twist of a happy ending excite me? So long as I could remain a simple merchant's daughter.
"Well, I don't know. Some foreign princess, I think." The girl crossed her arms, eyebrows furrowing together. Perhaps this unsightly void in her otherwise full recount of the prince's affairs annoyed her.
"Let's hope it goes well," I said, my mood rather softened by sugar.
"Yes. He is such a wonderful person."
"I'm sure he is." I repressed an urge to roll my eyes. "The cakes were delicious. Thank you."
"Have a pleasant stay, miss." The girl's full smile made me feel at ease, as it was quite similar to Madalyn's. My sister would have enjoyed the cake too. Another bite, and honey flooded my senses as we walked among the market stalls. Behind us, the girl was already working on her next customers, her voice drifting with the wind. "Would you want a cake? Oh, and have you heard about the prince . . . ?"
Sir Sigve cast me a sideways glance, lips pulling down in a grimace. "I wish you would stop. What will your parents say? And your marriage prospects, if you get bigger than in your paintings?"
I tried not to choke on the last bit of cake. Sir Sigve was dead serious, having the audacity to look quite concerned. Why, I couldn't fathom. I was still slim enough. "Yes indeed, what a great tragedy. But I fail to see how this concerns you."
He averted his eyes, thin lips pressed together.
I sped up, heading deeper into the market. "Let's have some breakfast."
"Do you even want breakfast anymore?" He stared at my last mouthfuls of cake as if they personally offended him.
"Of course. Let's go before I starve."