“You can do this,” he adds, patting my shoulder, reminding me of all the times he’s been there to protect me, to guide me when my own father couldn’t. It’s the reassurance I need to climb into the cart.
I stay far out of sight from the horse. Animals haven’t always reacted well upon seeing my skin.
The driver puts up a good show of not trying to scoot farther away from me. But he does.
Uncle Pheus waves good-bye, and I turn for one final look at the palace. I spot Archduke Ralton standing on one of the balconies overlooking the courtyard. No doubt he’s wondering where I’m off to. Hopefully Uncle Pheus’s excuse about Aris taking me sailing works because I’m unnerved by Archduke Ralton’s watchful gaze.
As soon as a few last-minute supplies are loaded into the cart, the driver snaps the reins and the horse trots forward. Its hooves clop against the cobblestones in the almost-deserted courtyard.
The last time I rode down the streets was ten years ago during the Rose Festival, an annual tradition in Lagonia. My father and I, and my mother before we lost her, would toss rose petals from the carriage windows. They were supposed to bring good luck if they landed on you. After the carriage had passed by, the people lining the streets would rush in and grab handfuls of the petals and toss them at one another.
That all stopped after The Touch. Though the festival continued, we didn’t go out into the streets and toss rose petals. We didn’t celebrate. We didn’t have any good luck.
I can’t imagine how the streets have changed in the past years.
We arrive at the palace gates, and they open, the metal screeching on its hinges. As we leave the royal grounds behind, city air rushes over me, clinging like oil to my skin.
On the wealthier houses close to the palace, old columns race upward to support tiled roofs. Those buildings give way to the small shops tucked away behind intricately carved archways that line the avenue. Narrow, twisted alleyways that lead into the less savory parts of the city flank the shops. Inside the shops, darkness presses against the closed shutters.
It’s too early for most people to be out and about in town, and I feel strangely disappointed that I don’t get the chance to see more of my kingdom’s people, no matter how much I worry about their reactions. I see a few merchants carting their wares to the main avenue and setting up under the arches. Around them, men haul olives, others roast almonds in a giant pan over an open flame, and others lay out woven rugs and tapestries for sale.
I wish I could stay and watch, but the cart clatters onward.
When we reach the dock, dozens of men mill about in puddles of light emanating from lanterns hung from tall poles. Some men aren’t wearing shoes or shirts while others wear only simple vests to cover their chests. They look up as the cart shudders to a stop before the gangplank.
Gravel threatens to poke through my thin slippers when I hop off, doing so before the driver can panic about having to help me down.
Aris’s ship is smaller than I expected. Much smaller than any ship in the Royal Armada. Barnacles creep their way up the waterline of the ship, and the figurehead at the front doesn’t make me feel any better. It’s a wooden swan with its wings stretching back in flight. Several of the feathers have broken off, making the swan look uneven.
I scan the crowd looking for Aris, but what I see instead is a man in a blue coat leaning on the railing of the upper deck. The wind tugs his disheveled blond hair away from his face, and I notice he’s roughly my age.
He’s rubbing something small, a coin maybe, between his fingers. Lantern light glints off it. A flash of gold. I stiffen. It was just a reflection, I tell myself. It’s probably nothing more than a copper coin or even a button.
As his fingers continue their slow circles, he does nothing to conceal the fact he’s watching me. It’s an odd feeling. Most people see me and quickly look away in horror, but my cloak must work better than expected.
After a few moments, he tucks whatever he was holding in his pocket and pushes off the railing, disappearing from view. I continue to stare at the spot until a voice sounds behind me.
“Look what we got here,” a man says. He wipes his brow with his thin arm and drops a large sack of flour onto a pile of similar bags.
Another man whistles.
I turn to find two identical men looking at me.
“I saw her first,” the man by the bags says.
“Doesn’t mean she’ll like you better,” the second one replies.
The men are skinny and aren’t much taller than I am, but they have several years on me. Both have ears that stick a little too far out from their heads and dark hair that spikes up at impossible angles. When they smile, their wide grins seem to balance out their faces.
I’m not used to so much attention. My first instinct is to curl inward, but I don’t. These men aren’t making fun of me. They don’t even know who I am. I hope.
“Are you going to be joining us?” the man by the pile asks. He saunters closer and smiles. I pull my hood farther down.
“It’s bad luck to have a woman aboard,” another man says as he spits at my feet. I step back, disgusted. His nearly bald head reflects the morning sun as he turns away from me. The small tufts of hair forming a semicircle around the bottom half of his scalp are gray around the edges, but even though he’s older, his arms still bulge with muscles earned from heaving barrels and supplies around the ship.
“Quiet, Brus,” the second twin says.
“Yeah, quiet,” the first twin repeats, turning back to face me. He tries to catch a glimpse under my hood. I duck my face to the side in a motion I pray he’ll mistake as shyness. “Brus doesn’t mean any disrespect. It’s just the last time we had a woman on board, well . . .” He trails off. He smiles and leans closer. One tooth is missing from the bottom row of his teeth and his breath reeks of alcohol. “I’m Phipps.”
He holds out a calloused hand.
I drop a quick curtsy instead of offering my hand in return. “Nice to meet you,” I say, hoping he doesn’t notice I haven’t given my name. I keep my head bowed until he speaks again.
“The pleasure is mine.”
I risk a glance upward.
One gold hoop earring dangles from his earlobe.
Sweat trickles down my spine. I’ve forgotten how many places gold can hide. Shoe buckles, rings, and even teeth become potential hazards.
I start to back away. A hand comes down on my shoulder, and I jump.
“I don’t blame you for trying to get away. He’s always smelled bad,” the second twin says. “I’m Thipps, his better half.”
“That’s not true at all,” Phipps complains.
Thipps ignores his brother and smiles, and from my close proximity I spot one gold tooth right under his large front ones.
I try to scramble away from his grip. He looks hurt when I duck away.
“Ha,” Phipps laughs. “Seems you don’t smell any better.”
“Meeting the crew, I see,” Aris says, coming up behind me.
Despite the gold all around, I relax at the sound of his voice and turn to face him. He’s silhouetted against the sky, and sunrays break over his head like a crown. It’s obvious that a real crown would sit just as nicely.
Today he’s wearing a green jacket adorned with thick silver appliques, which makes him stand out among the drab and dirty clothes worn by the sailors. Looking at my own dress, I realize we match.