One of the retainers was looking at her politely. His name was Daren Dru Shearkan, if she remembered right—a distant relative of Varkas. He spoke cautiously.
“If anything catches your eye, I will gladly purchase it for you.”
“No need. I don’t want—”
Talia swallowed the reflexive refusal before it could leave her tongue. She was already growing sick of sitting here like an ornamental doll.
She glanced toward Varkas, who remained surrounded by councilors and scribes, then drew her hood low over her brow and stood.
“Very well. Lead the way.”
They slipped out through the chamber’s rear door, stepping into a cavernous hall where hundreds of merchants swarmed.
Talia stopped at the railing and looked down. Bright bolts of wool and felt were heaped high atop crowded stalls, while behind them stretched endless lines of carts and crates weighed down with cargo.
“This way, please.”
The man gestured toward the stairs. Talia gripped the balustrade with one hand, descending with deliberate care. As her foot touched the final step, the clamor of the auction floor rushed over her.
She picked her way through the thronged aisles, watching the merchants spar over bids. Men clad as richly as highborn lords haggled furiously, spitting between words; clerks worked scales and abacuses, tallying duties and commissions; porters shouldered dense bolts of cloth and hauled them onto wagons.
It felt as if she had stepped straight into the center of a frenzied, sprawling banquet.
She lingered briefly by the foreign spices before wandering down a quieter aisle of stalls.
There, atop a rather modest trestle table, lay a scatter of crude trinkets. As she cast a bored glance over them, the man trailing behind her like a guard spoke up.
“The jewelers have their stalls in the transept. Shall I take you there?”
“Don’t bother. I never wear anything unless Dwarven hands crafted it.”
“Ah… I see.”
He scratched the back of his neck, looking abashed. Talia ignored him and turned into a narrow lane bordered by smaller booths. A tapestry hanging against the stone wall caught her eye.
She approached, looking up at the strange weave. Spun from threads of gold, scarlet, and dark russet, the cloth bore the likeness of a pale-skinned maiden entwined with a monstrous, three-headed black beast.
As she frowned at the unsettling design, an unfamiliar voice drifted from nearby.
“Does the weave please you?”
Talia turned, her gaze sharpening at the sight of an Eastern woman behind the counter.
The woman set aside her ledger, her tone smooth and deferential.
“It is thirty soldems, but for you, my lady, I can part with it for twenty-six.”
“Who would buy such a grotesque thing?”
At Talia’s blunt retort, the woman’s eyes flickered with faint curiosity. She tilted her head, studying Talia’s features.
“My lady must hail from elsewhere.”
Talia narrowed her eyes, immediately suspicious.
“And how would you know that?”
“This cloth tells the oldest legend of our land. Since you did not recognize it, I thought you must have traveled from afar.”
“A legend?”
Talia glanced back up at the wall. Pleased to have caught her interest, the merchant began to spin her tale.
“Long ago, a great beast roamed this land, coveting even the stars in the night sky. In its boundless hunger, it sought to swallow every living creature whole.”
Having set the stage with grand flair, the woman paused, gauging her listener’s reaction.
Talia offered a curt flick of her chin, bidding her continue. The merchant’s voice rose again, clear and resonant.
“Then the spirit of the earth awakened to soothe the creature threatening the world. For a hundred days and a hundred nights she sang to calm its fury, until at last, a mighty warrior was born of their union. The ancients of the East believed themselves his bloodline.”
Talia’s brow furrowed. She remembered hearing a similar tale from the servants at Raedgo Castle.
The merchant rifled through a folded stack of cloth, drew out a square of linen, and laid it upon the wooden counter.
“Even today, many across our plains believe carrying the black beast’s crest keeps misfortune at bay. Would my lady care for a keepsake?”
Embroidered upon the crimson fabric was the three-headed beast. It was strangely familiar.
Squinting at the threads, she remembered: she had seen that emblem in histories of the Warring Kingdoms. It was the crest borne by the Shearkan bloodline before they yielded to the Roem Empire.
Talia reached out, her fingers drawn to it almost against her will.
The thing was far removed from her usual tastes, yet brushing aside the woman’s eagerness felt needlessly awkward.
She made a brief gesture over her shoulder.
“Well? Pay her.”
At that moment, a long, slender hand with prominent knuckles reached out from beside her.
“Will this cover it?”
A cool voice cut through the air, followed by the clink of gold coins falling upon the wood.
Talia flinched, glancing back. Draped in a cloak of dark navy, Varkas was looking down at her, his face utterly blank. Leaning close against her back, he let his low, quiet voice murmur near her ear.
“Is there anything else you want?”
Talia stared up at him for a vacant heartbeat before slowly shaking her head. Varkas, who had kept his eyes fixed upon her face, turned to the stall keeper.
“Is that enough?”
“M-more than enough, my lord. Truly.”
As the woman scrambled to sweep up the gold, Varkas turned on his heel without another word.
Guided by his hand, they left the cramped alleyway and stepped back into a wider, quieter section of the exchange.
His voice remained low as they walked down the central aisle.
“The gem merchants are just ahead. Even traders from the Southern Continent have set up their stalls, so there may be something to Your Highness’s liking.”
Talia looked up at his profile, dazed. Then the retainer who had been trailing them stepped in, hopelessly tactless.
“Your Grace, Her Highness said she wears nothing unless Dwarven hands shaped it. Would heathens’ wares truly satisfy the Princess?”
Talia glared at him from beneath her cowl. She was not about to let this fool ruin her chance to have Varkas buy her a jewel.
Her words tumbled out with unseemly haste.
“Now that I think on it, having a curiosity or two wouldn’t hurt.”
Varkas glanced down at her over his shoulder for a brief moment, then turned his eyes back ahead.
Passing dozens of booths, they made their way toward the transept.
Soon, the entrance to the precious stones hall appeared, flanked by stern-faced guards. Varkas led her through.
“Welcome.”
The merchant standing before the velvet cases tossed out a perfunctory greeting without bothering to lift his head. Untroubled by the slight, Varkas guided her straight to the counter.
“If anything catches your eye, tell me.”
Talia’s gaze drifted slowly across the crimson velvet. Gems of varying sizes and surprisingly fine cut were laid out in neat rows.
Even to eyes accustomed to imperial treasures, some among them appeared remarkable. As she reached out reflexively toward one, the merchant, who had been peering at a rough stone through a loupe, snapped in a shrill voice.
“Customer! Keep your hands off unless—!”
Catching sight of Varkas, the man choked on his words and scrambled to his feet.
Varkas spoke dryly.
“I shall purchase whatever Her Highness touches.”
“N-no, Your Grace! Please, pay me no mind—look as long as you wish! Forgive my blindness, I did not recognize…”
Talia did not spare the stammering man a single glance, turning her attention back to the stones.
Her eyes fell upon a soft, pale blue mineral, and her hand froze. Lifting it into the light, she watched a mysterious silver shimmer ripple across its smooth surface. It was a moonstone, radiant and cool—the very shade of Varkas’s eyes.
“Do you like that one?”
As she stood gazing at it as though bewitched, Varkas broke the silence.
Talia flinched, setting the stone down at once. The heat crawled up her neck beneath his gaze, which felt as if it were stripping her thoughts bare.
“I-it’s nothing special.”
Snatching up a deep red ruby that lay beside it, she held it out.
“I’ll take this one.”
END