Page 74 of The Hurricane Wars

His head was spinning. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in the midst of such a throng when he wasn’t cutting his way through them or leading a charge. They shuffled past stalls where there were platters of fresh fish and plump crustaceans on display, as well as fruits that he had never seen before: small round red ones with spikes that made them look like sea urchins; dark purple ones with thick clover-like leaves at the stem; and ones vaguely in the shape of human hearts that, when split open, revealed snowy white flesh speckled with black seeds. Merchants were tossing gelatinous noodles around in deep pots, cooking skewered meat on charcoal embers, frying dumplings and omelets in bubbling oil, and rolling up thin pastry sheets filled with cream ice and crushed peanuts. While they waited, the customers gathered around each stall to chat with one another, the usual singsong tones of the Nenavarene language strained as they all shouted to be heard over the drumbeats and the general roar that came with hundreds of people packed into a jumble of narrow streets.

Alaric received an elbow to the ribs no less than four times.His foot was trod on twice that number. At least three strangers shouted in his ear while hailing their acquaintances at the next stall or further up the street.

Indignation rose with every passing moment. If these people knew who he was—

But they didn’t. That was the thing. He wore neither crown nor wolf’s-snarl mask, and his hood hid the gray eyes of House Ossinast. Not that the commonfolk on this isolated archipelago knew anything about House Ossinast to begin with. It felt strange, to be this anonymous, to be treated just like everyone else.

Talasyn, on the other hand, seemed right at home. She led him to a stall that boasted its own collection of small round tables and stools spilling into an alleyway. “Stay here.” She indicated a vacant table, speaking almost under her breath. So that no one would overhear her using Sailor’s Common, he realized. While the soldiers and Dominion nobles that he’d dealt with thus far were fluent in the trade language, there was no reason for it to be widely spoken throughout these islands.

Alaric sat down, careful to keep his hood drawn low over his features. Talasyn had deliberately chosen a secluded spot, and the people in their immediate vicinity seemed too drunk or too engrossed in their own conversations to notice him, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

She melted into the crowd, leaving him awkwardly sitting there by himself for what felt like ages. Just as he was starting to suspect that she’d abandoned him and this was all part of some nefarious Dominion ploy to get the Night Emperor to wind up dead in a ditch, she returned, gingerly carrying a bamboo tray laden with utensils, wooden bowls of fluffy white rice and some kind of grayish stew, and tankards filled with a mysterious saffron-colored liquid.

“What is this?” Alaric asked once she’d taken the seat across from him.

“Pork with peas and jackfruit. The drink is sugarcane juice,” she supplied. “This isn’t the best stall, but it’s quiet. If you want thebestpork stew, you have to go a little further up the street, near the drummers.”

“You are a fixture, then, I take it?”

“Not as much as I would like to be.” She seemed somewhat regretful, and he arched a brow.

“Surely there is nothing stopping you from coming down here whenever the mood strikes.”

Talasyn mumbled something about lessons and duties before she dug into her bowl with a barely contained frenzy, chewing and swallowing nonstop while glaring a hole into the table. Alaric almost felt bad that he had forced his presence on her and it was no doubt sullying her enjoyment of the meal.

Eventually, he took his first tentative bite. And then another, and another. Perhaps he was just famished, but the soupy mess in his bowl was delicious, and the cold beverage that he washed it down with was sweet and refreshing.

Since his dining companion wasn’t in a particularly chatty mood, he let his attention drift to their surroundings. The table in front of theirs was especially lively, the burly men occupying it loud enough to be obnoxious, their ruddy faces flushed with alcohol. Alaric thought that he caught the wordKesathevery once in a while.

“What are they saying?” he asked Talasyn, inclining his head toward the group.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “I’m still learning Nenavarene, and they’re talking too fast.” She stabbed a chunk of meat with her fork and changed the subject. “You’re looking forward to sailing home after the wedding, I’ll wager.”

She sounded so especially prickly that Alaric gave in once again to the impulse to tease her. “Am I? We won’t see each other again until you come to Kesath for your coronation. Perhaps I shall miss you terribly.”

Talasyn rolled her eyes, a small quirk blossoming along one corner of her mouth. But then her expression flattened, reminding him of a shield being thrown up, and she ducked her head. “Let me finish my meal in peace,” she grunted.

Ever since she sat down to eat, the drunks at the next table had been planning to wage all-out war on the Night Empire. These plans had grown increasingly more outlandish, so much so that changing the subject with Alaric had no longer been enough. She’d had to stop talking to him altogether so that she could focus on keeping a straight face. It was almost worth her real plans for the evening being foiled.

Almost.

“Who does this bastard emperor think he is?” yelled the ringleader. “Waltzing in here, forcing our Lachis’ka to marry him—let’s storm the palace, I say! Let’s slaughter the Kesathese in their beds!”

Amidst impassioned rumblings of assent, a lone voice strove to get everyone to see reason. “We must trust in Queen Urduja’s judgment. She knows what’s best for Nenavar, and she’ll be furious if we storm her palace.”

“Not if it’s so we can rescue her granddaughter from the clutches of an outsider!” argued a third man. “Here’s what, some of us’ll take a bunch of firecrackers and sneak onboard that accursed lightning ship, blow it to smithereens, while the rest of us will lay siege to the Roof of Heaven—”

“And slaughter the Kesathese in their beds!” the group cheered, banging their tankards on the table.

“They’ll never know what hit ’em!”

“What’s an army to six determined patriots?”

“My hatchet thirsts for the Night Emperor’s blood!”

Talasyn fought down a snort, swallowing it along with her mouthful of rice and stew. She diligently avoided meeting Alaric’s gaze.

Then one of the men said, “Although—the Lachis’ka is an outsider, too, isn’t she? She didn’t grow up here, and Lady Hanan, rest her soul, was foreign.”

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