Page 72 of The Isles of the Gods
She sees me hesitate, and shoots me a quick smile as she takes my money. “A sailor is a sailor as far as we’re concerned,” she says. “But stay close to the docks, you mind.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I reply promptly, and Leander echoes the words as we move along the line to where her wife is scooping up two generous helpings and dumping them onto tin plates.
“I can’t believe you can get a meal for a dollar,” Leander whispers, inspecting the pan as our turn approaches. “It smells all right. Will it be edible?”
I tilt a sideways glance at him. “Do you understand how much things cost at all?”
He shrugs. “Why would I?”
“You are…” I’m left searching for words. “Do you have any practical use?”
He just grins, watching the tin plates as we shuffle closer. “You’re not supposed to ask. Why don’t you treat me like everyone else?”
“Well, we’re in disguise.”
“Oh, because it started when we put on disguises.”
It’s my turn to shrug. “Then it must be because you annoy me more than you annoy everyone else.”
“Funny,” he muses. “You don’t annoy me at all.”
We’re at the front of the line before I have a chance to reply, and the woman is handing us the two tin plates heaped with rice, a fork dug into the top of each serving.
Leander looks like he’s not sure where to go next or how to eat the thing standing up, and I smother a smile as I tow him into the space between stalls, where plenty of others are wolfing down their meals. It’s strange to pull my hand from his to eat—and strange that it’s strange.
Silently we set to work, and for a couple of minutes all I can think about is the exquisite taste of the meal. I’ve never had rice this deliciously salty and good. I’ve never had vegetables that crunch in my mouth this way, exploding with flavor. The fish just melts, warming me from the inside out. Hunger makes a feast out of what was already a pretty good meal, but I’m still surprised when I look down and find I’m scraping my plate. After a moment’s consideration, I decide I don’t care what the prince thinks of my table manners, and lick it to get at the last of the sauce. With a wink, he does the same.
I like it when he’s unprincely for me.
His smile fades, though, when a pair of green sisters make their way past our little alcove. It’s not hard to see how the crowd moves out of their way. Not out of fear, but out of respect.
Many of the locals turn toward the two women, pressing their fingertips to their foreheads and covering their eyes.Our god’s mind awaits us, though his eyes are closed.Da and Jonlon taught me what it meant the first time I came ashore in Port Naranda, when I was small.
The sisters nod and raise their own hands to convey blessings. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a priest of Barrica treated this way in the streets of Alinor.
“What they say about Macean rising is true,” I whisper. “We should find some clothes and get back. They’ll be cheaper farther in. Everyone stops at the first few stalls.”
We drop our plates and forks into a waiting crate, then join the crowd once more. Before we reach the clothing stalls, though, Leander catches my arm.
When I look back, he’s ducking through the crowd toward a stall tucked between a fishmonger’s and a spice merchant’swith a flashing electric sign. When I realize what he’s angling toward through the press of bodies, my gut clenches and drops.
Strings of spirit flags are strung across the back of the little tent, and great bins of brightly colored stones are carefully arranged behind the counter, where in an Alinorish stall there’d be candles poured in a temple to Barrica.
I’ve been steeling myself to walk up to stalls like this all my life, but now—the disaster of my attempt at magic on theLittle Lizabettaflooding back through my body in a flush of shame—now I can barely bring myself to look at it.
I’d almost begun to forget, my mind determined to shove the whole experience—Leander’s confidence, his confusion, that brief glimpse of the spirits who’ve eluded me all my life—down into a deep hole and ignore it. But the memory was just beneath the surface, waiting to make my insides lurch all over again, as if I’m back in our tiny, tipping boat.
What do I tell Da when I see him again? Is it worse to admit I finally saw the spirits and they wouldn’t heed me? Or do I leave him in the quiet disappointment he’s learned to livewith?
I force those questions down too, and make myself keep my gaze on the prince. Of course he would want to visit this stall—he spent too much of himself to bring us here, and we can’t be caught without a proper sacrifice for him again.
“Can’t go past Audira,” says a voice, and I blink, looking up to find a pink-cheeked woman pausing on her way past.
“Sorry, what?”
She nods at the stall, and I understand—she thinks I was considering a purchase. “They’ll have whatever your ship’s magician needs, mark my words.”
“Thank you,” I manage, with my best attempt at a polite smile, and she bustles on her way.
