429I
The sea breeze came in gusts, dampening the hot noon sun. Farther off, I could hear the crash of waves. I was at the paper maker's again. His shop was at the edge of the capital, and smelled strongly of strong, woody paper pulp. The shop front was mostly empty, but in the back, I could hear the busy scurrying of feet as the workers diligently pressed paper.
The shop owner was a thin, toothy man in loose work pants and no shirt. A rag was draped over his shoulder, which he used periodically to mop the sweat beads on his face. He smiled and bowed me to the back of the shop, where thick stacks of paper sat in a row, neatly tied together with twine.
I moved forward and reached out to feel the quality between my fingers.
"Is it to your satisfaction?" he asked, watching me.
I carefully inspected every stack before I finally nodded. Silently, he motioned to workman. He came forward and hoisted the heavy stacks on his shoulders, carrying it quickly back to the cart.
As I counted the coins for him, he asked, "Why such a large order this time?"
I smiled and handed him his pay. "The bookstore is doing well."
"Happy to hear that," he grinned, pocketing the coins. He wiped his brow with the rag. "Good business for you is good business for me. One day, we'll be as rich as the king of Deshret."
I laughed at this. "Maybe," I nodded. Outside, the horse stamped impatiently. I handed paper maker the slip for the next order, then left his shop.
As I took the reins to drive the cart back to the bookshop, I jammed a large straw hat on my head. The sea breeze may help the heat, but it did nothing to shield the venomous rays. Stand in the sun for too long, and it would bake your skin the color of coal.
The bookshop was in the busiest part of the capital, right next to the fish market. Whenever I smelled the salty fish smell, I knew I was close to the shop. Years ago, when I first arrived at the capital of Mait, I would get lost within the winding dirty streets and tall wooden buildings. Relying on my nose to find my way back to the bookshop was the easiest way to navigate the labyrinthine city.
I drove the cart against the crowds in the narrow streets. My cargo, the several stacks of thick white paper, jumped merrily as the cart jounced along the bumpy road. It wasn't long before the pungent smell of fish hit me. I turned a corner, past the loud smelly fish market, and found the dark front of the bookshop.
Ti came out to greet me. His skin color always aroused the interest of those around us.
The country of Mait was a nation anchored by the sea. The waters glittered near the capital, washing the sands for centuries until they were bone white. The people there contrasted wildly with the sandy beaches. Ti and I first sought the country because we heard of the rusty cinnamon color of their skins—the color of my own skin.
In Deshret, my skin had been a rarity. Now, in Mait, Ti became the spectacle.
He wiped his large, ink stained hands on his linen trousers and gave me a swarthy grin before helping to unload the paper from the cart. The people near the shop stopped and openly stared at Ti as he went back and forth from the shop and my cart.
I took off the straw hat and fanned myself in the dark shade of the bookstore, watching Ti carry the paper on his strong shoulders. The sun beat down on him, and his body quickly began to glisten with sweat.
"Ti! Have some water!"
He turned and put down the paper in his arms.
The bookkeeper's daughter hurried out of the bookshop, her pale blue skirts flirting with her dark legs. As he accepted the water, she shook her head disapprovingly. "You don't have to hop out to help Aliana every time she comes with the paper deliveries, you know. There're other people who can carry the paper."
He gulped down the water, wiped his lips with the back of his hand, then handed the goblet back to her.
"Come on," she said, bending to pick up the last stack. Her young faced showed the strain of the weight, but she dismissively shrugged off Ti when he tried to help her.
I watched them go. The bookkeeper's daughter's chiding voice disappeared within the heavy darkness of the shop. Poor Ti, forever unable to respond.
After getting a drink of water, I unhitched the horse from the cart and led steed to the back of the shop. The sounds of the market were loud, but the stocky animal had already grown accustomed to it. I shut him in his stall and situated him with his oats. Fondly, I patted his nose as he munched happily.
Someone placed his hand on my waist, and I started, turning around. Ti smiled at me.
"You escaped from Mica?" I laughed. The bookkeeper's daughter had a name fitting of her bright, bubbly nature.
He heaved a heavy, relieved sigh and nodded.
"She likes you, you know," I said, and teasingly prodded his side. "It's about time you looked into getting a wife."
He patted the horse's nose and smiled quietly, shaking his head. His hand skimmed mine, and I dropped my hand to my side.
"Come on," I said, turning. "We need to get back to the shop."
Ti caught my hand, imploring me to stay a moment more.
I smiled lightly and shook him away. "We'll be yelled at. There's no one but Mica to tend the shop front—and you know all she ever does is chat with the customers." Without another word, I hung the straw hat on a hook and headed for the shop front.
Mica was sitting on the counter, swinging her legs back and forth. She glanced up at me silently, then went back to braiding a section of her long black hair.
"Get off the counter," I told her, putting my own hair up in a messy twist in the back of my head. "You know your father hates it when he sees you doing that."
"He's not around," she shrugged. Her eyes were focused as her nimble fingers deftly braided her thick hair. "Anyway, who are you to tell me what to do? This is my father's shop."
I was spared a response when Ti came out to join us. Mica looked up eagerly, but he didn't looked at Mica and I as he absentmindedly picked up a book and sat down, back slouched against the ladder-back chair. He began to read, ignoring the both of us.
Mica scowled and returned to braiding her hair.
I ran a rag over the counters carelessly as I listened for customers.
"Quiet day," I commented.
Ti looked up and nodded. Mica said nothing.
Well. So much for conversation.
There was a flurry of hooves and all three of us looked up. Three handsome white horses stopped outside our shop. Their owners were not only similarly dressed, but well dressed in simple linen affairs that deflected the heat. Their loose, white pants were lined with shiny silk at the cuffs.
Mica eagerly looked up and put on a charming smile. Ti closed his book slowly, giving me a strange look.
"Want to take a look at our rare books?" Mica asked, following the men around.
They made no response to her. The three wore similar hard expressions that discouraged conversation. Most surprisingly of all, their skins were light.
"From Deshret," Ti mouthed to me silently. I bit my lip and nodded in agreement.
One of them produced a slip of paper and handed it to Mica. "Deliver these to the palace as soon as possible," he told her shortly.
With that, the three men turned and left.
Mica looked affronted by their brusqueness.
"Open it," I said, eyes on the piece of paper in her hands.
She scowled, but as she did so, her scowl vanished. "Money!" she said excitedly, waving the stack of paper she found inside.
"That's it?" I prompted.
"And a list of books," she said, reading the paper. "Along with a letter that says we're allowed into the palace for delivery." She looked up, face glowing with excitement. "They really were from the palace! And did you see their skin? So pale! Paler than Ti's, even!"
"Yes, I saw," I said quietly, looking down. My fingers had knit together nervously—I didn't even remember doing that.
Ti stood and snatched the list of books from Mica.
"Hey!" she cried in protest.
Mechanically, he began to move around the bookshelves, compiling the books.
"What's your problem?" Mica demanded, following him around the shop.
I watched him, but he avoided my gaze. His face was stony. He slammed the stack of books on the counter, then proceeded to tie it with string. Mica hung back, confused and a little bit frightened.
"Don't worry," I said, eyes still on him. "I won't go deliver the books."
He paused and looked at me. Then, finding some paper, he wrote, "Go. He's practically requesting you to go."
Mica read the paper upside down, then looked up at the two of us. "Who?"
"No one," I mumbled. "I'm going to go…check the stock." With that, I left through the door in the back and went to the shop's storage.
The storage was musty and cool, smelling of books. Unlike the books in Deshret, which were written in scrolls, the books in Mait were on paper, bound together to make heavy volumes. I leaned against a shelf and slid down, sitting on the hard dirt floor. The sounds of the market outside were muffled, but still pressed too tightly on my ears.
Had Cicario requested me like Ti claimed he did? Cicario didn't even remember me. Didn't he see me at the parade and not even smile?
I remembered Deshret—that sprawling, far-reaching kingdom that stretched languidly across the hot red sand of the desert. I always associated Deshret with Cicario, and Cicario with books. Perhaps that was how I found myself working in a book shop.
I gnawed on my bottom lip and ran my hands absently along some book spines. I couldn't lie to myself. I wanted to go deliver the books. If I didn't, I'd forever wonder what would have happened if I had gone to the palace.
Ti didn't want me to go. I knew that although he said he did, it would kill him to see me go. I bit my lip until I tasted blood.
Mica poked her head into the storage room. "Are you coming?" she asked. She already had the stack of books in her hand.
I looked up, still tasting the blood in my mouth. "Yes." I stood. "Yes, I'm coming."
-0-0-
As we traveled toward the sea, our eyes met with smooth stone walls of the purest white. The palace reflected the hot day sun, shining like a bright jewel. The loudness from the marketplace was replaced with the lapping of the frothy sea waves.
The closer we got to the palace, the more Mica would fidget her skirt. She worried the hems and rearranged the creases. As we approached the gates, she began to smooth her hair.
"You look fine," I told her, guiding our small, horse drawn cart toward the guardhouse next to the tall palace gates
She glared at me from the corner of her eyes. "I don't look like you," she muttered and looked away.
"You look like Mica," I replied. "And Mica's beautiful." I wasn't lying to her. Mica may have been slight, but she was slender. She liked to wear flowing skirts that accentuated her long legs. Her light eyes were tinged with gold. When she wasn't narrowing her eyes at me, she had very wide eyes.
She snorted skeptically. A soldier trotted out of the guardhouse and stopped us. She handed him the letter. He read through it quickly, and then looked at the contents in our cart.
"These are the books?" he asked, prodding with his sword.
"Careful!" Mica scowled. "Watch where you're poking or you'll cut the covers."
"In other words, yes," I said, giving the officer a charming smile before he would get angry with us. Mica could never reign in her sharp tongue. It had always gotten her in trouble.
The soldier nodded, and sheathed his sword. "Leave the horse and the cart here and take the books through the back door."
Mica hopped off the cart and grabbed the books. Her excitement was almost tangible. Her bright eyes scanned the manicured lawns, the regal palm trees, and a few peacocks which had escaped the menagerie.
"Oh, it's beautiful," she murmured.
"Mm," I replied noncommittally. I couldn't help but see the elaborate, sandy gardens in Deshret in my mind's eye—the sparkling pools, the groves of date trees, and the beautiful harem girls who would lounge under the sun like pampered cats. Mait seemed impoverished in comparison to my memory of Deshret's opulence.
We came up to the giant wooden doors the soldier had pointed to. The iron spikes looked unfriendly and unyielding. I hesitated before knocking.
A large woman opened the door and her dark eyes glared down at us. She wore an apron over her dark blue servant's gown.
"We're here to deliver these books," Mica told her with a bright smile.
"Eh," she grunted, glancing over us. Finding us satisfactory, she turned and beckoned us to follow her.
We found ourselves in the servants' quarters. Beds lay side by side on the floor. The place was immaculate, scrubbed diligently clean, but the rooms showed signs of wear. In some places, the plaster threatened to crumble.
But as we walked, our surroundings grew increasingly better. The wooden floors were replaced with marble. The halls were airy and wide, with high domed ceilings. Servants shuffled silently and purposefully past us, and no one spoke to each other. Mica looked everywhere as if her eyes couldn't get enough of the sights.
We walked until we began to encounter pale men and women with white, milky skin. They were all identically garbed in robes of white.
Mica nudged me. "Look at the color of their skin!" she whispered.
I grinned. "Strange, isn't it?"
She nodded, unabashedly staring.
Suddenly, I spotted a tall, muscular man with red hair standing guard in front of a set of doors. I stopped in my tracks and stared openly at him.
"Amon!" I called excitedly. I recognized him as Cicario's personal guard, but I never thought I'd see him again. It had been five years, but he looked the same as when I last saw him in Deshret.
"Shhh!" hissed the large servant woman who was showing us the way. She tightly gripped my arm.
Amon turned and looked at me, brows furrowed. His lips twitched in annoyance. "What are the two of them doing here?" he asked, directing the question at the large woman.
She kept her head bowed while sending evil looks at me. "They're here to deliver some books. I'm showing them to the library."
He stared hard at both Mica and me. I met his gaze. How could he not recognize me?
"Books, huh?" he asked, then nodded. "Never mind about the library. King Cicario would like them in his chambers."
The large servant woman looked confused. "In his chambers, sir?"
"That's what I said." He opened the door he was standing in front of. I saw a large sitting room. The window offered a magnificent view of the sea. "Put that in there," he told Mica gruffly.
She hurriedly swept past him and into the room, hopelessly looking around. "Where should a put it?"
He indicated a table. The large woman, beside us, nervously rolled on her feet.
I was undeterred. Looking up at Amon, I gazed into his familiar brown eyes and asked, "You don't even recognize me?"
He looked down at me, displeased. His hair was sticking up in odd angles. His hair could never be tamed—I remembered that.
"Obviously not," he replied coldly.
"I'm Alia-."
"Never mind who you are," he interrupted.
"Time for you two to leave," the large woman said, tilting her head out the door. Mica had returned to my side.
I felt a heavy coldness in my stomach. Five years had been too long. I had hoped…
But I suppose it didn't matter what I hoped.
The large woman was leading us out again. I quickly looked around. Amon was never far from Cicario. It was Amon's job to protect him, after all. I wanted to see Cicario—just seeing him would have been enough.
But all I saw were white-robed servants. Cicario was nowhere to be seen.
The large woman took us back to the door in which we entered. She looked at me, her eyes full of unfriendliness, then shut the door without another word.
Beside me, Mica frowned. "No one's very nice here."
"I suppose not," I sighed, and headed back to the gate. Mica followed me, dejectedly swinging her skirts.
We were passing the gardens when we heard hurried footsteps behind us. I turned and saw Amon.
His face was blank and impassive as he stopped in front of me.
"You dropped this," he said, handing me a piece of paper. I took it silently. He turned and walked away.
Mica scrunched her forehead, watching him go. "But you didn't drop anything back there," she said slowly.
I looked down at the small slip of paper in my hands. "I know."
Author's Note: It's been so long since I updated. I want to thank all of you for your patience and encouragement. :)