Page 65 of House of the Raven
“I’ve been on the road since I was a babe,” Esmeralda goes on. “Ma took me everywhere. She also taught me everything I know about healing, like binding broken bones and sprains.” She gestures toward my wrist. “Gaspar taught me the rest.”
She turns her head toward me and winks. The grass tickles her cheek. She’s a true beauty. Those bright green eyes of hers could spellbind anybody.
The next day we arrive in Syvilia. The place is nearly as bustling as Castellina. The sun casts a warm, golden glow upon the cobblestone streets that wind through the heart of the city. The air is filled with the rich, earthy scent of market stalls offering exotic spices and herbs, while people from all walks of life go about their many endeavors.
Many of the buildings are adorned with intricate carvings that tell tales of battles fought and legends born. Towers and turrets rise majestically above, reaching towards the heavens. Cuervo flies from one to the next, keeping a wary eye on me.
Once they find a spot near the busy market, the troop works like a perfectly constructed timepiece, every part of the mechanism doing its job. Even the children have specific tasks they must perform to get everything in place.
Esmeralda assigns me simple responsibilities, similar to those of the children. I have to sweep the area where each stall will be set up. There’s a space for El Gran Místico’s wagon, and another for a long table where a woman named Prina will sell her pretty jewelry. I’ve been admiring some of her pieces, wondering how she puts them together. She certainly possesses a unique talent. I wouldn’t mind learning a few of her secrets in the trade. I have always enjoyed creating things: drawings, paintings,jewelry, even embroidery. Maybe I’ll get a chance to ask her later once she’s not so busy.
Esmeralda’s stall is a curious one. She sells a variety of ingredients in tiny bottles that she says are medicine.
“Snake oil salespeople, that’s what they are,”Father whispers in my ear.
To my chagrin, I have to admit I wouldn’t take the remedies in those bottles without concern, though this doesn’t seem like a problem to the Syvilia residents. They easily part with their coin as she bats her dark eyelashes and smiles with more charm than a cooing babe.
Gaspar also does good business. People go in and out of his wagon at a steady pace. Some walk out wearing smiles on their faces, while others seem discouraged by whatever news he gave them.
I stay out of the way, sitting on a low wall across the street, watching it all unfold with tremendous interest. Their lives are so different from mine. They are constantly moving, talking, gesticulating, charming anyone who comes near, all while remaining in a good mood, whether or not their customers purchase their offers.
At twelve hours, they cover their stalls and leave the children in charge of watching them.
Esmeralda walks up to me, shaking a small bag of coins in her hand. “Want to get something to eat?”
“I do.” My stomach has been rumbling for a full hour now.
“Let’s go explore. See what’s new.”
“Do things change much between your visits?” I ask, curious.
“Sometimes.” She points toward a narrow cobbled path. “I know a place that sells the best stuffed cochinillo. We’ll eat first, and then we’ll explore. How does that sound?”
“Perfect! Cochinillo is my favorite.”
We walk side-by-side. I admire the quaint, colorful homes as we move along the winding path. Many have black bows pinned to their doors, mourning my father. After a while, I’m quite turned around, lostactually. Ten minutes later, we arrive at a small tavern and find a table. No one pays us any attention.
“They didn’t even have a proper funeral for Rey Plumanegra,” a woman in a yellow dress says to her companion at the table opposite ours.
I stare at the table, my shoulders tensing.
“I know,” her interlocutor responds. “It’s an embarrassment. Unheard of.”
“Perhaps Queen Amira isn’t of sound mind. Imagine witnessing such a tragedy.”
I try to ignore the conversation, but it’s difficult, so I’m relieved when the two women begin talking about hat fashions instead.
Esmeralda orders two servings of cochinillo, which are accompanied by braised potatoes, a basket of bread, and a jar of wine. She pays in advance, and I get the impression the owner wouldn’t service us otherwise.
“They’ll take anything that isn’t theirs if it isn’t nailed to the floor,”Father’s voice says.“That includes the food on your plate and the fruits of anyone’s labor, including inn owners, farmers, street vendors, anyone who can fill their stomachs for free.”
“What’s the matter now?” Esmeralda asks when she notices me frowning at the floor.
My eyes lift to meet hers. “Nothing, just…” I whirl a hand in the general direction of my head.
“You get lost in your mind a lot, huh?” she asks, though she doesn’t give me any time to answer. “It’s not good, you know? Constantly letting your mind turn ‘round and ‘round with your own troubles.”
“Why is that?” I’m interested to hear why she thinks this.
