The market bustles with a throng of sailors, docksmen, and merchants. Spices and other, more pungent smells drift through the air as Meg heads directly to the blacksmith, tapping on the shining shields as she ducks in.
Allayria makes a move to follow, but then Iaves tugs on her sleeve, leading her down to a gray-green hut, propped haphazardly by the dock. The ruddy-faced, quick-fingered woman looks up as they approach, her brow quirking.
"How much rope you got?" Iaves asks, and he leans against the countertop. Allayria thinks this is a mistake: it's quite clear, upon close examination, that the counter has never been washed.
"A lot." The woman looks back down at the rope twisting in her fingers, nimble knots appearing in swift, fluid movements. Allaryia wonders if there isn't some Skilling in her movements, or if it's all just physical talent.
"Oh, great. We'll take all of it."
The woman's head jerks right back up and she begins to fight with Iaves, quite certain he can't mean to buy all of the rope.
"Why didn't you say ten? I don't need ten—"
"I told you—"
Allayria approaches a fruit stall as Iaves manages to turn the argument into a haggle. They can't buy in bulk of course, given how easily fruit spoils, but perhaps they can get a bag of berries for tonight. She passes her hand over the pile of gooseberries, thinking of a time, months ago, when this and a few seeds made a good meal, alone, in the dark. It feels so long ago.
"Want a bag?" the merchant, a gray-haired, wrinkled woman points at the fruit. All up her arm are spindling, black tattoos of people, places, and things. "We also have starberries."
She gestures down at the display of green-yellow fruit, but Allayria shakes her head.
"Just the gooseberries this time," she says, placing the coins in the woman's mitted hand.
She moves to rice then, purchasing four large bags. The man slaps all of them on the counter, eyes curiously trained on Allayria—wondering, she's sure, how she's going to haul all of them away.
She's gathered up two when Iaves shows up with an extraordinary amount of rope on his shoulder. Allayria quickly deposits the two bags into his arms before he can protest.
"Maybe we should buy some kind of cart," Iaves says through gritted teeth.
They do just that, dumping all of their purchases in, and then they make their way around the rest of the market. As they go through the stalls Allayria catches whiffs of salt on the air and she turns almost instinctively toward the sea. She can see it, just between the white, algae-stained walls—a sliver of deep blue.
"We just need a couple of jugs and we should be done." Iaves looks over at her, then up at the direction of her gaze.
"Have you been to the docks here?" he asks.
Allayria shakes her head as if to remove the daze from her thoughts.
"Yeah, yeah, I've been."
Iaves pops a few of the gooseberries in his mouth, and then looks back out at the sea.
"Let's take a break," he suggests, and it's Allayria's turn to look confused. "What? It's almost lunch. I'm hungry."
He tugs on the cart and leads them out down a twisting road, until they break out of the city into the small cove of sand just next to the harbor. He pulls the cart up to the edge of the stones and then squats on one of the crates on top of it, his hand digging around in the fruit bag once more. His feet smack together and his shoes plop off, one by one.
YOU ARE READING
Paragon - Book I
Fantasy*COMPLETE* There are whispers across the kingdoms that the Paragon, that strangely gifted person who can wield all four Skills, has been found. They're wrong, of course. No one has caught the Paragon. Allayria should know: she's it. But Allayr...
