Page 7 of Sonnets and Serpents
In contrast to his dark hair, eyes, and expression, Silas wore a loose shirt of bright blue fabric, reaching partway down his thighs, belted with a sash of orange that also crossed one shoulder. Eliza had seen the Pravish style scattered everywhere in combinations of pink and green, purple and yellow, red and orange. Loegrian fashion was never so flamboyant in its colors, and Eliza found herself wishing she could trade her muted silks for a flowy rainbow.
It wasn’t only the Pravish fashion that was remarkably different. Chatter echoed from the city streets nearby, where people strode along by themselves or in groups, all in a seemingly great hurry to get somewhere. Since arriving, she’d seen no carriages or even solo horseback riders in the streets.She had seen a few carts carrying people, but they were pulled by otherpeople, not horses, and the roads were all pitted and in need of repair, just like the wall. She wondered how Pravusat’s king spent his money if not in caring for his cities and people.
“Why you follow?” she demanded in Pravish, trying to make the question understandable even though she couldn’t conjugate it.
Silas drawled something too quick to deconstruct. She thought she heard the wordmoney.
As she’d expected—he wanted payment for saving her.
“No money,” she snapped. “Go home!”
Wait,she thought.That isn’t right.Pravish added extra words she wouldn’t need in Loegrian. Gotohome. How did she say that again?Gik ne seyahat.
Or was itseravat?
“Go home,” she repeated forcefully.Seravatsounded better. It was definitely the right word.
Silas snorted.
Eliza blushed. She turned to leave, and the thug didn’t stop her, yet she found she couldn’t go more than a few steps. She turned back, face flaming.
“You be ... ashamed.”Is that “ashamed” or “gentle”? Utanmas.“Steal money, ashamed. Follow girl, ashamed.” She ended with an emphatichmph!Then she turned again to leave.
“You’re too old for that,” he said.
It took her a moment to process that he’d spoken Loegrian. Her jaw dropped, and she whirled around.
Silas leaned against the alley wall and shrugged. “In Pravish, thegencroot—eithergencalfor boys orgencafor girls—references children, ten years old at most.Genca, you said—so you’re claiming to be a seven-year-old girl? As far as disguises go, Your Highness, shaving ten years off your age won’t foolanyone. In addition, I’m not sure it’s possible to ‘steal money gently.’”
She gaped. The humidity made her mind feel as sticky as her clothing, and her thoughts scrambled to grasp what was happening. Her face burned more fiercely than before.
Finally, she asked, “What’s the word for ‘ashamed’?”
“Utamas,” he supplied, his smirk clearly expecting her to use it regarding herself.
“You should beutamas,” she snapped. “For being a thugandfor pretending to be Pravish.”
“I pretended nothing.”
He had the audacity to say that while wearing Pravish fashion and speaking the language as smoothly as anyone she’d heard in Izili.
“You called me ‘Your Highness,’ so clearly you know who I am. Well, if you’re hoping to turn me in for a reward, you can forget it. King or not, my father’s not the rewarding type.”
Silas’s eyebrows rose, though his expression betrayed nothing else.
“Your sister sent me,” he finally said.
Eliza’s insides shrank. When she’d run away, she’d been too cowardly to give her sister one final hug. She’d simply left a note in the night.
Would Aria tell her to abandon her search and come home?
She knew what her father would say—that running away was the worst of her whims. That she’d accomplished nothing.
“I’m fine,” she whispered. “Tell Aria not to worry.”
Aria had enough to worry about as it was. Ever since the Caster rebellion started, she and their father had grown more and more at odds, a struggle between current ruler and future ruler that Eliza had no part in.
Or maybe that was the excuse she told herself to ease the guilt of running away. Of abandoning her sister.
