Kingdom of Souls. Rena Barron
slide them into pockets, lifting a money pouch here, a bracelet there. When a woman catches a little boy trying to steal her armlet, an unseen child on a rooftop strikes her with a pebble. Distracted and rubbing her head, the woman lets the little thief slip away with his prize. I don’t condone what the orphans do in the market, but I don’t judge them for it either. City life is hard for those who don’t come from a family of status. Unlike in the tribal lands, where magic is all that matters, money and influence rule here.
The sun beats down on my back as I cross a street dense with food merchants. A plume of smoke from their firepits chokes the air and waters my eyes, but it smells wonderful. Roasting chestnuts, spicy stews, plantains fried in peanut oil. My stomach growls a reminder that I haven’t eaten today. But I can’t stop for food; I’m too focused on getting to the Serpent River to see Rudjek, too anxious that he won’t be there.
He’d slipped out of the assembly before his father adjourned the proceedings. I’d watched as he’d tried to hide his anguish behind a blank, bored stare, but his is a mask that I can see straight through. I know him too well. My mother had dealt him a nasty wound. He’d already hated the way his father treated his brothers after the Rite and blamed himself for not being in the market that day to calm Jemi down.
I startle at a faint rustling at my side and catch one of the little thieves trying to lift my bracelet. I grab his arm – not too tight but firm enough to stop him from wiggling his way loose. The boy looks up at me with sad eyes, his lips trembling. Little con artist.
Before he drops a tear, someone slaps the back of his head. ‘Scat, or I’ll call the Guard.’
‘Ouch,’ the boy protests, and whirls around, holding his head. ‘You’re one to talk, Kofi!’
The would-be thief must be new to the market – I’ve never seen him before. From the hidden pocket under my belt, I dig out a silver coin and pass it to him. ‘You could’ve asked first, you know?’
He smiles sheepishly. ‘Next time I will.’
When the boy runs off, Kofi steps into his place. At twelve, he isn’t much older than the would-be thief. Fish scales cover the apron he’s wearing, and he smells fresh from the docks, which is to say like rotting entrails. His eyes go wide as he takes in what I’m wearing. ‘Why are you dressed like that?’ he asks me.
I purse my lips and glare at him, even though he’s right, of course: my sheath is impractical and too conspicuous. Wearing something like this in the East Market proclaims me an easy mark to any thief. At least my family doesn’t wear a crest like Rudjek’s. ‘The better question is, why do you have a silver coin behind your ear?’ I retort.
He grins as he reaches for one ear and finds nothing.
‘The other ear.’ I tap my foot.
His hand moves quicker this time as if the money will disappear in the blink of an eye. When he retrieves the silver coin, he tucks it inside his apron, a blush of joy warming his tan skin. I’ve snuck him enough coins lately that he no longer protests that he must work to earn its value. Our family has more money than we need, and like Oshhe always says, a coin hoarded is a blessing missed.
Kofi’s father is among the many fish merchants in the market. I came across their booth a year ago, drawn to where Kofi stood on top of a crate, selling outlandish tales to a crowd. ‘Desperate to flee a river of ice,’ he said, ‘the fish swam all the way from the North.’ When I shouted to him that this was unlikely, he changed his story, quick as a whip. ‘You’re right! This batch swam from the Great Sea seeking refuge from a giant serpent. Only they didn’t know that we eat fish too!’
Days after, I saw him with a woman who I later learned was his father’s new wife. She grabbed Kofi by his shoulders, her teeth gritted. ‘You’re so useless, boy,’ she spat. ‘Can’t you do anything right?’ Without provocation, she slapped him. The strike cut through me. I stepped in to stop her, but the next day Kofi came to the market covered in welts.
When I saw the woman again, I introduced myself as the Ka-Priestess’s daughter. I told her if any more harm came to Kofi, there would be serious consequences. That was the first time I relied upon my mother’s position to gain an advantage. It worked: Kofi’s stepmother stopped hitting him after that. Instead of beatings, she now ignores him. I know what that feels like, so I decided to be his pretend-sister from that moment on.
‘Did you hear about the giant sea turtle that rolled in with the tide this morning?’ Kofi starts to say, but my attention lands on Rudjek. He’s wading through the thicket of people, making a direct line towards me. The effect he has on the market is immediate. Girls flash him smiles and some try to catch his eye by stepping into his path. People stare at the craven-bone crest pinned to his collar.
Whenever anyone from a family of status comes to the East Market, there’s always a ruckus. But he loves the market as much as I do: it’s our second-favourite place to meet, aside from our secret spot by the river.
Merchants clamour for his attention, but Rudjek’s gaze doesn’t leave my face. He sidesteps a man selling the tiny bells favoured by followers of Oma, the god of dreams. He’s grinning from ear to ear, his pale brown skin flushed. I let out a breath and the tension in my belly eases.
‘This morning was interesting,’ he says, interrupting Kofi. Up close, the shadow of purple bruising on his right cheek matches his fancy silk elara. His obsidian eyes sparkle in the sun beneath long dark lashes.
I shift onto my heels. ‘Are you okay?’
Rudjek waves off the question, though his body tenses. ‘You missed my glorious match yesterday. I came in second.’ He glances to his right, where his attendant and best friend, Majka, stands clad in a red gendar uniform. I didn’t notice him until now. ‘Only because he cheated.’
‘By “cheated” I think you mean “wiped the arena with your ugly face,”’ Majka says. He presses two fingers to his forehead and flourishes a slight bow to me in the way of my father’s tribe. The perfect Tamaran diplomat’s son. More so than Rudjek, Majka has the look of a typical high-bred Tamaran – rich brown skin, hair as thick and black as night, and deep-set dark eyes. I return the greeting with a smile.
Kira – to Rudjek’s left – clears her throat. She’s also clothed in a red uniform, a single black braid across her shoulder, her face as pale as a Northern winter. Unlike Majka and Rudjek with their double shotels, she has a dozen daggers strapped to her body. A merchant tries to shove a crossbow into her hands and another one waves tobachi knives to get her attention.
Families of import rarely set foot in either of the markets, not if they have attendants to send in their stead. Some families either can’t afford attendants, or choose not to have them. We have Nezi, Ty, and Terra, but to my relief, none with the sole purpose of following me around everywhere. Rudjek isn’t so lucky.
‘I see you’re enjoying your new post, Kira,’ I say as she shoos off the merchants.
Her face contorts into a frown. ‘I wouldn’t call guarding him a real post.’
Rudjek grabs his chest in mock offence, his eyes wide. ‘You wound me.’
I shake my head, still not used to Majka and Kira in their new gendar roles. At seventeen, they’re only a few months older than us, but old enough to begin careers. Majka’s mother is a commando under the Master of Arms, Rudjek’s aunt; his father is the Kingdom’s ambassador to Estheria. Kira’s father is the Master of Scribes. Both of them grew up competing in the arena with Rudjek for fun. After they joined the gendars, he petitioned to have them replace his old attendants. It’s a high honour to serve the royal family and their closest cousins, the Omaris, and Kira and Majka hadn’t earned the rank to be considered. But Rudjek’s father agreed, if only to strengthen political alliances with their respective families.
‘Hey, I was talking to her first,’ Kofi says, crossing his arms. ‘Wait your turn.’
Rudjek laughs and pats Kofi’s head. ‘Hello to you too.’
I