These Gilded Seas

Chapter Thirty-One: Are We Bonding or Shopping?

Instead of dwelling on the continually confusing turn of events, I run a hand over my mess of hair and focus on the ramshackle row of shops. Some have their wares spread for display across the platform—fish hanging from thin string, half-scaled and beheaded, fruits piled in little mountains, cloth folded neatly and hung from racks and backboards. Tears well up in my throat because of how similar it is to the marketplace in Hygge.

I have a mission, and I need to focus.

Rolling Eero's scroll up, I slip it into the bag he gave me and make my way up the walkway with Magnus trailing quietly behind. The area is nearly devoid of customers now, since it's so late in the day. I clutch Amaia's coin pouch and gape at everything Lykke's shoreline has to offer.

There's an elderly couple selling fresh fish, ones that look too small to send into the city. They pry off a piece of baby pink filet and grill it in front of me, only to slather some sauce on it before hand-feeding me. The flavor explodes in my mouth—a mixture of heat and sourness. I spend a few minutes praising their recipe, so it seems unfair not to buy anything from them. Magnus helps me order two grilled fish for Eero and me to share later.

A little further down, there's a woman selling jewelry made from seashells. I run my fingers along the tiny, polished glass she's turned into beads. Each one is a different shade, but I can envision them in their original habitat. Green like the flowing sea-grasses. Blue like the water itself. White like the walls of Hygge palace, iridescent and slick. Yellow like the tangs that dance in the sunlight and waves. Gray like the dolphin's silken skin. Tan like the sand that gets everywhere, even when you don't want it to.

Before she can convince me to buy her entire stock, I move on. It takes immense effort, and I nearly fold when Magnus pays for a small bracelet, but I do it. My chest aches with the heavy homesickness.

Will I ever make it back? Have I made a fatal error in coming here?

At the next stand, I purchase two matching bags of strawberries—one for me and one for Eero. The sweetness will go well with the fish, I'm sure. The man standing behind the counter, boxing up his stock for the night, reminds me of the fruit merchant in Hygge. They're both tall and lanky, with messy brown hair. This one is visibly older than my merchant, and he doesn't call me "little berry."

But I wish he would.

Figuring Eero doesn't want to wait on me forever, I skip the next couple of stands. Some are closed, their empty baskets piled up in back corners. It's at the final stop that I find what I'm looking for.

Taffy.

A tall, bald man has his back to me as he bends over a table in the back of the cubic building. He's using a large, flat tool to scoop and flip a light brown liquid. As I watch, though, the liquid seems to morph into a solid, then back to a liquid, and back to a solid again. He shifts and blends and twists the material, oblivious to me standing there. Magnus slides up beside me to watch the craftsman at work.

A sugary smell hangs in the air, making my mouth water. On his counter are little glass jars filled to the brim with wrapped candies. Each jar has a different word written on it in Anjordian. Usually, I can read the language, even if I can't speak it, but the handwriting makes this hard.

"What do those say?" I ask Magnus softly, not wanting to disturb the owner of the stall.

"I forget Anjordian isn't your mother tongue." He points to the nearest jar. It's filled to the brim with dark green candies. "The labels show the flavors. This one is apple."

"I don't think I've ever eaten an apple..."

Magnus balks at me, his mouth agape under his copper beard. "Seriously? Then you have to try—"