SERAVEL ROVODIA IS A REBEL WITH A WARRANT. As the head of the Daily Embers, a chronicle criticizing the tyranny of the current ruler, Seravel gained significant enemies who preferred to keep the truth in the dark. When a number of small accidents st...
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2412, Rab 15, Velpa
When they said Gaimouth was not an ideal tourist destination, it wasn't a lie, and Sera was just discovering that now. After spending almost an entire week traveling at the back of a cart pulled by a rather temperate aksaba, he was more than glad to hop out and stretch his legs. Being cooped inside with the merchandise reminded him too much of when he was locked inside his room for security purposes.
Only this time, he wasn't being protected from anything. And as he propped the cart's door open and regarded the ground, it became certain he threw himself into danger on his own accord.
His throat had long gotten used to feeling dry, the absence of saliva coating his tongue becoming a welcome situation. If he was invited to speak, he doubted he could produce legible words without rasping like a plagued keiju. He crawled out of the cart, giving the merchant he hitched a ride with a brief nod. The merchant was an acquaintance of Neylan's father, and Sera's friend was kind enough to introduce them.
Said merchant, a youthful half-blood who couldn't have grown past ten, hopped to the ground and dusted her hands. "That's your stop, zagrun," she said, addressing Sera in what seemed like her native tongue. Half-blood language, perhaps? "And it's as far as I can go without the aksaba's hooves burning off."
"Thank you for your time," Sera replied, ducking his head to stress his point. "What do you require? Versallis? Bultouine?"
"Anything kalta sigra would do," the merchant said, throwing her dark green hair behind her shoulder.
"Meet me back here after a few hours, and I'll double it when we get back to Calca," he replied.
An amused smirk curled up in the merchant's features. "You know how to strike up a bargain, zagrun," she said. "Deal."
Sera narrowed his eyes. "Swear it on Daexis' name."
The merchant scoffed, bracing her hips with her gloved hands. "I wasn't one to believe in gods, but if that's what shoves peace up your toes," she cleared her throat and put a closed fist by her collarbone. "In Daexis' name, I swear I will wait for you at the foot of this ridiculously hot volcano, and when we get back to Calca—with the zagrun, of course—I will receive two kalta sigra of any size as the zagrun's fare. May the great goddess of oaths strike me dead if I break this vow. Happy?"
He didn't know about the sheer sardonicism of the whole thing, but he'd avail. Besides, he didn't want to waste the time he merely stole from his palace duties and other duties in the studio. It's better to let this one go. Just this time, though.
The aksaba grunted as it pulled away from its stop, the merchant settling comfortably on her designated seat behind the reins. Sera blew a humid breath and tested shifting his weight from foot to foot. He didn't sink into the soft mound, even though streaks of blazing orange curled in and out of it in hypnotizing patterns. His fingers wrapped around the strap of his travel satchel, providing him the last burst of courage.
