Numet’s temple: the grandest of Atera’s three places of worship. I’d be suspicious of how she knows the priest’s schedule as well, but it only makes sense a priest would want to spend time honoring our sky goddess—the deity from which our Mestrahs are descended—before taking the long ride back to Juvel.
We navigate around the baker’s daughter pulling her cart of fresh breads, and past the Gemsmith’s shop, though the Gemsmith herself isn’t in—instead it’s her wife who nods to us over displays of gold chains and jeweled dragonflies. Down an alley choked with barrels we go, where the tantalizing smells of spiced onions and cooking fish drift. Finally we stumble onto an empty street where the upper district meets the lower, and the ground changes from paving stones to packed dirt. Children play at the corner where the houses meet the road, but everyone else must be clustered toward the shore.
We hurry to the end to watch the procession coming up the road.
The priest and Royal Materialist are in front, flanked by their leopard-masked guards, and behind them, half the town. Maybe we do need to watch the woman. While the guards keep their gazes forward and stiff (though, who knows what they’re looking at under those masks), her restless eyes shift to the streets and the celebratory flowers strung between buildings. As if she can sense Hen’s irritation with her, her gaze suddenly moves to us.
“She knows,” Hen says, crossing her arms. “Memorize this face, Galena. It’ll be the last you see when the queen discovers you’re a fraud.”
“Keep your voice down,” I say. “And your imaginary vendettas on hold. What do we do now?”
“How should I know? I’m just here to grab the ledger.”
“All right, but I’m not used to this life of crime. Do I run at them like a religious fanatic? Scream in agony and pretend I broke my ankle?”
“Both good options. I’ll see you in a few.” She darts back the way we came.
“Wait!” I whisper. “Where are you going?”
And she’s gone without an answer. Leaving the fate of the entire evening to me.
All right, Zahru, focus. If they were riding horses, I could have easily introduced myself as the town Whisperer and spent an excessive amount of time tending to their mounts. I could ask for the priest’s blessing, but I think the guards would stop me before I could get close. They’re almost here. Gods, maybe I should run out howling about my ankle.
I move for the street, imagining the look on my father’s face when the priest’s guards drag me home. What am I always telling you, Zahru? he’ll say as the guards untie my hands. You went in without a plan, didn’t you?
Yes, Fara. I went in without a plan.
“Are those lotus boots?” I shriek, praying the Royal Materialist is half as obsessed with going over the details of her work as a certain local one is. “Wait, you . . .” I put my hand to my heart. “You’re Galena of Juvel.”
The woman smiles. “Yes, I am.”
“Move off,” a guard snaps, shoving a spear at me.
“Oh, let the girl be,” the woman says, beaming as she steps around him. “What’s your name?”
Her tone is a little patronizing, but I have to say I’m impressed by her friendliness. “Zahru. I’m a huge fan of yours.”
“Zahru, it’s nice to meet you. I—”
“Galena,” the priest grumbles.
“A minute, Mai. She’s only a girl.” She turns back to me, her pretty violet eyes—powdered with gold and lined with swirls of kohl—darting once down the plain linen of my dress to my bare feet. “You like fashion, Zahru?”
“Yes, adel. I know all about bronze eyelets and Luck shawls.” Not a lie. I know too much about them, if she’s really wondering.
“Another of my fine inventions. That Luck shawl got me this job.” She winks, and over her shoulder I catch a flash of green.
“Where did you get the idea for the lotus boots?” I won’t pretend I’m not fishing for an answer for Hen, and I think I see that green flash pause.
“On a summer walk under the stars. The palace has several beautiful pools covered with lotus flowers, and when I went wading, the idea came to me.”
A whisper that sounds very much like “Lies” drifts through the crowd.
“That seems like a perfectly reasonable explanation,” I say loudly.
“Did you know I’m from a town even smaller than Atera?” the woman continues, and now she has my true attention.
“You are?”
“My mother was a Materialist, but she passed when I was born. My father was a Gardener. Without her we had only his trade to live by, and I went many years of my life without any shoes at all.”
I swallow and scrunch my toes in the sand. This just got much more personal than I ever intended it to, and I know I said I’d side with Hen on pretty much anything, but she didn’t tell me Galena grew up without her mother, too.
“Here.” She begins unlacing her boots. The crowd gasps, and when I understand what she’s doing, my heart jerks. Oh gods, I hope Hen is finished—
“Take these,” she says, handing me the boots, which are several times more expensive than anything I will ever own. “And remember, no matter what you’re born to, you can be more.”
She smiles and starts off, and I can only stare after her, my heart like a dragonfly in my chest. I should probably be taking an important life lesson away from this about honesty and hard work, but all I can think of is how similar our stories are, and how she now travels on a glass boat at the side of a priest. It has to be a sign. That I’m meant to do this, and everything will work out, and maybe it will be even more amazing than I first imagined.
It’s only after the last guard has passed and the crowd wanders in, ogling the lotus boots and whispering, that I remember I’m on a mission. Someone asks to touch the shoes, and under normal circumstances I might have stayed and shared them, but now I clutch them to my chest and dash to the end of the street where I saw Hen disappear. My blood thrums through my body, fitful and restless. I pass through the alley and back into the upper district, around a corner—and right into the crossed arms of Hen.
“Gods!” I yelp, juggling the boots. “Hen! Did you get it?”
Her brown eyes narrow. “It’s done.”
I scream and throw my arms around her. I know exactly what she’s going to say next, but I’m too thrilled to care. We’re leaving. We’re actually leaving Atera to go to the palace, where there are trees that bloom jewels and golden rooms as big as towns. We’ll eat all the chocolate we can stomach. We’ll trail mysterious strangers and find secret passages and witness at least one spectacular rescue, because in all of the travelers’ best stories, someone is always saving someone.