Ana peered into Ezaara’s basket. Her brow furrowed. “No owl-wort?”
“No.” Strange question. Ezaara and Ma never usually picked owl-wort unless someone requested it. Most folk didn’t need a herb that helped you see in the dark. Ezaara adjusted her basket on her arm. “It’s still in season. I can bring some by later if you need it.”
“Good, I’ll expect you.” Ana fumbled with her money pouch.
Was Ana planning on going out at night? Or was the herb for Lofty? He was always sneaking out with Tomaaz, getting into trouble.
Coppers clinked as they passed from Ana’s well-worn hands into hers—three coppers. “You’ve given me too much.”
“That last coin is for the owl-wort,” Ana replied. “I want to make sure you bring it today.”
So, someone was going out tonight. “I’ll come by later.”
Ezaara threaded her way through the villagers, past a weapons stand and Klaus’ leather work. Near the cooper’s stall, the clacking of sticks came from behind a stack of barrels.
Busy serving customers, the cooper’s wife rolled her eyes. “Those naughty boys are fighting again,” she grumbled.
“I’ll check on them,” Ezaara offered. She ducked down the side of the stall.
Behind the barrels, Paolo and Marco were going at it with sticks. Marco, a littling of only six summers, was blocking his older brother’s strikes, even though Paolo had the stronger arm and longer reach. Then Paolo gave a mighty swing—too hard, too high.
“Watch out!” Ezaara leaped forward, too late.
Paolo’s stick smacked Marco’s face. Marco howled and clutched his nose, blood spurting between his fingers. Paolo’s face froze in horror.
“Go fetch some water, Paolo,” said Ezaara, striding between them. “Quick.”
As Paolo dashed off, she sat Marco on a small barrel and checked his face. Luckily, his nose wasn’t broken. “Bleeding noses hurt,” she soothed him, “but you’ll live to fight another day. Here, lean forward.”
His blood dripping onto the ground, Marco was still crying.
Ezaara leaned in, whispering, “Even though Paolo’s bigger, you almost had him.”
“I did?” Marco’s tears stopped.
“Definitely.” She grinned.
Paolo returned, passing Ezaara a waterskin.
She pulled a cloth from the leather healer’s pouch at her waist and sloshed water over it. “Now, be brave, like a warrior.” She gently wiped Marco’s face.
“Sorry,” said Paolo. “We was trying to fight like you and Tomaaz.”
Ezaara winced. She’d never thought of littlings copying them. “The first lesson Pa taught me was not to hit too hard,” she said. “Remember, you’re training with your brother, not slaying a dragon. You need to keep your sword nice and low, and aim at the body, not the head.”
Paolo nodded wisely as if she was a great master.
She scooped some healing salve out of a tiny tub in her pouch and dabbed it on Marco’s nose. “As good as new.”
“You’re lucky your folks taught you,” Marco piped up, looking a lot better without blood leaking out of his nose. “Ours can’t fight, but we’re going to battle tharuks when we grow up.”
Paolo nudged him. “Hey, I told you there are no tharuks in Lush Valley.”
The boy had a good point. If there was no one to fight, why had Ma and Pa trained her and Tomaaz with the bow and sword since they were littlings?
Marco jumped down from the barrel, swinging his sword arm. “Don’t care. Want to fight tharuks anyway.”
She picked up their sticks. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll talk to Tomaaz. Maybe we can teach you to fight.”
The boys’ eyes lit up. “Really?”
She nodded. “We might have a couple of wooden practice swords you can use.” The boys grinned. “But not now,” she said. “Today, you two need to find something quiet to do.”
Paolo put an arm around his brother’s shoulder. “What about a game of scatter stones, Marco? You like those.”
Ezaara laughed, leaving the boys clacking stones instead of sticks, and wandered back through the market.
“There you are.” Tomaaz approached her. “I was looking for you.”
“Marco got a bleeding nose from Paolo.”
Tomaaz rolled his eyes. “Those two again.”
“Now you sound like Klaus.” Ezaara grinned. “They don’t know the sharp end of a sword from a hilt, and Paolo swings way too hard. We should teach them.”
“Good idea,” Tomaaz said, tugging Ezaara toward their parents’ produce stall. “Now, what was Bill showing you, on the quiet? You looked fascinated.”
“Cloth—speckled with dragons of gold and bronze,” Ezaara whispered. Her heart started thumping all over again.
“Contraband cloth?” Tomaaz’s eyes flitted nervously. “Old Bill’s bad news. And his daughter’s strange too.”
“You’d be strange too, if Old Bill was your pa.” Ezaara nodded at a mother with littlings clutching at her skirts, waiting until they’d passed before replying. “Even if dragons are evil, the fabric was beautiful.”
Ezaara and Tomaaz skirted a pen of piglets. “Lofty says dragons are honored beyond the Grande Alps,” said Tomaaz. “One day, I’m going to look for myself.”
She elbowed Tomaaz. “Someone will hear you.”
“So what? I’m not going to live here forever, you know.”
Turning to face him, Ezaara stopped. “You’d leave us?” Although they sometimes bickered, life without her twin would be like losing a part of herself.
His eyes slid away. “Don’t know. Maybe.”
Ezaara frowned. “That’s why Lofty’s ma wanted owl-wort—you and Lofty are planning to go tonight, aren’t you?”
Tomaaz burst out laughing. “If only!”
So, he wasn’t planning anything. “If you ever leave, take me with you,” she insisted. There had to be more to life than Lush Valley.
“All right,” Tomaaz said, “but no running off without me, either.”
“Course not.” They bumped knuckles.
At their family stall, Pa passed a sack of beets to a customer and pocketed the man’s money. He faced Ezaara and Tomaaz, hands on his hips. “We didn’t
