“What’s the time now?” Jaren finally asked.
The king looked to the hunched steward, who quickly answered.
“There’s still a few hours until midnight,” Jaren noted, making Kiva realize the Midnight Markets must be more literal than she’d assumed. “We need a place to rest in the meantime. Can you accommodate us?”
It was asked politely, but there was an undercurrent of anger and frustration that the king, even inebriated, didn’t miss. He quickly said, “Of course, of course, it would be my pleasure.” He clapped his hands and called, “Tanton! Take them to the blue suite.” He beamed at Jaren. “Only the best for my friends.”
Jaren gave a terse nod of thanks.
“I’ll be in the dining hall with some of my lovelies, should you wish to join me later,” Sibley offered. He winked and added, “We’ll be enjoying each other well into the night — you’re welcome to come and make merry with us after your visit to the Markets.”
Cresta made a gagging sound, saving Jaren from having to answer.
None of them bid the king farewell as they followed the hunched Tanton from the room, with Kiva once again covering Tipp’s eyes as they passed yet more indecent portraits. Walking through the sandstone halls, she considered the king, unsurprised that Ersa had run amok under his care. While Thembi and Ryuu were warriors who commanded obedience from their Jiirvan citizens, Sibley was lacking any sense of authority, more interested in his own comfort than anything else. Despite Jaren being only a prince — and not even that, technically, at the moment — Sibley was still cowed by him. He wasn’t a king who inspired respect, but nor did he seem to care for it.
The further Kiva traveled from Evalon, the more she realized just how fortunate her home kingdom was to be under the rule of the Vallentis family — ignoring, of course, the current circumstances, which she was hopeful would be remedied as soon as possible.
“Here we are: the blue suite,” said Tanton in a grating accent. Kiva had yet to hear the native Hadrisan language since arriving in the kingdom, but she’d encountered it numerous times in Zalindov, so was familiar with the rough vowels and edged consonants.
Stepping through the door the steward held open, Kiva was unsurprised to see that everything, from the floors to the walls to the ceiling and all of the furniture, was blue. Navy, cerulean, azure, sapphire, turquoise — every shade imaginable was before them, with not even the scenery off the large covered balcony offering any respite, since it looked straight out over the aquamarine Corin Sea glinting in the sunset. But that, at least, afforded some natural beauty, unlike the blue explosion of the room.
“This is ridiculous,” Cresta muttered, glaring at the space as if it personally offended her.
“If you need anything, please ring the bell,” Tanton said, indicating a cord hanging near the door. “The guards will be made aware of your evening plans, so you’ll be free to travel through the gates as you please.” He hesitated, before adding, “Take care in the Markets — they are beyond His Majesty’s jurisdiction. Should you encounter trouble, he will be unable to assist.”
With that warning, he gave a shallow bow and left them alone.
“What’s the deal with these Markets?” Cresta asked, collapsing onto the periwinkle couch.
“And what’s a M-M-Mystican?” Tipp asked, his eyes lighting when he found a tray of pastries in the corner, despite everything he’d just eaten in the receiving room.
“Both are bad news,” Naari answered, her features tense.
Jaren strode toward the balcony, halting where the carpet ended, staring broodily out at the ocean.
“You all right?” Caldon whispered to Kiva.
She feigned confusion. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
His lips pressed into a thin line, not buying her act, but he didn’t get a chance to call her on it before Jaren turned back to them all and said, “The Midnight Markets are a place that I deeply wish we could have avoided.”
Caldon snorted. “You’re just remembering the last time we were there.”
A memory came to Kiva then, of her dinner with the Vallentis family at the River Palace, and the stories they’d shared, mostly to embarrass Jaren — including one about how he’d spent a night dancing at the Midnight Markets after Caldon had spiked his drink.
“I’m really trying not to,” Jaren said tightly. To the rest of them, he said, “There are two halves to the Markets, one that spills aboveground, which is mostly safe and focuses on revelry and celebration — think of it like a carnival, except it occurs all year round.”
“And the o-other half?” Tipp asked between bites of a berry tart.
“It’s part of Ersa’s underground, where everything Cal mentioned earlier takes place — the trading of illicit substances, the buying and selling of human flesh, the hiring of assassins and spies.” Jaren’s brow was pinched. “It really isn’t somewhere we should go.”
Cresta pulled her feet up onto the couch, stretching out. “And yet, I think we can all guess which side we’ll find the Mystican on.”
Jaren made a frustrated sound of agreement.
“You d-didn’t say what a M-Mystican is,” Tipp pressed.
Kiva, too, was curious, since it wasn’t a term she was familiar with.
“As King Sibley said, Mysticans are incredibly rare,” Naari answered, moving toward Tipp and swiping a muffin off the tray. “They come from across the ocean, mostly Adastria, though some are from Mahari. Considering how far west we are, Zofia Sage is probably from the latter. I can’t imagine she would have crossed Wenderall and ended up here if she hailed all the way from the east.”
“But what d-does she do?” Tipp asked. “The k-king said she read his f-fortune. Is that even p-possible?”
“No one really knows what Mysticans can do,” Caldon said, shoving Cresta’s legs off the couch so he could sit beside her. He ignored her glare and continued, “Legend claims they’re gifted in the mind arts, a special kind of magic that we know little about here in Wenderall. They’re said to be able to do anything from predicting the future to knowing someone’s innermost secrets. Some can even move objects without touching them, while others can speak directly into your thoughts.”
“Whoa,” Tipp breathed, and Kiva found herself agreeing.
“So what’s our plan?” Naari asked, nibbling her muffin.
“We don’t have a choice,” Jaren said, unhappy about it. “We need the ring — so that means we have to find her, and then pay whatever price she demands.”
“What if she wants our firstborn children?” Cresta asked, frowning. “Or our kidneys?”
“Our kidneys?” Caldon’s eyebrows shot upward. “That’s what you’re worried about?”
The redhead tapped her chin thoughtfully. “I can probably give her one. But she’s not getting both.”
“Cresta’s right,” Naari said. “Not about the kidneys — that’s, well, never mind.” She scrunched her face and shook her head. “But she’s right that it’s risky to go in willing to offer anything. We have no idea what the Mystican might want.”