Page 11 of Silverbow
Liam, on the other hand, gaped like a country bumpkin as her father led them through the maze of streets, passing the gilded carriages that belonged to the townhomes of Westforks’s well-to-do. Matched teams with feather plumes were tended by uniformed footmen and drivers who didn’t spare a glance for the country folk.
“The horses aren’t half so fine as ours,” Enya teased quietly as they passed one particular six horse team she thought belonged to the Thornsons.
“Maybe not,” Liam whispered. “But have you ever seen so much gold? On a carriage? Light, could you imagine the polishing?”
Enya laughed as she followed his gaze to one that rolled along glittering like the sun. Heavy velvet curtains were drawn, blocking the occupants from view of the street. Enya had seen as much each time she’d come to Westforks, but she knew enough from her lessons to know that by all accounts, Westforks was considered small, perhaps even more town than proper city.
She supposed she too might gape if she ever found her way to the likes of Bridgewater or Windcross Wells, or perhaps even Misthol. Her father spoke of it rarely, but she had gleaned he’d been to the capitol before he was Lord of Ryerson House. Enya sometimes poured over the map in his study, tracing the roads and rivers, dreaming of the places she might ride off to.
But there was little reason to come or go from their secluded corner of Estryia, save for the merchants who came in the spring to cart off the sheep’s wool, and again in the fall to collect barrels of apples and tart cherries. And the road was no place for a girl.
It was a mantra her father clung to, and Mistress Alys repeated time and time again as Enya clutched her skirts as a girl, watching him ride out to the Queen’s Road. There was wild country between Westforks and the rest of Estryia, and they saw few enough of the king’s men that bandits and brigands occasionally stirred up trouble, if it was not the king’s men doing the stirring. No, the road was no place for a girl, not anymore.
As they threaded through side streets, the houses shrank. Stone and tile were replaced by wood and thatch. Closed carriages gave way to wagon carts and pedestrian bustle, and the smell of the sea grew stronger with each block they crossed. When her father finally drew up and dismounted in the shopping district near the city’s south end, the neighborhood was solidly middling, without gilt orgrime. Men bustled about their business and women strolled in twos and threes, baskets hanging over their arms.
The coin purse her father produced from inside his cloak clinked as he pressed it into Enya’s hand. From another pocket, he drew out a list in Mistress Alys’s neat script.
“It’s the cobbler and blacksmith for me, spice merchant and chandler for you,” he said, inclining his head to the shop before them, and pointing to a sign up the street. “I’ll meet you right back here. Stay together, and stay out of trouble.”
He punctuated the last words with a sharp look, but he didn’t wait for their ascent. He had already spun on his heel and was striding away, his favorite old riding boots in hand.
Enya glanced at Liam whose attention had been caught by a cart peddling tarts. Or perhaps it was ensnared by the two women in scandalous corsets before it. His eyes bulged at the necklines that threatened to burst if they so much as sneezed.
Enya rolled her eyes. “You act as if you’ve never seen a corset before.”
“Not like that,” he spluttered.
Enya did not care if Liam decided to ogle every woman in Westforks, but it was the sideways looks she drew that chafed. It was perfectly acceptable for an Estryian lady to display half her bosom, but the goodwives and their daughters eyed her for wearing britches. She glared back and scowled, causing a knot of women to whisper and snigger behind gloved hands as they strolled.
Liam didn’t notice. His attention drifted after the tarts that meandered the same direction her father had gone. She elbowed him in the ribs.
“Do you think they can even breathe?” He asked.
“Not without a scandal. Come on.”
A small bell clanged overhead as Enya shouldered open the spice merchant’s door. A wave of warm cinnamon, earthy tea, and spiced nutmeg washed over her as she stepped inside. Small shelves lined the narrow space from floor to ceiling, stuffed with glass jars in a rainbow of dried leaves and ground powders. A knobby old man behind the counter tipped jars onto a set of balance scales for the two women who waited. Aware of their watchful gaze, Enya slapped the back of Liam’s hand when he reached for a jar filled with red powder. He shrugged sheepishly and stuffed his hands into his pockets. When the women departed with their parcels and disapproving frowns, Enya handed Mistress Alys’s list to the shopkeeper. He nodded as he ran a finger down the scrap of parchment.
“I can fill it all but the Mubrijan Black. We’re not expecting another ship from the Summer Isles for some time. I have a nice Uglor Gray that might hold your mistress over.”
“Fine.”
Mistress Alys might be none too pleased with the substitution, but Enya did not fancy returning without tea.
“First order since fall? From afar then?” The spry little man asked as he bustled around behind the counter, selecting tins and jars.
“A few hours up the Queen’s Road,” Enya said.
“Good weather, upcountry?”
“Fine.”
“I tell you, I’ve got a knee that acts up when there’s a storm a coming, and it’s been aching something awful all spring.”
“Isn’t there a wise woman for that?” Liam asked.
The old man chuckled. “Lad, if I ran off to a wise woman every time my old bones creaked, my shop would never open.” He chuckled again. “Tell your mistress with as rough as the sea has been, at least another month before we see a tea trader.”
Enya thanked him and counted out the coppers, sweeping little bags and jars into the satchel slung over her shoulder. The heavy sacks of sugar and salt she pressed into Liam’s arms as they strode back out into the street, squinting in the sunlight.
