Page 74 of By the Orchid and the Owl
Sweetest dreams, my little hurricane.
And his mind dropped from mine like a feather floating to the ground.
On the day the Cardina peddlers came to campus, everyone broke their serious streak in Mr. Conine’s class to chat loudly about what they wanted to buy while we played with sloths—or, at least, while wetriedto play with sloths.
Most of the creatures were simply clinging to us, content to listen to our conversation with wide, glassy eyes. Mr. Conine himself was busy leaning back in his chair at the head of the classroom, surveying us lazily as if he hadn’t a care in the world.
“I’m going to buy something for Ms. Pincette,” Rodhi declared, patting his sloth on its sloped head. “I just don’t knowwhatyet. What do you women evenlike?” he asked Emelle and me, as if he’d only just noticed us.
“Rodhi, I’ve told you a million times,” I sighed. “Forget Ms. Pincette.”
Rodhi sighed back at me, as ifIwere the unreasonable one here. “I found out she’s twenty-eight, so only a decade older than us. A ten-year age gap is nothing, darling.”
“I think I’d like flowers,” Emelle said dreamily beside us, stroking her sloth’s moss-glazed back. “Preferably the kind that don’t sing opera.”
“I’m going to get Wren a needle,” Gileon said, smiling down at his own sloth that had crawled up to his neck.
I blinked at him. “Just… just a needle? What about thread?”
Not that I could imagine Wren sewing, but…
Gileon scratched his head. “She only ever talks about needles. And sticking them in people’s ice. She’s never mentioned thread.”
One of the sloths let out a low, slow chuckle.
Eyes. Whenever anyone annoyed her, Wren always said that she’d like to stick a needle in theireyes.
Rodhi, Emelle, and I spent the rest of class biting our lips.
Finally, Mr. Conine announced the end of class, we carried our sloths back to their favorite trees, and everyone began surging toward the courtyard.
We heard it before we had even rounded the last corner: the shouting and haggling, the jingling of coins and jewelry. I wasn’t expecting it, though, when we finally stopped at the edge of the cobblestone and foundhundredsof tents and carts bulging from the courtyard, all packed together so tightly, I couldn’t even fathom pushing my way through the mess. It was even more hectic than that first day of our arrival, with hardly enough space to walk between each row of carts. The monkeys only stirred up the chaos, lunging forward from the sidelines to steal bits of merchandise and shrieking with laughter when the vendors shooed them away.
Rodhi rubbed his hands together, a competitive glint to his eyes.
“Wish me luck. I’m going in.”
And he barged into the fray.
I glanced at Emelle and Gileon. “Let’s just wander along the outer edge first?”
There’d be no point in trying to find Coen in this mess. He’d reach out to me once his last class of the day had ended, I knew.
Gileon squinted ahead. “I think I see a wagon with sewing supplies, actually. It’s by the fountain. I’m going to go there first if that’s okay with you, Rayna.”
Oh, right. Gileon, despite his sweet demeanor,didtower over everyone else and would be able to see over the sea of all those bobbing heads.
“Sure.” I waved a hand. “See you later, Gil.”
When it was just Emelle and me, we began meandering along the outskirts, smiling politely at most vendors who tried to hail us down, but stopping to inspect the merchandise of an old woman who was selling chocolate truffles. Before leaving the house for Mr. Fenway’s class this morning, I’d filled my pockets with those untouched copper coins I’d brought from home, and now I felt them clink together at the top of my thighs as I brought one out to pay for two truffles, one for Emelle and one for me.
Once upon a time, I used to watch Fabian and Don use their Summoning magic to grind up roasted cocoa beans. The smell reminded me of Alderwick, of home, and I chewed on my truffle slowly to savor it as Emelle and I moved on. I suddenly ached for my fathers so much that I barely even registered when one of the vendors called my name.
“Rayna. Are you Rayna Drey?”
I whipped around, toward a striped green tent where a man with sagging, yellow-tinted cheeks was peering at me beadily, a cigarette clamped between two meaty fingers. Racks of wool blankets hung all around him, swaying in a thick breeze, and the man beckoned with his free hand.
I took a few steps toward him uncertainly, Emelle on my heels.
