Slade walks over to the guards waiting around by the carriage, handing them the parcels of food he had Barut make up for them. The men give him nods of thanks, and I’m struck by how different things are here.
Midas would have never given his guards food. It wouldn’t have even crossed his mind. It didn’t matter if they’d been stuck outside in the horrible snow or waiting around for hours inside. And yet, he got the reputation of the Golden King, while Slade is nothing but rot and ruin.
After Slade helps me up onto Honey, we all make our way down to the market, leading our horses around the tavern and down to the busy road once again. Luckily, it’s wide enough for our group plus the unmoving horses and carriages parked up and down the path. Just like up at Brackhill Castle, the roads are cobbled, the black stones scuffed, and the rest of the street lined with brick sidewalks where people walk in and out of the storefronts.
Just like before, I keep my head straight and my chin up, and I don’t pull up the hood of my cloak. Out here in the sun, my hair and skin gleams, so it’s very apparent that I’m not hiding, as everyone’s gaze draws toward me.
The air is thicker now, the warm humidity causing my palms to sweat even without wearing gloves. But Judd leads us right to the market on the docks, and the fresh breeze rolls right in, a constant cool exhale blown in from its sparkling surface.
The guards dismount first, one of them coming over to guide my horse to a hitching post. As soon as we’re all on our own two feet, the people in the market have all stopped to turn and see.
More gasps and shouts ring out as they greet their king and army captains, nearly every stall owner calling out to them. The shoppers have all stopped and turned too, parting as we start to walk down the path. The market consists of rolling carts set up along the street, while others sell their wares right from their bobbing boats.
Judd and Lu go look at a stall of weapons, while Digby hangs back with me. Slade gets a bit inundated with the public, but they keep a respectful distance while the guards watch over everything.
My eyes spring from one spot to another as I take in everything that’s being sold. Shawls and blankets, boots and buckles, jewelry and cloaks. So many of the shops cater to the fishermen as well, with fancy carved oars, perfected fishing nets, and poles that are as tall as the buildings. It’s a conglomerate of merchandise, too many things to track, too many voices to hear at once.
But I do hear one. One that seems to cut through the crowd, like a vocal arrow that’s nocked and aimed right for me, hitting its target with deadly accuracy.
“Do you see who that is? The gold one? You’ve heard of her! She’s the gilded pet—King Midas’s favored saddle. The one who stole his gold-touch and killed him because she was jealous.”
My gaze sweeps left, where I see the group of men huddled together against the wall of a stall selling battered fish tails. Brown eyes collide with mine, a middle-aged face peering at me beneath the floppy brown brim of his hat.
“Gilded Lady!”
I tear my eyes away from the men, finding a woman waving at me, gesturing to her cart where she’s selling bracelets. “I have perfect bracelets for you, Gilded Lady!”
With a smile, I wander over to her stall, but the men’s voices seem to follow me.
“Thought her being gold was just rumors,” a different man says, while I hear the telltale puff of a pipe.
“Nah, my cousin went to Highbell once. Said he saw her through a window at one of the public executions. That’s her, alright.”
“Whaddya think she’s doin’ here?”
The smiling stall owner pulls out bracelet after bracelet for me, but I don’t see any of them, too preoccupied with what the men are saying.
“Midas died, didn’t he?” the man counters. “Looks to me she’s got herself a new king already. Latched on from one to the other mighty fast.”
“Fucking women,” the other one says with a sardonic huff. “Always diggin’ their claws into the next best thing, ain’t that right? Hopping from one man to another. That’s all they do.”
“Yeah, I heard she slit his throat and then stole his magic. His gold-touch went rampant after that, gilded all of Ranhold, killed a hundred people inside, but she escaped.”
“That’s why I don’t trust saddles,” another one says, his raspy voice sounding one syllable away from a coughing fit. “If they’re paid to fuck, they won’t give a fuck.”
Several hocking laughs sound out.
I nearly jump when Slade’s hand comes to the small of my back. “Did you want something?”