Praetorian Rising, стр. 18

Waving their goodbyes after collecting a few baked goods, they made for the northwest section of the village where Camille did her daily trading. The market didn't look like much at first, but a closer glance behind the shabby structures revealed baubles, clothes, food products, and finery that nobody there would've been able to get ahold of without the underbelly of the trade network.

The whole of Sierra Village was laid out like a large cross, with the inner cross-section holding the great hall, Count Jenkins' home, an everyday church, and the town jail—one usually full of drunkards. The rest of the local market stores spread out from the square center including the blacksmith, the baker, the linen and leather ward, and the primary food market. The outer "arms" of the large cross were comprised of small, mostly shabby homes.

The best part of Sierra Village was the many items available in the slinky narrow walkways of the market. It was kept furthest away from prying eyes in a dodgy bit of town populated by those less fortunate. But the joke was on the outsiders and the High King's guards, for it was those beggars and gypsies who ran the black-market trade in and out of Sierra Village.

With a bag still full of game and Brian and Jacob in tow, Camille weaved casually in and out of the narrow streets, ducking behind a worn-down door before slipping into the side alley of her second-favorite place in town. The tiny shop windows all held small fortunes, and many more boasted large amounts of unique products easily affordable to the everyday trader. Camille passed by a cart filled with freshwater fish smuggled back from Black Bottom Lake. Fresh fish was hard to come by in Sierra Village, and only those willing to leave the safety of the village would travel in search of such fare.

Camille moved on toward a well-lit window showing off a massive case of high-end netting, a common trade in Whiskey Wharf, which bordered the Roseus Sea. Sauntering by a few darker displays of fine silk, linen, and heavy furs, Camille ran her fingertips along the soft materials, promising to purchase a fur wrap in the future when she had the means to do so.

Camille's eyes flitted over a large display of silver gems and beautifully constructed weapons—a trade found predominantly in Alpha Quarter. Those items were always the costliest, and few in the town could afford them. Occasionally, there was a tempting item amongst the glittering jewels and baubles, but Camille never indulged in frivolous purchases. She had very little money and mostly meat to barter. An ornament wasn't something she needed, or could afford, but a substantial meal would always be welcome.

Brian's stomach rumbled as they squeezed through the crowded streets. "I'm so hungry my innards are eating me from inside out. Let's go eat."

Camille nodded as they passed under a tattered white banner featuring the prominent pine tree and brown owl marker of Sierra Villages crest. She could smell the delightful scent of cooking meat and the heaviness of old ale as they slipped through the narrow wooden doorway into the Broken Goat to catch a bit of trade and some decent grub.

Betty Anne, the owner of the Broken Goat, always had a taste for fresh game, and in turn, offered food and drink as payment. Camille rarely gave in to the desire to drink the hearty mead or sour ale Betty Anne served, but she never turned down the meal of the day. Jacob, however, overcompensated, usually throwing back two glasses of mead and asking for Camille's.

"Will it be the usual you three?" Betty Anne asked as they approached the dingy countertop.

Camille lifted three large rabbits and a fox from her pack and handed them over to an enthusiastic Betty Anne.

"Oh, the delicious concoctions I can make with this lot!" she said, beginning to mutter to herself as she set out cutlery for Camille and the guys. "...Cook until they reek with deliciousness...truffle oil, no, maybe a wine reduction, demi-glaze? Or braised? That would be fitting, or maybe stuffed..."

"What masterpieces are you bringing to the Fόmhair celebration? I look forward to your recipes every year!" Brian said with large, hopeful eyes. Brian had a soft spot for cooking, but his father was a village guard and would sooner disown his son than allow him to bake a pie.

Betty Anne smiled at Brian's ploy to have her reveal her secrets. "You know I like you three, but nobody will know a single thing until the amazing concoction touches their taste buds tonight! I do have a special treat for you, though, thanks to your fine hunting skills the other day."

She disappeared behind the flapping wooden doors that led into her kitchen, her waist-long, raven black hair swinging as she moved. She returned a few minutes later with a heap of steaming food, and Camille's stomach growled.

"You out-do yourself every day," Jacob said as he dove into his pile of mashed potatoes and cut a bite from his turkey slab.

"You're ever the charmer, Mr. Welsh," Betty Anne said sweetly, before moving down the bar to a group of surly-looking men who'd apparently had a few too many ales so far.

"Is your dad going to make it tonight?" Jacob asked Brian, shoving another forkful of food into his mouth.

Camille moved at a much slower pace, ensuring to savor each bite. She usually had one large meal at the Broken Goat every other week and tried to bring home half her meals to Lunci and Peter. But that day was different—since they had the Fόmhair celebration, she felt absolutely no guilt in eating every bite Betty Anne had to offer.

"No, he's out on patrol tonight. I think he might show up later, after his shift change," Brian said in an overtly neutral tone. Camille could tell that Brian missed his father, but never complained about it aloud—not wanting to