A hearty laugh made its way from between Joel’s lips. “Wait until you taste some of the food there. Then you’ll understand what truly motivates us wealthy folk to brave the snow and ice.”
“Food?” Gib asked, interest piqued.
Again, Joel broke down into fits of laughter. “Yes, lots of food. I’ll even treat you to a freshly fried cinnamon fritter if you’d like. The bakery on Traders Row always sells them during Midwinter. Tell me, have you ever eaten a proper fritter before?”
The sentinel trainee shook his head. “No. Never.”
Joel’s eyes widened and he gasped in shock. “Oh, you are missing out. Fritters have to be one of the most delicious sweets in the world. Egg whites, cream, wheat, and ale mixed together and fried in a pan and then sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon. In the autumn, you can even find them made with fresh apples or raspberries.”
Gib’s mouth began to water. “That sounds wonderful.”
“They truly are. We’ll find some today at the festival. But first, baths and breakfast before Mother has our heads.”
After baths and a hearty breakfast consisting of eggs, milk, and steaming bread, Joel and Gib prepared to venture outside. It quickly became apparent they wouldn’t be allowed out the door until Lady Mrifa had bundled them inside wool cloaks and mittens, wrapped scarves around their necks, and plopped hats onto each of the boy’s heads. Gib’s mousy curls spewed out from beneath the hat as he adjusted it into place. He couldn’t help but smile as he listened to Mrifa fret over her son.
“Joel, make sure you keep that hat over the top of your ears. It’s bitter outside and I don’t want you to come home with frozen extremities.”
Joel sighed with impatience as his mother checked to be certain his cloak was properly buttoned. “I think you’ve forgotten, dearest Mother, this is the fifteenth winter I’ve seen. I’m at an age where I’m capable of donning proper clothing without guidance.”
Mrifa smoothed her son’s onyx waves, smiling sadly at him. “It’s my job to be unbearable and overprotective. Let me fuss over you a little bit longer. You’re the only son I have left who will allow it.”
“Indeed,” Joel replied with a roguish smile. “I’m sure it’s been a long time since Liro allowed you to fawn all over him in such a way.”
Mrifa’s soft features pinched. “Your brother has been cold for some time now.”
Joel set a hand on his mother’s shoulder and uttered a quick apology. “That was out of line. I apologize.”
“No, it’s true,” Mrifa responded, her voice sullen. “Your brother has treated you so unfairly. He isn’t the same person he once was. It’s sad that Liro’s ambitions have become more important than kin.” She leaned up to kiss Joel on the cheek. “He’ll come around though. You’ll see.”
The mage trainee nodded stiffly and looked over to Gib. “We should go.”
Gib shuffled his boots across the tiled floor as he made his way toward the door, where the servant girl, Tabitha, was already waiting to let them out. Joel followed closely.
“Now don’t be gone too long,” Mrifa warned from behind them. “There is still much work to be done before the feast tomorrow. Behave and don’t eat so much that you make yourselves sick.”
Gib nodded his head in acknowledgment and saw Joel do the same. Tabitha skirted in front of them and pulled the heavy oak door open just enough for the two boys to be able to slip past. Gib let out a startled gasp as a wave of frigid air slapped him hard in the face and caused every hair on his body to stand on end. Oh, this was a grand idea. Really great. He balked openly, but a moment later, he felt Joel’s hands on his back, encouraging the sentinel trainee to move forward. He shivered. He wasn’t sure if the spasm had been induced by the cold or the touch of the other boy.
Joel’s voice was right behind him, in his ear. “Ready?”
Gib could barely force a nod. He pulled the scarf tighter around his neck and stepped into the blistering cold. He was almost immediately forced to squint his eyes to shield himself against the bright day. For the first time in sennights, the clouds had receded enough for the sun to peek through. The world was buried under a white, hardened glaze, and the sunlight reflected off the snow like a glass mirror.
Someone had taken the liberty of shoveling a fresh path through the courtyard—most likely one of the servants.
“Otos has been busy I see,” Joel remarked under his breath.
Gib couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt blossom in his chest. The Adelwijn family had been gracious enough to allow him to be a guest in their home and here he was, sleeping until an unacceptable time and being useless. Gib promised himself to help with chores when he returned from the festival. He didn’t care if Joel balked at the suggestion.
The two boys left the Adelwijn estate behind, and for a while, the only sound was the crunch of their boots pressing into the snow as they walked. The drifts had transformed Silver City into a magnificent wonderland of sparkling towers and crystalized houses. Gib was grateful Joel was there to lead the way. Everything looked so different when it was buried under ice.
As they neared the famous street known as Traders Row, Gib was amazed at the sheer number of people who had chosen to come outside. Joel hadn’t been joking when he’d told Gib the residents of Silver City refused to allow the snow to ruin their festival. People of varying social statuses lined the busy street. Fashionably dressed noblemen and ladies were strolling from one vendor to the next with a line of servants following, carrying the purchases for their masters. Even more common folk were present. Some of them were without mittens or hats, but their boisterous laughter and generously filled mugs of ale told Gib they were enjoying the festival despite the bitter temperature.
Joel set a hand on Gib’s elbow and motioned toward a small group of men clad in armor who bore the Ardenian crest on their uniforms. “Be cautious of the sentinels,” the mage trainee warned in a soft, measured tone. “You’ll find those on duty tend to not be in the best of spirits. It’s best we avoid them.”
“Liza is a sentinel,” Gib replied, his own voice sharp. “She’d never be mean-spirited—to us or anyone else.”
“I wasn’t trying to belittle your sister. I’m sure Liza is kind, but be that as it may, it would be wise to stay clear of any trouble while we’re here. Festivities and mayhem tend to go hand in hand, and those soldiers ordered to keep the peace are always on edge. Sometimes they can overreact and a simple misunderstanding can become a dangerous situation.”
Gib swallowed as he looked around with nervous eyes. “Chhaya’s bane. You aren’t making me want to stay here.”
The older boy let out a short chuckle. “It’ll be fine. Let’s just be alert. If things start to get rowdy, it’ll be best to make ourselves scarce before the authorities show up.” Joel patted Gib on the shoulder and motioned toward one of the vendor booths. “Look. This is one of the bakery vendors I was telling you about.”
Even before Gib turned to look for himself, the aroma of freshly baked bread and spices infiltrated his nostrils. The sight of the baker’s stand was even more splendid. Rows of tarts sprinkled in sugar, breads of varying textures and shapes, and the fritters Joel raved about, glazed in honey and topped with cinnamon, were on display. Gib’s mouth watered at the sight, and he was barely aware of his companion taking him by the arm and moving forward.
Shorter than Gib, the baker was a merry sort, with balding, peppered hair and a generous belly. He called out a greeting to Joel as the two boys made their approach. “Fair morning, young Lord Adelwijn. What brings you out to the festival?”
A smile played at the corner of Joel’s mouth. “Only the best cinnamon fritters in all of Silver City, Master Baker Carbrey. I do believe I could smell them frying this morning when I awoke.”
Hearty laughter filled the air. “That wouldn’t surprise me. There’s no limit on the capacity of a nose belonging to a young and hungry lordling. Tell me, how are your parents? It’s been a long while since I’ve seen Lady Mrifa in m
y shop.”
“My parents are well. Mother often sends the servants to fetch bread. The Adelwijn household hasn’t lost our taste for your baked goods, Master Carbrey. I assure you.” He placed a hand onto Gib’s shoulder, moving him closer. “This is my friend, Gibben Nemesio. He’s here to sample your famous fritters as well.”
The baker bowed his head. “Well, you’ve certainly come to the right place, Lord Nemesio.”
Gib was certain his face turned a hideous shade of crimson. The baker had just called him a lord. He must think—he assumes because I’m here with Joel and wearing nice clothing I’m a noble. The sentinel trainee opened his mouth but hesitated to speak. Would it be rude to correct the man? Would Gib stand to get in trouble if he didn’t say anything? Surely it was against the law to pretend to be a noble.
Joel was there to save the moment, as always. “Gib is my roommate at the academy. He hails from beyond the city, from the farming village of Willowdale.”
“Willowdale, eh?” The baker gave a second, more scrutinizing glance, but his eyes were still amicable. “That’s a nice little ways from Silver, isn’t it?”
“Uh, three days by horseback,” Gib managed to respond, face burning. He couldn’t quite look the baker in the eye. “I’m sort of hoping I dislike your baked goods. Three days is an awfully long journey to make if I develop an addiction for cinnamon fritters.”
The baker’s gut bounced as he laughed. “Well, I can’t guarantee you won’t, lad. You best hope you enjoy traveling.”
Gib grinned from ear to ear. The awkward lull ended.
After both of the boys picked out a fritter and coins had been exchanged, they carried their snacks to one of the overpasses which spanned the width of the Tempist. Gib was amazed to see a section of the river cleared of all snow with dozens of people skating on the frozen water. He leaned against the stone masonry and watched the scene before him.
“Have you ever tried it before?” Joel asked. “Ice skating?”
Gib nibbled at his fritter for a moment before responding. “Never. I mean, my brothers and I used to go out onto the ice, but only in our boots.” He laughed as he recalled memories of Tayver, Calisto, and him playing on the frozen pond behind their farm. “I feel as though the results would be disastrous if I were to try real ice skating.”
A scandalous smiled stretched across the mage trainee’s face. “Oh, you have to. I could teach you.”
“Now?” Gib asked in a dubious voice, swallowing the bite of food. The sugared dough seemed to melt in his mouth. Joel had been right. The fritters were delicious.
Joel laughed, eyes afire with mischief. “No, not now, but at some point before the spring thaw. Skating is quite an entertaining way to pass the time during the long, boring winter cycles.”
Gib raised an eyebrow even as he motioned toward his sore wrist. “I was only just allowed to remove the splint. Given my luck and lack of grace, I would step foot onto the ice and promptly have to go crawling back to the healers to treat another broken bone.”
The mage trainee leaned in closer and Gib could feel a warm hand on the small of his back. “I’d never let you fall, my friend.”
Gib’s gut twisted as he stared into Joel’s eyes—eyes so full of restrained emotion that Gib couldn’t stand to look even a moment longer without losing the ability to breathe. His gaze fell to the ground, but his hands twitched at his sides longingly. He wanted to reach forward and touch Joel so badly it hurt. Gib wanted to show Joel that he wasn’t alone, that he didn’t have to face the tribulations of the world by himself. Gib started to raise a shaking hand, but the sound of a horn resonating loudly on the wind drew his attention.
A commotion was going on behind them. People were clustering at the far end of the street, many of them running to join the growing crowd. Children were being lifted onto shoulders, and noblemen and peasants alike were pointing and talking in excited voices. Gib furrowed his eyebrows and turned to Joel. “What do you suppose is going on over there?”
Joel was observing the crowd but didn’t seem confused. His face remained calm. “Judging by the sound of the horn, I suspect a royal procession.”
Gib’s eyes widened. “A royal procession? Here?” He stood on the very tips of his toes, trying to get a better view, but he couldn’t see through the horde of bodies.
“What, you think the royal family isn’t allowed to partake in the festival?” Joel asked with a sly wink.
“N–no,” Gib protested. “I was just under the impression it would be unsafe for them beyond the palace walls.” He watched as a line of guardsmen, clad in ceremonial armor and each bearing a longsword on their hip, cut a path through the gathered crowd with only stern glances. “Then again, if I was being escorted by two dozen soldiers, I suppose I’d feel safe as well.”
Gib watched as a carriage made of a smooth, dark wood and trimmed with golden details pulled by a team of four horses made its way through the congested street. Even the spokes of the wheels shone with a metallic gleam in the sunlight. The carriage windows were covered by velvet curtains that rustled in the breeze but didn’t stir enough to allow a glimpse of whoever was inside.
“Do you suppose the King’s in there?” Gib asked, squinting against the harsh sunlight.
Joel shrugged. “I wouldn’t think so. The council would balk at even the suggestion of Arden’s ruler leaving the palace. It’s more likely to be the royal children and perhaps my Aunt Dahlia, the Queen. She comes into the city frequently to visit the local orphanages and to bring offerings to the Temple of the Two.”
“What about Diddy? Is it possible he’s here?”
“Perhaps.” Joel motioned for Gib to follow and they moved farther down the street, away from the clutter of people. “But you have to understand that a different set of rules apply out here. Prince Didier can be your friend while you’re in class with him, just as Queen Dahlia can be my aunt in private, but while under the scrutiny of the public eye, they’re both members of the royal family and we’re their subjects. Do you understand why that has to be?”
Gib gave a hesitant nod. He understood but didn’t have to like it. It was no wonder Diddy hadn’t wanted to reveal his true identity. Gib glanced over his shoulder and watched as the royal guardsmen formed a protective barrier around one of the food stands. The carriage door was open now, and Gib could see several people getting out, though he was too far away to see if Prince Didier was among them. All around, the city folk of Silver watched in wide-eyed awe as the royal family approached the vendor, but Gib found himself grimacing. Perhaps the comforts of palace living were not worth the price after all.
He turned to his friend. “Joel, I’m still worried about the royal family. Even if the conversation I overheard never amounted to anything, there must be other people out there planning similar attacks. What if something happens to Diddy or any of his siblings? They aren’t protected as well as King Rishi.”
Joel let out a sigh, his hand coming down to rest on Gib’s forearm. “There will always be risk. That comes with being a royal. But they can’t be forced to live in a cage either. Didier and his siblings are allowed so few liberties as it stands. To take away any more would be cruel. Besides, look at their escort. The royal guardsmen are well trained, and each of them would gladly lay down his life to defend the Radek family.” Joel smiled warmly and motioned for Gib to follow. “Come on, I want to try to find some pastries to bring home for my sisters as a gift before we leave.”
They spent the next half mark browsing the vendor booths set up along Traders Row. All kinds of goods were on display for purchase. Gib’s mouth watered at the sight of steaming minced pies, fruit cakes garnished with little red berries, and sausage links that hung from strings above the stalls. Jewelry and clothing were also for sale—large hoop earrings made from silver, golden rings encrusted with gemstones, and pearl necklaces fit for any noble lady. Some of the vendor stalls were draped in clothing—fur cloaks and mittens, hats and woolen caps, and more scarves than
Gib had ever seen in his life, and all were for sale.
“What is this?” Gib asked, pointing to a small evergreen plant which had been decorated with bells and fancy ribbon.
Joel issued a chuckle. “It’s a kissing bush.”
“Oh.” Gib’s cheeks went red. He’d never heard of it, but given the name, the implication was obvious enough. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a thing before.”
Joel paid no heed to the sentinel trainee’s discomfort and went on to explain. “Often times during Midwinter, families will display such trees at the entrance of their homes. If an unwed lady or man is kissed while in sight of the kissing tree, it is believed good fortune will be bestowed upon them the following year.”
Gib rubbed the back of his neck absently. “And what happens if they aren’t kissed?”
The mage trainee snorted and made a ridiculous face. “Well naturally, shame and adversity will follow the poor souls whenever they go—so the legend says.” Joel’s handsome features constricted as he laughed. “It’s quite a silly custom, I know.”
Gib joined in a moment later, unable to conceal his shameless grin. “If we’re supposed to kiss someone here and now, I guess both of us are doomed.”
Joel choked as he laughed, eyes widening as he gave Gib a nudge in the chest. “Oh, stop. I am doomed. I’m sure a dozen young ladies would line up to have a go with you, Gibben Nemesio.”
But what if I want you to be the one I kiss? Gib thought with despair. He focused his attention on the tree so he wouldn’t have to look Joel in the eye. “I doubt that. I’m just a simple farm boy. I’d wager you’d have a longer line than I.” He swallowed, too afraid to say the words truly on his mind. I would stand in front of the kissing tree with you without a second thought if only you wouldn’t turn me away. Gib’s breath caught in his throat when he caught Joel’s gaze. The mage trainee’s smile had fallen away and his eyes were inquisitive, questioning. Gib could tell his friend was seeking an answer to the unspoken question on both their minds.
A Call to Arms: Book One of the Chronicles of Arden Page 16
