Followed by Fros(48)

To my surprise, the next morning Qisam and Eyan arrived at my door, wearing their full soldier’s gear, including a leopard helmet on Qisam and the scorpion helmet for Eyan. I invited them inside, but they declined.

“Got it backwards,” Eyan said with a grin. “We’re here to take you to the city.”

I stared at him, thinking for a moment I must have misheard his Hraric.

Qisam pulled a tightly rolled scroll from his belt and read it, perhaps double-checking his instructions. “Prince Imad has granted you access to his city, though your stays must be brief.”

“You know,” Eyan added, “so you don’t freeze our crops or children.”

“And we’re here to escort you for your first visit. Captain said you didn’t like dogs.” Qisam shoved the scroll back into his belt.

My astonishment hindered my words. “Lo?” Had Lo spoken to Imad on my behalf? I felt both embarrassed and rejuvenated, a strange combination of emotions that left me light-headed.

Eyan said, “We can come back, if—”

“No, now, I’d like to go now!” I exclaimed, clasping my hands together. I half stumbled into my cavern, tripping over the upturned corner of a rug. I snagged my mustard-colored head scarf, draped it over my hair the way Aamina wore hers, and hurried out the door.

“Feels like I’m taking my daughter to the storm festival!” Eyan exclaimed with a laugh. He brushed snow off his shoulders. “We’ll take you through the market if you’d like.”

Qisam handed me a small money pouch filled with gold coins. I tried to hand it back, but he refused to take it.

“Our sheikh says it is your share for the water, from the snow catchers’ harvest,” the young soldier explained. “Do with it what you will.”

“I . . . thank you,” I said, tucking the pouch into my bodice. I didn’t know how to count Zareedian coin then, but I got the impression that the amount was more than generous.

Qisam and Eyan had brought a third, blanket-laden camel with them, and I recognized her as the beast I had ridden in from the Unclaimed Lands and through Kittat, Ir, and Shi’wanara. I decided then that the animal deserved a name for its loyalty, so I called it Leikah, the Hraric word for faithful. Eyan joked that I should have instead named it Leipo, which meant unfortunate.

My mile-wide storm cloud followed us back into Mac’Hliah snowless, perhaps just as eager as I was to see the winding roads, clustered homes, and real, living people. My insides twisted as we neared the city, making me almost sick with anxiety. Not for the fear of dogs, but for the regard of the people—what they might think of me and what accidents might befall them because of my presence. But my trip into the city would be short. With any luck, not a single crystal would fall from my pale clouds.

The people of Mac’Hliah watched our approach from a distance. As before, I saw some of them cross their chests and tap their shoulders. Others regarded me with curious or unreadable expressions. I held the greatest unspoken gratitude for those few who simply glanced my way for a moment before continuing with their own work, for I did not want to be a spectacle. More than anything, I wanted to be normal. Almost a year had passed since I first came to Zareed, and I wanted to feel some semblance of belonging here.

I asked Eyan if we could dismount, for I desired the exercise and did not want to ride so high above the others. Perhaps, though it was wishful thinking given the cloud that followed me everywhere, it would allow me to blend in. He helped coax Leikah down and took her reins, then fell in step behind me. Qisam walked ahead of us, scanning the streets with disinterest. I suppose even a city as grand as Mac’Hliah would seem commonplace to someone who had lived in Zareed all his life.

But it was not to me.

I marveled at the people who filled the streets, though they gave me and my companions a wide berth. Men carried yokes laden with clay water jugs. Women balanced baskets atop their heads with one hand. Children played with tops and buttons on strings and small clay flutes in the shapes of animals. They all talked freely among themselves, the chatter filling the air and tumbling over itself, like the city was breathing. Scents of cinnamon and curry flooded my nose as we passed a few round tents, one of which had a small cook fire outside its door with the leg of a goat roasting over it.

I heard the whispers, of course. Hands shielded mouths as we walked past. I assured myself that the prattle did not concern me—or if it did, it didn’t matter—and did my best to smile at those we passed, which seemed to unnerve quite a few.

We came to the market. Comparing it to the market I had seen last spring was like comparing a snake to a snakeskin. So many people filled the street we could barely pass in most places, even with the wide berth. I pulled up my gloves and wrapped the ends of my head scarf around my neck to ensure I covered all my skin, save for my face. I did not want to accidentally bump into someone and hurt them, though in the jubilance of the market, I almost forgot about the cold.

Swaths of green, scarlet, maroon, white, gold . . . every possible color of fabric draped merchant shops and a few stationary wagons. The barrels of dates, nuts, and spices were still not full, but they were considerably fuller, and the prices were lower than what I remembered. The boldest of sellers even called out to me, Qisam, and Eyan, trying to sell wares of dishes, beads, even daggers and leatherworks. I began to feel I should buy something, for I wanted to be part of the city, not just a bystander, but there were so many people bartering and dealing, and so many items on display, I hardly knew what.