“Entertainers…” I threw my arm out in front of Brom as he stepped forward. Narrowing my eyes at Zach, I said quietly, “You mean Romantica.”
No response. Neither of us moved. With a sigh, Zach finally said, “They’re good people, Ivy. We don’t need to tell them we’re Royals.”
“You mean one of us is a Royal,” I shot back.
Zach’s jaw tightened. “They’re good people.”
The story about his mother came back to me. The pain in his eyes when he’d talked of his past and his people. They certainly weren’t evil. Just misguided. But I wasn’t going to make the mistake of insulting Zach again.
“I never said they weren’t. I’m just… They’re different. How do I even go about talking to them?”
Zach took my hand. “Like you’re talking to me, only less snooty.”
I broke into a grin. “I can’t promise anything if they’re even half as obnoxious as you.”
Zach laughed and unfastened my cloak, turning it inside out so the Legion crest was no longer visible, and then he tugged me along. Bromley trailed after us with the horses.
We came to the edge of the woods, and I had to stifle my gasp at the scene before me. Instead of a simple campsite, it was practically a festival, complete with tables piled high with food freshly cooked over their glorious fire, musicians playing on flutes and fiddles and beating on stretched skins, and colorfully dressed characters chatting, eating, and dancing. Their canopied wagons of blue, red, and purple were parked in a circle around the fire, and their horses—even a few goats—were tethered in a grassier area, grazing.
Looking at the festive scene, the devout Royal in me prayed the priests would never find out about this. They would want me to perform a dozen rites to rid myself of their heretic germs.
“So what did you tell them?” I whispered to Zach as a few Romantica waved to us—a young teenage boy and two older men.
“I fed them a story of how we’re traveling to the village for trade.” Zach waved back and led us over.
The older man, dressed in a deep-purple tunic, gray pants, and a vest woven with crimson and indigo threads, spread his arms and smiled—I guessed he did. It was hard to tell with his big black beard. “Welcome, travelers—friends! Young maiden.” With a flourish, he grabbed my hand and planted a swift, scratchy kiss on my knuckles. “My name is Jiaza, and this is my brother, Pan, and my son, Kiaza. It’s a delight to have you at our feast. Come, come, there’s plenty. Kiaza, take their horses and get them watered.”
Jiaza, still grasping my hand, brought me to the women with giant steaming pots and chunks of meat roasted on sticks. In no time, the smiling, busty Romantica women had laden us with food. Immediately Brom took a bite of his meat, and I followed suit. The savory juices of the pheasant, bursting with flavors of shassa root, frezz berries, lemon pepper, and other hidden herbs, consumed my senses, and it was all I could do to not gobble it down while standing.
Jiaza led me to a spot near the fire and sat across from me. “So,” he began, rubbing his hands together, “traveling north, eh? Whereabouts you three from?”
“Myria’s Crown City,” I answered before taking a large bite of pheasant.
“Ah, good honest folk down there, but not much for celebrating! Too many fighters. If you ask me, it’s all the Legion’s fault.” Jiaza nodded knowingly.
“No one asked yeh, yeh old coot,” a voice said from behind.
Laughter rippled through the little circle, but Jiaza ignored them and winked at me. “Lovely women, though, yeah? Now, what’re you looking to trade?”
I chewed faster to answer, but before I even swallowed, one of the women who had served the food sat next to me and drew an arm around my shoulders. “Hush, Jiaza, the poor dears are just about starved for a decent meal. Let them eat! They can suffer your interrogation after their stomachs are full.”
The woman, who introduced herself as Yana, was Jiaza’s wife and insisted I have second helpings. She even gave Bromley thirds, mostly because he was too nice to say no. Yana was a heavyset woman with thick dark-brown hair that was braided with beads and red threads. Her attire was simpler than that of her daughters and nieces, and much more concealing.
The younger Romantica girls wore surprisingly little for the northern climate, with bangles and shiny metals on their wrists, ankles, and collarbones to reflect the firelight when they danced. And there always seemed to be at least one of them dancing. They moved like firebirds, diving into the flames, spreading their sparkling silk wings and swooping away. I had never seen dances such as these. Only Royal waltzes at the castle. This Romantica dancing was foreign and mesmerizing.
I could understand why Zach would enjoy watching the dancing girls, because I was captivated by them, too.
Yet, I did not like it.
Nor did I like when they flitted around him, touching his arms and whispering into his ear, pulling him closer to the fire for a dance.
I ignored them, pretending not to see and not to care. No, I wasn’t pretending—I really didn’t care. What would be the point? I had no reason to be irritated. None whatsoever.
“Maid, what troubles you? Do you wish to dance?”
A young man with curly black hair and a golden crystal dangling from his ear stood before me, his hand outstretched. His brown eyes reflected the firelight.
“Wish to…? Oh, no—I’m fine.” I laughed nervously, scooting away from the smell of smoke that clung to his hair and clothes. Not that it was a bad smell. It was sweet. “Besides, I can’t dance.”
“Nonsense.” The man grasped my hand and tugged. “Everyone can dance!”
“Not this one.” Another hand caught the man’s wrist and pulled it away from me. Zach smiled as he stepped in front of me and dropped his hold on the Romantica. “Believe me, she’ll step on your toes out there.”
The man shrugged and returned to the ring around the fire, clapping to the music’s rhythm.
The night air was chilly, but the heat in my cheeks and neck warmed my body all over. “I’d step on your toes,” I muttered as we took seats on a bench together.
“You could try.” He laughed. “But I’m an excellent dancer. Maybe I’ll show you.”
“I might enjoy that. Remind me the next time we’re not on a dangerous mission surrounded by dark curses.”
Jiaza, who had been drinking deeply from his cup, suddenly stopped and bent forward. “You two ran into a curse?”
Zach and I glanced at each other. Inwardly, I kicked myself. What was I thinking, bringing up this talk in front of Romantica?
But the bearded man didn’t wait for our reply. He shook his head and took another swig. “More curses. More creatures. When will it end?” Then he reared back and threw his cup into the fire, the flames sparking angrily.
“Jiaza!” Yana hit her husband with a cleaning rag that hung from her belt. “That was a good mug!”
“Bah! What good are mugs if we’re attacked nearly every week?” Jiaza grumbled, clearly drunk.
Yana sighed and turned to Zach, Brom, and me. “I’m sorry about that, my dears. We’re just frustrated. We’ve had some rough days. And after seeing the last cursed village…”
“Cursed village?” I asked.
“Yes, it’s just north of here. It’s a terrible disease, started by some witch’s curse, no doubt. Things were so bad we didn’t even stop long enough for water from their well. Poor villagers are suffering, but being so far from Myria, they haven’t had any Royals check on them.”
“Royals!” Jiaza roared suddenly, squeezing his beefy fists together. “Good riddance! We’re better off without them!”
I bit my lip, suppressing a retort. It wasn’t as if I didn’t already know how Romantica viewed us.
“But Royals help us,” Brom said, glancing at me.
We didn’t just help them. We fought for them. Died for them. And yet here was this ungrateful…heretic— Zach squeezed my arm, and I refocused.
Jiaza’s features were now slumped, the light in his eyes no longer there. “Oh, sure, they help where they can. But really, lad, they’re just cleaning up their own mess.”