A chorus of cheers erupted from the onlookers. Lofty called, “Go, Ezaara!”
A man yelled, “Lucky she’s not a tharuk, Tomaaz, or you’d be dead meat.”
A chill skittered down Ezaara’s spine. Thankfully there were no tharuks in Lush Valley.
“Aagh, beaten,” Tomaaz groaned. Sheathing his sword, he wiped the sweat from his brow.
Ezaara met his green eyes squarely. “You chose to fight me here.”
Around them, coppers changed hands. Suddenly, Lofty was there. He pulled her close and kissed her, right on the mouth, mooshing his lips against hers. The crowd oohed. Ezaara shoved him away. Old Bill put a pile of grimy coppers into Lofty’s hand. Lofty punched his fist in the air.
How dare he! Her first kiss—some shrotty smooch, for a bet? Ezaara’s cheeks burned. Half the village had been gawking. She snatched up her basket. Market was only a few days each moon—a nice change from healing people with Ma—but Lofty had just ruined it.
A bellow rang out. “Is that those twins again?” Klaus strode through the scattering crowd. A head taller than most, and as wide as a draft horse, he was the settlement’s arbitrator.
Lofty slipped away. The coward.
“Tomaaz. Ezaara.” Klaus put his hands on his hips.
Some villagers, pretending to be busy, glanced their way. Others stared outright.
“It’s my fault.” Tomaaz squared his shoulders. “I challenged her.”
“In the middle of the marketplace?” Klaus glared. “You could have taken out a littling’s eye.”
Whoops, she hadn’t thought of littlings. Ezaara held up her sword. “Our tips were corked and the blades aren’t sharpened.”
Klaus examined Ezaara’s sword with his thumb and finger. “In any case, you shouldn’t have—”
“She tricked Tomaaz,” Old Bill, the traveling merchant, called, “fighting sneaky, like a dragon rider.”
As low as a dragon rider? Why was Bill mentioning dragons? Especially in front of Klaus. Was he trying to get her into trouble?
Klaus spun on Bill. “I only let you trade here if you keep our rules. If I hear you mention those filthy winged killers and their stinking riders again, you’ll be acquainting yourself with our jail.”
Old Bill glared at Ezaara. She shivered. He gave her the creeps.
Klaus pointed a blunt finger at Tomaaz. “No fighting in the marketplace.”
“Sorry, sir, it won’t happen again,” Tomaaz replied.
Ezaara mumbled her apologies too.
“They knocked over my cloth,” Old Bill protested.
“Help Bill to tidy up.” Klaus threw a last glare at them and went back to his leatherwork.
Old Bill rubbed his hands together. “So, kissed by Lofty, eh?”
Ezaara wrinkled her nose at his fetid breath. The sooner they were finished, the better.
Tomaaz stared at Bill in disgust. “I can’t believe you put Lofty up to that. I mean, he’s liked her for ages, and now he’s blown it. There’s no way my sister’s going to like him back now.”
Ezaara rolled her eyes. “Would you two stop talking about me as if I’m not here?”
Tomaaz continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Come on, Bill, you should’ve bet Lofty a silver.”
Men! Ezaara punched his arm. “Come on, let’s get this cleaned up.” She picked up a roll of green cloth and dumped it on Old Bill’s trestle table. “Good morning, Lovina.” Would she answer today?
No, as usual, Bill’s daughter, Lovina, ignored her, staring at the ground, lank hair covering her face.
Tomaaz threw most of the bolts on the table, then wandered off.
Ezaara held the last bolt for a moment, rubbing the sea-blue cloth. She’d been admiring it earlier. She’d never seen the sea, but if it was anything like the rippling pattern of blues flowing across this fabric …. She sighed, placing it on the table. Maybe one day she’d see the real ocean.
Old Bill leaned over the stand, his gnarled hand plucking at Ezaara’s sleeve like a roach clinging to a table cloth. “You’ll like this.” He opened his jerkin and pulled out a scrap of black cloth covered in vivid patterns. “Look.” It was beautiful.
She didn’t want anything to do with Old Bill, but she couldn’t resist. Ezaara leaned in, staring. Dragons—the swirls of color were dragons. “That’s forbidden,” she whispered.
“Go on,” he murmured, eyes glinting. “Touch it. I know you want to.” He held the cloth out.
Someone would see. Ezaara snatched it. Holding it close, she opened her palm and stroked the wing of a golden dragon, then the tail of a bronze. Set against a dark sky dotted with silver pinpoints, the beasts were beautiful. Were dragons really gold, red and bronze? Or was it only the weaver’s imagination?
“How much for this fabric with the wheat pattern?” A woman’s voice startled Ezaara.
She crumpled the cloth and thrust it into Bill’s waiting hand.
Bill tucked the scrap inside his pocket and elbowed his poor daughter, Lovina. She didn’t respond, just kept staring at her feet. “Twenty-five coppers a measure, my lady,” Bill crooned.
“Twenty-five,” the woman exclaimed. “Why, that’s preposterous! I’d only pay—”
Ezaara fled past the cobbler’s stand, pushing her way through the crowded marketplace, toward Ana’s stall. Old Bill was dangerous. If Klaus had caught her staring at dragons …. Swinging her basket to distract herself from her thumping heart, she strode past hawkers, bleating goats and littlings playing tag. The delicious scent of melted cheese wafted over her. If she could sell her last two healing remedies, she’d be done. And it was early, so she’d have the afternoon off. She headed toward Ana’s hand-painted scarves. Ana had tried to teach her how to paint scarves, but instead of creating beautiful patterns, Ezaara’s had been ugly and splotched.
“Morning, Ana,” Ezaara called. “Need any herbs today?” She swallowed. Did Ana know her son had just kissed her?
Ana smiled, eyes crinkling. “What have you got for me today, Ezaara?”
So, Ana hadn’t seen, thank the Egg. Ezaara
