“Sorry to be so difficult,” she said coolly.
His hazel eyes met hers. “You stick out like a bad apple. It’s hard enough to keep an eye on the crowd.” He meant by himself. Miri frowned as Cass added, “When we get to the blacksmith, let me do the talking.”
“Because you’re my husband.” She crossed her arms, incredulous.
“Because you’ve never bartered as someone who holds no power. Bean.”
She scowled at his reminder then swatted his hands away from her bonnet. “As you say,” she offered. “But I pick the sword.”
Cass took hold of her hand and drew her with him as he made a path between stalls of woodcraft and pottery, weaving past carts of oils, wine, cast pots, and caged chickens. A vendor tried to sell Miri a scarf, and another offered wax. Cass kept on, appearing to pay it all no mind, though Miri could feel the tension in him. She kept up, one hand tight in his, the other managing her cloak, until the scents of the market were overpowered by the smoke and solvent and molten steel of the blacksmith’s stalls.
At the entrance to a massive tent Cass stepped aside, letting Miri walk past him inside. The interior was hot and dusty and filled with the clank of metal being formed beyond the stall. Miri let her eyes adjust to the dim light as she stared past the folded brim of her bonnet to a wall of metal ornaments and shields. Long tables were situated in rows, each scattered with an assortment of cuffs and knives. Horseshoes rested in a bucket on the trodden earth, and farm tools and construction material sat on a table of their own.
A woman wearing a thick leather apron came forward, wiping her hands on a threadbare rag. “What’ll do for you?”
“I need a sword,” Miri said.
Cass’s hand slipped deftly beneath Miri’s cloak to rest on her back, and he smiled down at her like she was the best mare in the stable. “My wife would like a sword of her own, something light and thin, I think, for I trust she’ll take to it brilliantly.” At Miri’s attempt at an apologetic glance, he added, “And sharp. For good measure.”
The blacksmith laughed, but the sound was drowned out by the hammering of metal beyond the tent walls. “Aye,” she said when the clatter died down. “Sharp.”
She gestured for them to follow, and Cass let Miri go ahead of him. His fingers brushed the back of her arm as they slid free of her cloak.
She would try to remember the girl Bean had no idea about metalwork and weaponry, aside from the skill with her knives—those of a trader and a woodsman. They walked past a bench layered with ax heads and chisels as the woman slipped through the side of the tent. Outside again but away from the crowd, the woman led them to a cart built of thick, scarred lumber. She tossed back a massive sheet of leather to reveal half a dozen mallets and three well-made swords.
“We’ve not much in the way of options inside, but these are maybe more what you’re after.” She lifted the shortest of the three and flipped it down to hand to Miri by the grip. “Ned’s got a bit of a knack for this sort of steel. Shame he can’t sell it outside of town.”
Miri’s gaze shot up, but Cass cleared his throat before her words escaped. “Restrictions?” he asked.
The woman nodded, her hands coming to her hips. Her fingers were black with dust. “New rules every year.” She gave Cass a crooked smile. “Fancy seeing ‘em try to enforce that at Blackstone.”
So the rules were not coming from Pirn. It was new laws from Stormskeep or maybe the entire lot of those kings. Miri’s fingers tightened around the braided leather grip of her sword.
“Fits you well, then.” The woman’s head tilted as she appraised Miri’s slender form. “I reckon you could wield it for practice. But you’ve got no real reach with a weapon that size.” She hummed. “Come back to me when you’ve got this one mastered, and we’ll fit you with something with a bit more heft to it.”
“How much?” Cass’s tone was clipped but all for show. Miri knew how heavy the man’s coin purse was. He was Cass the trader, well versed in bargaining and dicker.
Miri stepped back a pace to fall into stance. She raised the sword and spun, testing its balance and trying a few basic moves.
The woman laughed. “She’s lost the deal for you before you’ve even started, boy. Look at her. You can’t take that blade from such a pretty bride.”
Miri did not have to turn around to see Cass’s expression. She could imagine it full well by then.
“Seventy,” he said. “It’s a fair price for us both.”
The woman scoffed. “Good steel’s near impossible to come by these days, and you well know it. Look at those blades on your hip.”
Cass had not displayed his best knives in the open, but that did not seem to matter one bit.
Miri turned back to face them, weighing the sword in both her hands. “I’ll need a sheath and a strap as well. Throw those in, and I can convince my husband it was worth his while.”
The woman cackled and patted Cass on the shoulder so hard he nearly stumbled.
Though Cass stared at Miri, she only said, “No sense in dally, my precious helpmeet. We’ve two more stops at least. I’ve a need for scarves and sweet-smelling soap, remember?”
Cass blinked at Miri then drew in a long-suffering breath and handed the woman her coins.
Cass carried Miri’s sword as they traversed the market beneath a midmorning sun. The sense of chaos and riot of smells had intensified, in no small part because of the preparation of the midday meals. Meat roasted on large iron spits, and vegetables were being cooked into pottage or roasted in metal baskets over the fire. Miri sidestepped a cluster of rowdy men to slip into a tent with candles and oil. Cass followed her, his constant scrutiny on the crowd.
A young girl approached Miri, her copper hair in a crown of braids. “Can I interest you in some oils, miss?”
“Yes,” Miri said. “Indeed.”
The girl’s sharp green eyes took Miri in, and her freckled cheeks plumped when she smiled. “I’ll wager you’re a mint-and-lavender sort.”
“You’ll wager nothing at all!” The voice came from an older woman crouched beneath a table, stacking glass bottles into a crate. She had the same copper hair, only two shades lighter.
The girl rolled her eyes. “And for him,” she said, gesturing at Cass as if she’d not been reprimanded at all, “sandalwood and sage.”
Miri chuckled. “Aye, boys are a stinky lot. Maybe something stronger.”
The girl nodded sagely. “I’ve just the thing.” She gestured for Miri to follow, but it was only two steps to her table of wares. She offered up vials for appraisal, and Miri smelled rose water, lily, cloves, and lemon while Cass perused the deadlier stock on the shelves behind them.
She needed something in a powder and two kinds of oil. As the girl chattered about heated salves and the medicinal benefits of saffron and iris, Miri closed her eyes to take the various scents in. The musky, soil aroma of patchouli in one vial was replaced by another, its scent woody and something like lemongrass or citronella. Miri’s cheeks heated when she realized what it reminded her of—it smelled like Cass. She opened her eyes, placing the stopper back in the vial.