Page 76 of A Tower of Half-Truths
“It’s held every Siddisday evening. I haven’t been in well over a year, but I remember there was no shortage of food merchants.”
“Fine by me.” Mavery grasped his arm and hoisted him from the sofa before he could change his mind. “Whatever gets you out of this room for a few hours.”
The Garden District was Leyport’s most affluent area, with manors butting against the eastern city walls. As its name implied, the district was home to the famous botanical garden, with its exotic plants and glass-domed roof.
Central to the district was a plaza that boasted the equally famous outdoor market. Though the days had grown warmer, the night air remained frigid. The entire plaza was enveloped in a shimmering blue dome that turned the air so warm and comfortable, Alain loosened his scarf, and both he and Mavery unbuttoned their coats.
Many of the market-goers were dressed in their finest, likely passing through on their way to the nearby theaters and opera house. But plenty had stopped to queue in front of the stalls,where merchants peddled luxuries from all across the continent. Scattered around the plaza were musicians, jugglers, and magic-wielders, each drawing their own small crowds. Mavery couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen this many people in a single area. She and Alain were but two in a crowd of hundreds, perhaps upwards of a thousand. This fact seemed to have put Alain on edge; he stiffened beside her.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Evidently, the Night Market is more popular than it used to be. Not to mention, I’m remembering how most of my colleagues live in this part of the city.”
Mavery doubted any of them would recognize him in this vast crowd, especially without his faculty robe. Dressed in a black peacoat, he looked not like a professor or a wizard, but a completely ordinary man. It was a look she could get used to seeing.
“You’ll be fine.” She took him by the arm. “Come on, I’m starving.”
Following the scent of spiced meat wafting through the magically warmed air, they weaved through the crowd together. They passed by stalls overflowing with floral arrangements, rare alchemical ingredients, jarred spices in every color of the rainbow. Each lot of merchandise was more ridiculously priced than the last. A jeweler showcased necklaces that he claimed were enhanced with magic that could ward off everything from Necromancers to the pox, but Mavery couldn’t Sense a single aura. Alain slowed as he eyed a stall laden with opulent rugs.
“Ah, you are a man who recognizes quality when he sees it!” the merchant cajoled. His gravelly voice was laced with a thick Maroban accent—a littletoothick.
“Don’t bother,” Mavery muttered, giving Alain’s arm another tug. “Those rugs are likely as authentic as that accent.”
They continued to the next stall, though the wares were hardly an improvement. Mavery did nothing to hide her scowl as she briefly met the eye of a grocer who was charging fifty coppers for a single apple. She tried to ignore the blatant price gouging and instead focused on finding the source of the spiced meat.
It was a cart that sold Zakarzan street foods, the most enticingof which was a flatbread filled with curried lamb. Before she could retrieve her coin purse, Alain stepped forward and paid for both of them.
“I brought my own money, you know,” Mavery said as the vendor began preparing their food.
“But coming here was my idea. Help yourself to anything you want.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Anything?”
“Within reason.” Alain smiled. “Consider it my thanks for persuading me to have more than books for company this evening.”
The flatbread’s smell alone—warm and earthy—was a refreshing change from the boarding house’s usual fare of potato mash, onion gravy, and stale bread. Mavery took a bite, and her eyes widened at the deluge of flavors: the savory and slightly gamy lamb, the curry’s subtle sweetness, the heat that lingered pleasantly on her tongue. Though Alain’s teas hadn’t quite refined her palate, she could now appreciate spices more exotic than cinnamon and clove.
All the picnic tables were occupied, so they continued to walk and peruse the other merchants’ offerings while they ate. They passed by a busty woman carrying a tray of wineglasses.
“May I tempt you with a sample?” she asked.
They each took a glass containing barely more than a mouthful of red wine. Alain considered his with a swirl and a sniff before taking a slow sip. Though both the wine and the woman offering it appeared trustworthy, Mavery still waited until Alain encountered no ill effects, then threw back her own wine.
She realized at once why he’d sampled the drink with so much care. It was good wine. No, it wasexcellentwine, and it paired wonderfully with the flatbread. It was velvety on the tongue, with flavors too complex for Mavery to appreciate. She wouldn’t have been surprised to learn this was the kind of wine the nobility drank with their everyday meals.
Alain, however, was not as impressed.
“It’s adequate.” He shrugged, and the wine merchant’s smile stiffened. “The blackcurrant notes are too strong for my taste.”
Mavery rolled her eyes. “Don’t mind him. He’s Dauphinian, so being a wine snob is in his blood—even when the wine is free.”
Though she would have loved an entire bottle, she suspected Alain would argue it wouldn’t be “within reason.” They placed their empty glasses on the merchant’s tray, then continued onward.
“What do you know of my family name?” Alain asked.
She considered his question as she swallowed her final bite of curried lamb. She wiped her hands on the insides of her coat pockets.
“Like most Dauphinian words, it has too many letters,” she said.
