Lush Valley
Tomaaz adjusted the sack of potatoes on his shoulder and stepped over a wayward chicken. He frowned. What was Lofty up to? In a corner of the crowded marketplace, Lofty had his head together with Old Bill and the pair of them were grinning like thieves. Rather Lofty than him. He didn’t want to go near Old Bill. The only decent thing about him was his cloth—bolts of bright turquoise seascapes, blazing-gold-and-orange birds and strange creatures and plants—transported into Lush Valley from far over the Grande Alps. From exotic places Tomaaz had never been, like Naobia on the southern coast, Montanara or Spanglewood Forest.
One day he and Lofty would leave this valley and explore those far-off places. It’s not like he planned to lug Pa’s vegetables around for the rest of his life.
Old Bill shook Lofty’s hand, while beside them, Bill’s drab daughter was lost among the bright cloth, staring at her feet. That was nothing new. Lovina was always staring at the floor. Tomaaz had never heard her mumble more than a word or two. Oh well, he had more exciting things to do than keep an eye on Lofty.
Like delivering potatoes.
Tomaaz dodged a bunch of children playing tag, and headed for the baker’s stall, passing over the sack. “These should be good for your potato patties, Pieter,” he said. “Pa’s given you our best.”
“As always.” Pieter chuckled, and carried the potatoes to his cart.
“Thank you,” said Beatrice, Pieter’s daughter, flashing a smile, then ducking her head.
Inhaling the aroma of pastries and pies, Tomaaz smiled back at her. With Pieter distracted, it was now or never. He raked a hand through his unruly blond curls. “Beatrice, would you like to go for a walk? Later? I—I mean, after you’ve finished?”
“I’d love to. I can bring you an apricot pastry if you’d like.” Beatrice gazed up at him through her red lashes. “I made them myself.”
Red. Even her lashes were red. And her cheeks now, too. Tomaaz grinned. Asking her had been worth the gamble—she liked him. “Thanks. I’ll come by after we’ve packed up.”
Her smile lit her eyes, making his day.
Humming, Tomaaz strode through the marketplace past Klaus’ leatherwear stand. The enticing aroma of cheese melted on slabs of bread made his stomach grumble.
Whistling nonchalantly, Lofty fell into step with him.
Tomaaz rolled his eyes. “Come on, Lofty. Tell me, what were you and Old Bill up to?”
“Nothing.” Lofty gave him that innocent look of his. “Just ordering more silk for Ma’s scarves.”
“Of course you were.” Tomaaz snorted. They skirted a goat pen and wandered past a weapons stand, stopping to admire a knife.
“Such a beauty,” Lofty said, weighing the knife in his hand. “But way too expensive.” Suddenly, Lofty dropped the knife, sucking in his breath. “There she is. Across the square.”
Lofty had a sixth sense when it came to Tomaaz’s sister. Like a homing pigeon, he always knew where she was. It’d been moons since Lofty had admitted to Tomaaz that he liked his twin sister. And Lofty had been trying to catch Ezaara’s eye ever since—usually failing.
“You’re not going to tease Ezaara again, are you?” Tomaaz asked, shaking his head.
“No, you are!” Lofty beamed. “I’ve hit upon the perfect plan. You challenge her to a sword fight, and I’ll swoop in and save her. She’ll finally see me as a hero.”
“I doubt it.”
“Go on, do it for me.” Lofty was eager, like a bird bouncing on its perch. “I’ve got to try something.”
Tomaaz hesitated. “Here in the square? Feathers will fly if Klaus catches us.”
“Beatrice will be watching.”
Tomaaz hesitated. Lofty had him. “All right, but if this doesn’t work, promise me you won’t cook up any more mad schemes.”
“I promise.” Lofty’s solemn look didn’t fool Tomaaz one bit. “Come on,” he said, “it’s just a bit of fun.”
Tomaaz led Lofty further away from Klaus’ stall—there was no point in asking for trouble. They trailed Ezaara as she examined plaited onions and garlic wreaths.
“Go on, now,” Lofty urged, “before Ezaara notices us.”
Beatrice had a good view from here. It was as good a time as any. Tomaaz slid his sword out of its scabbard. The scrape cut through the buzz in the market square.
Ezaara spun, dropping her basket. In a heartbeat, her sword was in her hand, her blade gleaming in the sun.
She’d always had good reactions. People backed out of the way, clearing a ring around Tomaaz and his sister. He lunged, striking fast. Ezaara parried, then feinted, but it didn’t fool him. He pressed forward with a series of quick strokes, driving her back toward an apple cart.
“Take five to one for Tomaaz,” Lofty yelled among the clink of coppers.
That idiot! Betting against Ezaara wasn’t going to win her over. Tomaaz lunged again. That was close, he’d nearly scratched her face. That wouldn’t impress Beatrice or Ezaara. He thrust again, but Ezaara danced out of reach, then lunged back at him.
She must’ve been practicing. Her counterattacks were coming hard and fast. Tomaaz blocked with power, driving his sword against hers. Dodging, Ezaara bumped Bill’s table and bolts of cloth went flying. She leaped over them, fleeing.
Tomaaz chased her.
She whirled to face him, blade high. “Seen any pretty girls today? Look, there’s one behind you.”
If she’d seen him talking to Beatrice, he’d never hear the end of it. Ignoring her jibe, he deflected her sword and attacked again. When was Lofty going to jump in? This wasn’t supposed to go on so long. And surely Beatrice had seen enough by now?
“Any more bets?” Lofty called to the onlookers. He seemed more interested in taking coin than rescuing Ezaara.
Ezaara was slowing, tiring. Maybe that’s what Lofty was waiting for. Tomaaz slashed his blade at his sister’s torso.
