The Seven Markets (7 page)

It was thrilling.

He knew everyone and everyone knew him. Vendors hailed as he approached, offering their goods with never a word said about payment or barter. Musicians played for him, and for her, singing ballads of eternal love and endless beauty. Children—for there were children this deep into the Market—dashed up to touch his cloak or pull at her dress. They giggled and fled with their heads down.

A woman dressed all in green, with eyes as dark as the sea during a storm, stopped them and offered them a gift. “For you and your love, my grace,” she said, searching through her cart before presenting Ellie with a chain woven of fine gold. From the chain hung a red gem of surpassing brilliance.

“Blessing on your union,” the woman said, bowing and shuffling backward.

By the by, after having her hand kissed umpteen times and after being told how lovely she was, and how fortunate a thing their pairing was, they came to an inn.

The front door opened at their approach, and as they entered, they were met by a lanky man with blood-red hair and a jagged scar across his cheekbone. His eyes were the green of the deep forest, and though Ellie could tell he was clearly quite upset, his voice was melodious and lacked the barest hint of urgency.

“Off for a walk, your highness?” he said.

“Obviously,” the stranger answered. Ellie felt herself wanting to rise to his defense—who did the lanky man think he was?

Before she could utter a word, though, he turned his brilliant green eyes in her direction. Ellie felt herself being appraised. The stranger tightened his hand around hers and she knew not to worry. He might have the feel of danger about him but he was no threat to her.

“I suppose congratulations are in order then, sire?”

“Indeed. And a joyous day this is. Love really brings out my eyes, don’t you think?”

The lanky man nodded and stepped aside, making way for Ellie and the stranger.

The interior of the inn was cavernous. For all that, it was only the three of them, a bartender, and a serving girl within. The stranger seemed to waver, considering the air, the roaring fire, the softness of the cushions upon the chairs. He sniffed to see what was cooking, and that tiniest of motions, the flaring of his nostrils, sent Ellie’s heart racing.

“I think we will have a table, Cutter.”

“Of course, sire.”

“By the fire, I think.”

“Very good.”

The lanky man, Cutter, followed behind them. Ellie saw the innkeeper wave at the serving girl, who rushed over to pull out first her chair, then her companion’s.

“Ale?” the stranger said.

“That would be lovely,” Ellie said.

“Two of your finest,” he said. The serving girl zipped off to where the innkeeper was already pouring their drinks.

“Cutter, have you eaten?”

“No, your highness. I thought it best to wait until I’d ascertained your location.”

“From here at the inn? I might question the dedication of your efforts.”

“Market Peace, sire,” Cutter said. Something about how he said it sent a flash of disgust through Ellie’s heart.
You didn’t need to be with my love to watch him, did you?

“Of course, of course. These things are so easy to lose track of. Well, we are celebrating and you simply must join us.” He raised his hand for a third glass of ale, catching the serving girl mere steps away. She stopped in place, thought a second, then returned for the lanky man’s drink.

“You are too gracious, sire, but I’m afraid I must decline.” He spared a glance in Ellie’s direction. “I suspect I have work to do out in the Market proper. Tell me, will you be venturing out for the festivities tonight?”

“Will we . . . no, I believe we shall stay in tonight, Cutter. First evening and all, two more to go. Best to stagger these things, don’t you think?”

“Of course, sire.”

“Besides, I believe I have other matters to attend to tonight. Isn’t that right, dear?”

“Oh yes, my love,” Ellie said.

Cutter rolled his eyes as the stranger grinned a wolfish grin.

The serving girl delivered their drinks and described the night’s offerings.

“It all sounds delightful,” the stranger said. “Cutter, are you certain I cannot tempt you?”

“Regrettably, sire.”

“Two of everything, then,” the stranger said. He raised his glass. Ellie did the same. “Cutter, I know you’re not going to leave without raising a glass with us.”

“Of course not, my Prince.”

Ellie flushed crimson, nearly spilling her glass onto the table.

My Prince! My Prince!

They toasted and drank and the Prince summoned the serving girl for more. “Nothing for my loyal bodyguard,” he said. “Nothing but work work work for him, the poor thing. We two shall have to forge ahead in his absence, won’t we, my dear?”

“We shall persevere,” Ellie said, grateful that the bodyguard would not be remaining with them for dinner. She longed to have the Prince all to herself.

“You see, Cutter? ‘We shall persevere.’ I daresay I’m in safer hands than yours tonight, eh?”

“Truly, your highness.” He stood and excused himself, thanking the innkeeper and the serving girl for their hospitality. “Shall I check in on you when I return, your highness?”

“If you must. If you must.”

Cutter bowed to Ellie, removing his hat.

“Cutter,” she said.

“My lady.”

He left through the same door they’d arrived by, his cloak billowing out behind him. Ellie was surprised to see he wore neither sword nor pistol. If it hadn’t been for the glinting hilt of a dagger hanging off his hip, she would have thought him unarmed.

“Good man, good man,” the Prince said. “But a royal pest, just the same. Loyal, my dear. Eternally loyal, as you shall see. Now then—”

He bade her lean into him, and as Ellie did, he fingered the red gem the black-eyed woman had given her. His brow furrowed in concentration as he caressed the stone with his thumb, balancing it on the tips of his fingers.

“There it is,” he said.

He spoke her name aloud, but so low only the two of them could hear. He closed his eyes and drew his lips so tight they might have been a scar at the center of his face. Ellie saw a single bead of sweat materialize from his brow and travel down between his eyes, across the bridge of his nose, finally coming to rest on his upper lip.

“Eliwys,” he said. And another word she did not know, could not even be sure she heard.

“There. Too right.”

He sat back in his chair and in short order their dinner arrived. Ellie found she was famished, absolutely starving. She ate with relish and sensual delight, savoring the juices as they ran down her chin, the steaming berries as they burst within her mouth. She tore hunks out of a loaf of bread and buried herself in them. She ate until she could not eat anymore, then continued eating until she felt she might burst, or if not burst, collapse from sheer exhaustion.

Against her bare skin, the blood-red gem pulsed, a second heart beating in time with her own.

Waves crashed against the hull of the
Esquatorious,
spraying her decks, soaking any of her crew not already drenched to the bone. The ship rose over the crest of another surge, boards creaking in protest, prow climbing high into the bleak, moonless dark. At its zenith, the ship looked ready to leave the sea, fleeing the maelstrom below by launching itself into the sky. She reached and reached, only to thunder down once more into the raging whitewash.

Ellie stood on deck beside the Prince, holding on with both hands. She was not the slightest bit wet. Not a single hair was out of place. The Prince was immaculate, as always. He stood with his hands behind his back, feet planted almost as if daring the storm to come and take him.

“Cutter,” he said.

The bodyguard dragged himself over, fighting the sea and the wind and the sickening rise and fall of the ship. He had to shout to be heard over the gale.

“Sire?”

“This is taking entirely too long, Cutter,” the Prince said without raising his voice. It was not necessary. Her love’s voice could not be engulfed by a mere storm.

“Ah, apologies, your highness.” Over Cutter’s shoulder, one of the sailors was flung overboard by a sudden flush from the sea. As Ellie watched, the other men hauled him back onto the ship by the heavy line fastened around his waist and shoulders. “The sea, it would seem, has other plans for us.”

“Nonsense,” said the Prince.

Cutter’s eyes were tired. Ellie could have stabbed them out for their impertinence.

“Cutter, we’re going to be late.”

“Yes, sire.”

“Cutter,” said the Prince, drawing an infuriated breath. “You know how I feel about being late.”

The bodyguard opened his mouth to speak—Ellie knew he was going to say
Of course, sire
—when the sea again rained down on them. He choked on his words, nearly losing his handhold.

“This is tedious,” the Prince said.

The storm stopped.

The sails, sopping wet, shook like a dog drying itself off and puffed out to fill with wind. The sailors scrambled to gain control of the
Esquatorious
as she shot forward with the sudden gust, laying an uneasy line with no steady hand to guide her.

Cutter slumped forward onto the deck, the wind he’d been fighting no longer blowing. He shook his head, swearing under his breath.

“No more distractions,” the Prince said.

“Of course, highness.”

Ellie suspected Cutter had more he wanted to say. The lanky man, his red hair turned natty and dark with seawater, turned from them to direct his men.

“Storms always make me ravenous,” the Prince said, taking Ellie’s hand. “Would you join me belowdecks for a bite?”

Ellie’s stomach grumbled. The Prince beamed and led her down to his stateroom to await supper.

The messenger had found them three days prior, bearing news of the Market’s imminent arrival at Lancaster. He hunted Cutter down, perhaps seeing the wisdom in allowing someone else to bear the Prince’s wrath.

“How far by sail?” was the Prince’s only response when Cutter came to him.

“Four days at the least, sire.”

“I see. And then how far by land?”

“Not more than half a day.”

The Prince frowned and consulted a yellowed map spread out over the surface of a table. “Show me the nearest intersect.”

Cutter searched the map and pointed out several spots.

“Each farther than the last and all farther from us than the Market itself. This is very poor planning, Cutter.”

“Yes, your highness. Inexcusable.”

They’d departed almost at once. The Prince, Ellie, Cutter, and several servants rode out while the hired men remained to break camp. Cutter sent the messenger ahead with no rest and a warning not to fail the Prince again, the obvious threat implicit in his manner and bearing. The messenger would ensure the Prince’s ship was ready to depart when they arrived. They would have a fresh crew and a change of horses for their journey to the Market.

Four days later, just before sunrise, they made landfall. The Prince was in a foul mood, his frustration burning off of him in waves.

“When will we be ready to ride, Cutter?”

“Shortly, highness.”

“Is that all you can say? ‘Shortly, highness.’ The Market is already one day gone, if your fool messenger even had his days right. How much of today will we sacrifice to incompetence and sloth?”

Ellie waited to see if the bodyguard would respond. He served the Prince well enough but contradicted far more than suited her. Would he now plead the winds or the storm or the distance they’d traveled and would travel yet? Would he accuse the Prince of lingering too long in far-off lands when he knew, so many years later, the Market’s return must be approaching?

Cutter stood his ground but did not reply. Eventually the Prince put his back to the man and came over to where Ellie waited.

“The man is a fool,” she said, unbidden.

The Prince, his eyes aflame, did not answer.

“He does not heed your wishes. He treats you like a venal child.”

“Does he now?”

“He should not challenge you so before the men.”

“The men are of little consequence.”

“He should show you the proper respect.”

“True, true. But he will bring us to the Market. And he is true in all things, if a trifle slow in this instance.”

The Prince’s outward calm began working its magic on her, as it always did. And by the time the horses were saddled and they were ready to ride, she had not a trouble in all the world. She was riding with her love, riding to see the Market for the second time. How many people ever visited the Market twice in their lives? How many had ever walked its avenues and breathed its air and were able to remark how that building there had been different last time? That brewery, the one run by the mine-dwellers, they had that fine apricot ale last time; I wonder if they brew it still?

Her memories of the first Market came to Ellie as she rode, drifting through her mind like faces carried by the wind. She remembered dining with her love that first night, and the suite of rooms he’d taken at the inn. They’d gone to a great ball the second night, and though she’d protested she did not know how, when they stepped out onto the gleaming floors and the band began to play, she had danced—oh, how she had danced—all night long.