Forged in Frost and Fire (Book 1 in the Chronicles of Kings trilogy)

Chapter One

-Part One-
THE GRIEVANCES OF THE MORTAL KING

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

The market itself was a labyrinth to any newcomer, but to the people who had lived in Rame their entire lives knew their way around it. I certainly did. Like for example, I knew that the old woman who sold baked goods on the corner liked to up charge anyone that tried to bargain their way downward. I knew the man who made shoes purposefully sewed pebbles into the toes and heels so that you'd have to come back to buy more. I knew that the children of the couple that sold apples, oranges, and other sweet goods liked to pickpocket.

"Hassle someone else, kid," I said, shoving the sleeve of coins back into my pocket. The jingle was quite sad as it bumped against my hip. Two solidary coins, not enough to buy that squash I was eyeing from the other stand.

"Please, miss. We're so hungry,' the girl who slipped her fingers into my pocket said. She did look hungry, but she didn't look starved like the rest of us. Children of food growers were lucky. I knew that if I was the daughter of a farmer I'd be guilty of nabbing food at whatever chance I got.

"Then steal from someone else. Know your prey." I bobbed my head over to Mr. Reynolds, who was rationing out coins to a man selling clothes. His hands shook, as if in pain, as he slid his shillings one by one to the seller. He was the richest person in the village. Poor by any standards, but the richest in our land.

"Thank you, miss," the girl called. She grabbed her brother's hand and the two ran off to the old man. The little boy, who looked about five, was the one to distract Reynolds. I watched as the girl swiped a bag of coins from his hip. Such a good thief and only eight. She'd make a remarkable young woman one day. I could already tell.

"You're putting filthy ideas into their heads again?" a voice said. I turned to see Marc leaning against the door. His brown skin was dirty from the mines, his fingers streaked with dirt. I really couldn't recall a time that he wasn't filthy since he got a job. Well, at least he had one. Even if that job meant breathing in toxic fumes all day and getting so dirty you had to take three separate baths at night.

"Always," I said, grinning. He chuckled, sidling up to me. He looked down at the selection before us. Nothing great. Half the fruit was withered, one apple even had a worm crawling through its center. How comical.

"A pear, please," I said, handing the shilling to the woman. She snatched it from my hand fast, leaving no time for me to pull it away if I was having second thoughts. The sellers of the market knew the tricks of the trade too. Probably better than the lot of us.

"One pear," she said. She bent over to grab the bruised fruit from a bag among other bruised fruit, and then handed it to me. I grabbed it quickly and slipped it into my bag, tying it and holding it in a white-knuckled grip.

"May the gods be merciful on your soul," I said, grinning. I loved saying that to people, made them think I thought they were some sinner. I really couldn't care less about religion though. From what I remembered from Mom and Dad, they tried to bring me to church when I was young, but that tradition died off when they did. Tellie and I were never religious and soon church became more of a burden than a divine escape.

"Yeah, you too. Now get 'outta here before I take the fruit back." She spat on the floor for good measure. I fought the urge to laugh as I whirled on my heel and headed out into the cluster of people. I kept my coins close, one hand resting on them while the other kept the bag tucked to my ribs, so tightly that I could feel the pear cutting into me.

"She's always pleasurable, isn't she?" Marc said, side-stepping a puddle of what looked like water. It could've been piss though. One always avoided could-be piss puddles in Rame. Because they really could be.