Soul of the Crow: An Epic Dark Fantasy (Reapers of Veltuur Book 1), стр. 26
Not even Hayliel.
The clip-clop of the horse’s hooves slows to a rhythmic beat, and Gem’s eyes flutter open with a yawn.
“Hey, little Gem,” I say gently, moving the hair from her eyes. “Are you hungry? I was thinking we could get some food.”
As if in response, her belly grumbles beneath the regal—albeit dingy—silk of her gown.
“Maybe we should also buy some new clothes,” I say idly, giving a nervous nod at the ever-growing awareness of our presence.
As our steed slows, the townspeople gather.
“Is that the prince?”
“What brings ’im to Ngal?”
“Maybe ’e’s come ’cause of the Festival of Wings?”
I clamber down first, my foot catching on the stirrup so that I’m stuck hopping on one leg until I can get it free. Quiet snickers spread through the modest crowd, but most avert their eyes out of courtesy.
While I’m stabilizing myself, someone nearby helps Gem off the horse, and it’s only then that the group seems to notice the snare in her lip. There is a collective gasp and a roar of whispers.
“It’s ’ideous! Cover your eyes.”
“It should be killed!”
“What is the Prince of Oakfall doing with that creature?”
It’s that question that detonates Gem again into a hysterical screech of tears. I whisk her up into my arms, wishing I’d had the forethought to do so sooner, and run for the nearest shop, not even bothering to tie off our horse. My shoulder is already drenched within the few strides it takes for me to get to the door and close it behind us.
“It’s okay, Gem. They won’t follow us in here.”
“Mean,” she whimpers.
“I know. I know.”
Leaning my back into the door, I let out a sigh, when a woman stirs from behind a counter. I jump, my heart pounding in my chest.
She eyes us both with a hand over her shoulder. Beneath it I can discern three thick bands around her bicep and, between the bottom two, two fragmented ones, the runic tell that someone has lost two children.
I am tempted to tell her of Gem’s fate. If anyone would understand, it would likely be a mother who’s already lost her own. But then I remind myself that we’ve already left quite the trail behind us. I don’t know what’s taking the Reaper so long, but I’m sure she will reappear soon, and when she does, the less anyone here knows about us, the better.
I run my eyes over the shop’s offerings and can’t believe our luck. Bundles of differently dyed cottons line the walls, along with tunics, hoses, and a few miscellaneous items made from the same fabric.
When I turn back to the shopkeeper to ask for her prices, she looks at us with pity, staring mostly at Gem’s lip. “I feel the Divine Iracara presence today.”
Iracara—the Divine Altúyur I am named after—is the deity of compassion. So, what she’s trying to say is that she empathizes with us, likely because Gem doesn’t meet society’s standards of acceptability and because she heard the commotion outside that led us into her shop. But her empathy offends me. What is there to be sorry about? Gem is a happy, curious, and beautiful child, despite what everyone says. This woman’s pity does nothing but reinforce my father’s atrocious outlook on Gem’s existence, continuing the tradition of murdering children born with…differences.
Part of me wonders if that’s how two of her own children died, though I would never have the gall to ask as such.
“Thank you,” I force out, the words sour on my tongue. “We would like to purchase some clothing.”
I rummage through my satchel for a pouch of rupees, but no jingle sounds. My face drains of color. I should’ve been more specific when Hayliel offered to gather some things for us. I don’t know what I expected, or where I thought she’d find rupees, but I guess I just assumed she would’ve packed some.
Chagrined, I cover my forehead with a hand. “I seem to have forgotten my curse—I mean purse, the one that has my rupees.”
“It’s all right, my prince,” the woman says. “I will accept a trade instead.”
My stomach flips. “A trade?”
“A fair one,” she says, nodding. “Select the outfits you would like and give me the ones you wear in return.”
Without consciously doing so, my hand floats protectively to my tunic. The one I’d chosen to wear this morning was one of my favorites, a gift from my mother before she passed. I’m only just now realizing it will be the last time I wear it or anything like it again.
I’m about to agree when Gem’s stomach growls again. I’ve never bargained before, but for Gem, I must.
“That’s not a fair trade. Our clothes are spun from the finest silks and leathers from all the kingdoms. They likely cost more than your entire stock.” My heir of indignation disgusts me, but I continue projecting my voice and pacing with my hands clasped behind my back. The only reason it comes so naturally is because I’ve seen my father act just this way hundreds of times, so I funnel his pompous and arrogant energy like I am him. “However, we are only in need of an outfit for each of us, and a couple warm meals.”
The shopkeeper narrows her view, working through the unspoken request. “I don’t provide sustenance here. My wares are of cloth only.”
“Then perhaps you could give us rupees in exchange. Not a lot,” I’m quick to say, eager to seal the deal. “But enough for a meal each.”
She curtsies. “Of course, my prince. Find what suits you both, and I will gather some