All the Stars and Teeth(30)
Farther down the street, at the edge of the cobblestone, voices grow louder as taverns begin to fill.
Bastian follows my gaze.
“Fancy a drink?” he asks, and at first I can’t tell whether he’s serious. But then goose bumps trail up my arm and neck as he presses a gentle hand to the small of my back and ushers us toward one. Through the window, I see it’s fully occupied by beautiful men in perfectly fitted suits and vibrant makeup, and by striking women in shimmering scale gowns and eccentric headpieces of pastel fish heads. One woman even has what appears to be a real starfish stuck to the left side of her face.
I should tell Bastian no. That we need to hurry and keep going, as he said earlier. But instead, my words betray me and I find my feet are already moving me forward. “You’re sure we have time?”
“Trust me, this is exactly where we need to be.” His fingers wind around the door’s handle as his wicked grin widens. “We need to lie low until the nightlife has died down, and besides, there’s someone here I need to see.”
I bite back my grin as the door swings open. Inside, the air is wild with gossip and music.
A hearth with green flames sits in the back corner of the tavern, radiating the heat of burning hawthorn. It lures me forward, into the happy chatter and uninhibited laughter. I relax despite the thick crowd, coaxed by the gentle lullaby of an accordion dancing in the air. I do a double take when I notice it rests alone on a stool, playing entirely of its own accord. There’s no musician in sight, yet patrons liberally toss gold coins and colored pearls into a tin cup set before the stool.
Bastian hunts down a table near the back and motions for us to sit. While Ferrick moves slowly, trying to keep his regrowing hand tucked beneath the ruby cape he’s borrowed, I make my way swiftly through the crowd and take my seat. With Curmanans able to spread news so quickly, people will no doubt be looking for me. But they can share only words, not images, and not everyone knows my face.
In the thick of the crowd, the noise augments in the wine-dense air. Though the patrons in this tavern are extravagantly dressed, no one bothers to sneer their distaste at Ferrick and me. Too many people must pass through here for Ikaeans to concern themselves with our off-trend fashion choices.
Patrons slosh their drinks as they fall back into their chairs, feasting on pastel petit cakes and laughing over silly jokes and conversation. All they want is to have a good time. No one’s remotely suspicious of us.
Bastian smiles at a woman with a tray in her hands, dressed more simply than the others in a plain gown of soft lilac. She nods and says she’ll be with us shortly.
When Ferrick takes his seat, he immediately points to the two exits. “This isn’t a good idea. Amora is royalty. She shouldn’t be subjected to something as filthy as a tavern. What if someone recognizes her?”
“Why don’t you try saying the R-word a little louder, if you’re worried about someone recognizing her?” Bastian growls.
“This ‘filthy’ tavern has some of the most extravagant people I’ve ever seen.” I shoot Ferrick a look, and he doesn’t disagree. Still, his face contorts into a mask of annoyance, brows sinking low into his forehead to create deep lines. He’ll wrinkle himself prematurely if he keeps this up.
“And we won’t be here long,” Bastian adds. “For now, try to blend in.”
The barmaid arrives at our table. Her face and chest sheen with a thin veil of sweat, and her pale cheeks are flushed from her bustling. Still, she’s polite when she approaches.
“What can I get you?” She looks each of us over, likely taking in our strange clothing. Her eyes rest on me a moment longer than the others, and something in my gut sinks.
She can’t recognize me. Not yet. Not when I’ve only just left Arida.
The woman doesn’t flinch. The hand she’s placed on her jutted hip tells me I’m being paranoid and should stop wasting her time. She’s probably thinking about the other hundred things she has to do after taking our order.
“We’ll take some of those cakes, two glasses of ale…” Bastian’s voice draws off as he eyes me.
“Mead,” I answer.
“And a glass of mead,” he echoes with a hint of surprise. “We’ll also take the freshest catch of barracuda if you have it.”
My stomach curls at the idea of fish with mead and cakes, but there’s something in Bastian’s eyes that tells me he’s not asking for a meal.
“We don’t serve that here,” the woman says dismissively, though her eyes darken as they assess Bastian. He tips his head back to flash her one of his toothy grins, as if that will charm her. But the woman only stares on, unimpressed.
“Well, where might I find some?” He stretches a hand onto the table. From between his two middle fingers there’s a flash of a small gold coin.
The woman sets her hand on the table, and Bastian slips her the coin so quickly that, had I blinked, I would have missed it.
“I hear you can find it near Maribel’s, sometimes. It’s the shop with the pink bubbles. Trust me, you’ll know it when you see it.” She drops the coin down her top. “Barracudas are easier to catch late into the evening, but they disappear quickly. You’ll want to get one before sunrise.”
“Thanks for the tip,” Bastian says. “I’ll be sure to do that.”