Jade Fire Gold(11)

“Saw what?” Thank gods my voice comes out steady.

Still staring at me, he steps back, a slight crease between his dark brows.

“Well, what exactly did you see?” I say.

Ignoring my question, he reaches for another purple fruit and clears his throat. “Try this one. Look at the color. When a mangosteen is deep purple, it means it’s ripe.” He speaks Shi with a strange accent, somewhere in between the pleasing lilt of those from the eastern cities and the more rounded vowels of northerners. “Here, feel it.”

He places the fruit in my hand, fingertips grazing my palm with a feathered touch. My flinch brings a scowl to his face and he turns abruptly to the fruit vendor.

I skim his profile, taking in the strong cut of his jaw. He’s handsome, I guess. Nothing extraordinary. Nothing that should make my chest stir.

The fruit vendor points at me. “You buying that?”

I smile awkwardly. “I don’t have any money—”

“Then keep your filthy hands off my goods,” snaps the man.

He reaches to snatch the mangosteen back, but the boy catches his forearm. He flips the vendor’s hand palm up and drops some coins into it. Just like that the man is appeased. He bows a few times, urging the boy to take more fruit. The boy collects his bag and starts to walk off.

My throat burns with irritation. I don’t know why he is being so generous. I don’t want to owe him anything.

“Hey!” I call out, jogging after him. “This is yours.”

I try to give the mangosteen back to him, but he waves me away. “Keep it.”

“You paid for it.”

“Ever heard of a gift?”

“But we’re strangers.”

He shrugs. “There’s no law against giving gifts to strangers.”

I want to protest, but Ama would enjoy this new fruit, so I say nothing and keep walking. I don’t know if I’m following him or he’s following me, but somehow, we fall in step.

Now that his scowl is gone, he looks less intimidating. Tall and broad shouldered, he’s much better fed than everyone in my village or Shahmo. I think he might be from the Mengu nation. His skin is a warm golden brown, and his hair is worn in that distinctive northern manner: short on the sides and back with the length on the top tied into a curt ponytail with a red ribbon. I wonder how he lost his eye. But it seems rude to be asking a stranger such questions.

He catches me staring. I fiddle with my braid and blurt out the first thing that comes to my mind. “What brings you to Shahmo?”

“Just passing through. It’s my first time here. You?”

“The bazaar.”

It’d be sensible to stop this conversation and leave to find a buyer for my ring. But I seem to have lost all common sense. My eyes dart back to him when he looks away. The morning sunrays catch his hair, turning it almost gold, flattering his skin tone. When he moves and the light angles, his hair changes back to the brown of roasted chestnuts.

My neck flushes when I realize I’m gawking at him like a fool again. The spot where he touched my palm tingles. I wipe it on my skirt and gesture at the tents around us, desperate for something to say.

“What do you think of this?”

“Quaint.”

I suppress a snort. “Quaint? Do you not have bazaars in your town? Where are you from?”

“Everywhere and nowhere.”

“That’s mysterious.”

“I wasn’t trying to be,” he says with a crooked grin.

I find myself smiling back and our gazes lock for longer than necessary. Stop staring and focus, chides a rational voice in my head. I should hurry, there are a few more rows of tents to visit if I’m going to sell this ring today. Ama had another bad night and she needs her medicine fast.

“I guess I should be going,” I say, hesitant.

We stop walking, neither moving away from the other. I’m holding the mangosteen so tightly I start to worry I might squish it into a pulp. The boy adjusts his bag of fruits, glancing at me before staring at the ground and nodding to himself.

“Right. I should . . . go.”

“Enjoy the bazaar,” I say lightly. A trickle of liquid drips through my fingers. I tuck my arm behind me. I don’t want him to see that I’ve ruined his gift.

“I’ll try.”

Still, he doesn’t walk away. He looks like he wants to say more. My feet seem bolted to the ground, my heart racing like I’ve been sprinting.

“Would you like your fortune told, my dear?”

A delicate voice breaks my trance and relief washes over me. An old lady beckons me from inside a tent where there’s a small altar elevated by a red wooden platform. Her hair is a soft white, coiled around her head like a cloud, and there are bright jewels on her hairpins. I wonder if they are real. A figurine surrounded by fresh peaches rests on the altar. It takes me a second to recognize the goddess Xiwangmu, the Queen of the Western Heavenly Kingdom.

“No, thank you, ah pó,” I say politely.

She must be a face reader. Some call themselves palm readers or fortune tellers. I don’t believe in the hopes they sell, and I don’t know how they manage to make a living. I guess there are plenty of fools in this world.

“You are searching for something,” she says cryptically. Lucky guess. A safe thing to say to make a stranger think you know something about them. I can’t help but smirk. The old lady shakes her head at me. “Not you, xi?omèi. I was referring to him.”