“Perhaps we could ask someone in the Bronze Rooster while we’re having our meal? It’s a meeting place just up the street.” She hooked her arm through his, now studying his face as if appraising him for worth. A frown creased her brow. “Your scar . . . however did you get such a horrible thing?”
He touched the mark on his right cheek that stretched from his ear to the corner of his mouth. It was not something he enjoyed speaking about, especially not to a stranger who referred to it as horrible. It was ugly enough without any confirmation.
“Much gratitude for what little information you’ve given me, Bella. Best of luck fighting off your suitors in the future.”
Magnus unhooked his arm from Bella’s and began walking away from her, ignoring when she called after him.
She’d been willing to help him, but he felt he could find better help elsewhere. Also, he didn’t wish to be inspected from head to toe by someone he’d only just met.
“A witch boy,” he said to himself. It was a promising lead, but where might he find someone like that?
Someone possessed of magic wouldn’t exactly wear a sign around their neck proclaiming this. According to history, Valoria treated witches much the same as Magnus’s father did. Even the mere accusation could lead to arrest.
Still, the old woman had sent him to look for Samara Balto, and Samara was not the name of a boy.
He wandered farther up the street until he came upon the Bronze Rooster, a busy-looking meeting house. He entered through the front doors to find that the establishment had many full tables of men and women eating roast chicken, which was a familiar sight and smell, but the patrons also had their plates heaped with colorful vegetables and fruits—both a true luxury for those in Limeros, who relied on such foods to be imported from other kingdoms.
His mouth watered at the scent of lemon, his favorite fruit. It was sour, but mixed with honey in hot water, it was his absolute favorite drink, and he imbibed it whenever a shipment of exotic foods reached the docks of Black Harbor.
Here, with the greenery, warmth, and rich soil, Limerians—or Northern Myticans—truly didn’t know how lucky they were.
It’s summer here, he thought, not constant winter. And there’s a goddess on the throne in the north and the south.
While he wanted to deny the reality of this with every fiber in his being, he pressed on, trying not to let the tantalizing scent of the food distract him.
If he failed, he’d be trapped here without a family, without a future. The promise of a few lemons weren’t nearly enough to slow his steps.
His father once told him that when he didn’t know the answer to a question, he should still pretend that he did to look superior. Then, at his first opportunity, he needed to learn what he didn’t know so that he’d never be found out as a liar.
In other words, while trapped in ancient Mytica, one must try their best to fit in.
Magnus fixed what he hoped was a friendly smile upon his face and approached the nearest table. The two men sitting there looked up at him as he approached.
“Feeling a bit chilly, boy?” the lighter-haired man asked, his gaze dropping to the fur-lined cloak Magnus held. “Could practically fry a goose egg on the road today.”
“My mother wants me to have this mended,” Magnus said through his clenched smile. “I am going on an extended trip to a colder climate soon.”
Yes, he thought. Back to my home as soon as possible.
He hoped the man wouldn’t ask him for specifics about his destination. His knowledge of geography was, at present, vastly outdated.
“Mothers,” the man said, nodding. “Always with the chores.” He gestured to his friend. “This is Emil. And I’m Kalum. What’s your name, young friend?”
“It’s Magnus.” He had to stop himself from including his royal title as he fixed his tight smile back on his face. “I wonder if I might trouble you for some information. I’m looking for the seamstress, and I seem to have lost all my instructions on how to find her. Her name is Samara Balto.”
A silent moment passed as the two men studied him.
“I know Samara,” Emil finally said.
Magnus’s heart lifted. Perhaps this would be an easier nightmare to navigate than he’d thought. “Tell me where I can find her,” he demanded. Then added: “If you please.”
“That’s a nice cloak,” Kalum said, bolding reaching out to fondle the fur collar. “Got to be worth quite a bit, eh?”
“I wouldn’t know about such things,” Magnus said.
“The boy wouldn’t know about such things,” the man said, winking at his friend. “But would the boy have enough coin on him to pay for the information he seeks?”
“Coin?” Magnus stared down at them with confusion. “You want me to pay you for telling me something you know?”
“That’s the general idea.”
“I will do no such thing.”
“Then I guess you’re not going to find your seamstress. Is that really what you’ve been told Samara is?” Emil snorted. “You won’t get far with her either without money. And I’ve heard she gives much higher priority to those who grace her palm with gold rather than silver.”
“Can’t blame her,” Kalum commented drily.
“No, indeed. I can’t.”