Page 52 of Anwen of Primewood
“Yes, yes,” I say, nodding. “We’ll take those as well. What about jewels?”
He climbs the steps of his wagon with his portly legs, gives us a promising smile, and then inserts a key into a locked side compartment.
He pulls out a box and opens it with a flourish. “Exquisite unworked jewels from across the seas.” He leans in close as if he were going to tell us a great secret. “They were bound for Triblue’s royal court, but they weremisplaced. I will extend my excellent deal to you fine patrons.”
Dristan and Bran exchange a look, but they say nothing.
The man holds a crystal out for my inspection. “Finest diamond you will ever lay eyes on.”
I raise an eyebrow. “That’s clear quartz.”
The merchant bristles. “I assure you, it is not.”
I roll the stone in my hand. “I assure you, it is.”
Marigold steps forward and eyes the stone. “Most assuredly quartz. It lacks an octahedral fracture.”
The merchant glares at Marigold. “It’s a very rare type of diamond.”
“Then I’m sure we can’t afford it.” Galinor plucks the stone from my hand and gives it back to the man. He motions toward my hefty pile of goods. “How much for all this?”
The man pockets the cheap crystal and taps his lips. “All of that? I can give you the excellent deal of twenty gold coins.”
“Ten,” I interrupt before Galinor can pay the man.
Has he never bartered? The naive prince was already reaching into his coin pouch.
The merchant turns to me, pretending I’ve shocked him. “These are fine goods, but I see you are a scrupulous woman. I suppose I can drop as low as…eighteen gold pieces.”
“Twelve or we will walk away,” I counter.
The man’s face scrunches up in a sour look. “Fourteen, final offer.”
Elated we’re getting such a good price, I say, “Deal. Galinor, pay the man.”
The prince flashes me a look I can’t decipher and produces the money.
Arms full, we haul our goods back to our patch of forest. I keep my eyes open for Pika as I lead the others into the brush and away from prying eyes. Thankfully, she seems to be staying back.
Once we’re alone, Dristan sifts through our treasures. “Now that we have it, just what are you going to do with all this?”
I turn to Marigold. “Do you have needles? Thread?”
“Of course,” she answers.
“Galinor, take off your tunic and hand it to me.” I turnto Marigold. “We’ll cut the sleeves off and hem it up to make a vest.”
I purse my lips as I examine Dristan and Bran’s clothing. As princes of Triblue, their attire is entirely different from Galinor’s. Bran’s shirt is beige, and Dristan’s is red, but they both lace up the front and have billowy sleeves. Their trousers are tight, as is suited for climbing up ship’s rigging. To be honest, they could pass for Bandolian performers just the way they are.
“Your clothes are fine.” I toss the brothers several scarves. “Bran, tie one around your head. Dristan, roll yours up and belt it around your waist.”
Galinor stares at me like I’ve misplaced my sanity. “Is this necessary?”
I give him an impatient look and wave at him to hurry. Grumbling, he pulls the tunic over his head.
And…oh my.
Flustered, I snatch the tunic away from him, careful to keep my gaze averted from his bare torso. Marigold doesn’t bother to look away. She openly gawks at him, her eyes wide.
