Page 31 of Eyes of Kings

“I’m sorry, sir,” he says. “You already paid for the second tier, so that one is too big.”

Matiyu has held more jobs than the ordinary civilian in San-Er. Crescent Society bookkeeper. Palace of Union surveillance worker. And, within the span of a few months, after groveling around the cities and speaking to anyone who might be hiring: fish scooper at seafood restaurant.

“They’re practically the same,” the man says. “I just want the red one. It’s lucky.”

“The red one has a significantly larger body,” Matiyu insists, tapping the glass so that the fish swims toward them, wobbling its large gut. “It’ll tip the weight into the next tier.”

“I come every morning!” the customer continues arguing. “Bringing you all this business, and you’re trying to give me cheap goods?”

Matiyu is very close to sticking his head into the tank.

“I don’t own the restaurant,” he says. “If there was anything I could do foryou, I would. Truly. But…” Rather than stand there arguing further, Matiyu scoops one of the smaller fishes and puts it in the bag. “Next!”

The man is forced to leave the line, grumbling under his breath about wanting to speak to a supervisor. Twin Scales is a chain across Er with multiple locations near the water, so the loss of one customer isn’t high among a supervisor’s priorities. Business has been booming anyway. While San-Er starts to run scarce on other commodities, fish remains constant. The carrots and the cabbages falter depending on which wagons are still being pushed down from the provinces, but nothing impedes the boats setting off from Er’s docks.

“You have too much patience.”

Matiyu’s head whips up, his net splashing.

“Yilas!” he bellows. He’s thrilled. His sister showing up gives him the excuse to take a break from morning scooping. Somehow, the line has stretched into the next alley. “Can I get you anything? Hey, take over.”

He passes the net to the kid on cleaning duty. Kid’s going to do a terrible job, but maybe then these customers will appreciate Matiyu’s deft hand more.

“I don’t think she reaches the top of the tank,” Yilas says while he steers them toward the tables. It’s too early for lunch service, so there aren’t any patrons around. His sister grimaces as she sits, wiping off the moisture that has collected on her shoulders. Matiyu doesn’t notice the rainfall in San-Er anymore because his skin is so shriveled from swishing around the tank all day.

“She’ll be fine,” he replies. “Tea?”

“Sure.”

Matiyu hurries into the back. He finds a teapot. Places it under the hot water dispenser. It takes a second for the water to flow from the pipes, and then it almost burns Matiyu with a sudden gush. No matter. He’s tough. When he returns to the table, he chooses the seat next to Yilas rather than the opposite side.

He pours two helpings of tea for them both, then laces his numb fingers together.

“So what’s going on?”

“Nothing is going on,” Yilas replies. “I’m poking my head in. Checking on your well-being.”

“Our father didn’t put you up to this?”

“Our father is actually more worried aboutmeand my former association with Her Majesty, the wearer of the divine crown.”

Matiyu leans on the table. When it groans in warning, he immediately retracts his weight. The white tablecloth is on its last legs too. Three large holes, fraying through the edge and eating into the flower pattern.

“Aren’t you still friends with Calla?”

“Beyond the point,” Yilas says breezily. “How are you? No… unusual interactions with customers?”

The man demanding the bigger fish has left the line, so Matiyu can’t imagine he’s going to be a problem anymore, at least not today. For lunch and dinner service, the restaurant caters to clientele from the financial district—the families and the bankers wanting a meal after a long day managing the wealthy’s accounts. It’s not the same riffraff he got used to with the Crescent Societies.

“Plenty of people yelling at me about their fish,” Matiyu says.

Yilas taps her fingers on the table. Her eyes drop to her lap.

“I wondered if you might consider leaving with me and going to the provinces.”

“What?” Matiyu exclaims. Yilas would hate the provinces. She doesn’t even like washing the vegetables at the diner she runs. “Is this Chami’s idea?”

“I haven’t asked Chami yet. I thought it might do her some good, actually. Get away from the rain.”