73

The Night Market

Candle, Asher and Zebulon dropped down from the high spires to land in the castle's inner courtyard. A few human servants scattered at their arrival.

"Granddad won't let the merchants inside the castle proper," said Asher, as they all transformed into their small folk forms and joined the throng heading out of the gate. "So the Night Market is always held near Morgawr's Cove at the bottom of the bluff."

"Why not?"

"Doesn't want human filth inside Angarrack," he said, with a shrug. "At least, not any more than necessary, and not just the humans, some of the other merchants come from questionable backgrounds."

"He means they are not dragons," said Zeb. "Granddad doesn't approve of anyone who is not a dragon."

They walked on in silence, passing through the deep black of the long tunnel at the castle entranceway and emerging at the ornate gates, which stood open. Spirits looped their way between the gap, but Candle spared them hardly a glance. Once outside the bounds of the castle they turned, following a narrow track across the fell. A group of humans dressed in dull servants' attire made way for them, standing in the prickly bushes to let them pass. Candle gave them an apologetic smile which seems to distress, rather than relax them. The brothers didn't seem to notice, or perhaps they didn't care. Both of them seemed intent on their own thoughts.

The narrow trail cut across the plateau in front of the great castle. After a few minutes walk, it angled down a steep hill before spilling the travellers out onto a hollowed out basin next to the sea. Naturally protected from the sea winds by the cliffs on either side the beach was a silvery crescent of sand. A bonfire roared in the centre of the hollow, casting great leaping shadows on all sides. Around this central focus, the Night Market was laid out in all its festive glory.

Candle's breath caught in her throat as she took it all in. Strains of music floated on the breeze and the air was heavy with the scent of spices and cooking. Candle couldn't see the musicians but the tunes were lively, and unlike anything she had heard before. She made a mental note to try and capture the melody before she forgot it, but it was hard to concentrate with so much to take in. All her feet wanted to do was dance.

Stalls and tents were laid out in a spiral with the bonfire at its heart. Crowds of people, human and otherwise, roamed the makeshift streets, witch lights bobbing above their heads in the hundreds, illuminating the scene in brilliant gold. White and silver streamers flew from every stall, fluttering in the gentle breeze.

"Grandfather would prefer if the Winter Festival only included politics. I can understand why," said Asher, frowning down at the glorious scene before them. "It comes with its problems. We don't need to have fun, and it takes a lot of organising."

Zeb made a rude noise.

"Sometimes, brother-mine, you can be the most incredible bore. Come on, Candle!"

He plunged down the embankment, and Candle was only too happy to follow, excitement buzzing in her stomach and a smile pulling at the corners of her lips. Asher sighed and followed behind but Candle didn't have eyes for him. She had never seen anything quite like the Night Market, even on her trip to the Lizard with Jotham all those many moons ago. There was so much to see, so much to smell, and she didn't know where to start. As she stood gaping, a gaggle of laughing women went by. Their pale hair was decked with ribbons and baubles, in stark contrast to the dull colours of their dresses. Just behind them strode a man in elegant linen trousers, his chest open to the night and small velvet cat's ears poking through his long curly hair. The fur on his ears mottled like a large cat's. Candle tried not to stare, but he saw her looking and flashed her a grin. His incisors were longer than they had any right to be.

"Over here!" cried Zeb, waving to her from a stall. She darted through the crowd to join him, halting in front of a stall of freshly baked goods. The tantalising smells were enough to make her groan. The merchant, who was a kindly looking human grinned down at her, and she smiled back. Before she could properly examine the pastries her eyes were drawn to the neighbouring stall where seven indigo-skinned men and women were setting up their wares. Each of them was no higher than her ankle, their faces flat and wide, and their eyes pitch black. They reminded her a little of the imps beneath the Necromancers' Keep, although clearly more intelligent. And clothed.

One of the tiny men turned to glare at her, and she looked away hurriedly, not wanting to offend. Zeb was inspecting tarts with a critical eye. Asher looked bored. Candle cast about for a topic of conversation.

"So the Night Market - what else does the Winter Festival entail?"

"Just a Gathering," said Zeb, his nose inches from a custard pudding. He inhaled deeply. "It starts tomorrow."

"Once a year all the leaders of the clans get together to discuss strategy, to take stock, to find out how the Nation is fairing," said Asher. "And Grandfather rules on any disputes."

"You mean mother does."

Asher shrugged.

"If it's important Granddad will wake," he said.

"It's also pretty much the only opportunity we get every year to socialize with people we are not related to," said Zeb, straightening. "The elders are more interested in politics and warfare. We are more interested in –"

"–parties," said Asher, quickly.

"Parties?" asked Candle.

"Oh yes," said Zeb. He shovelled a handful of cakes towards the merchant. "Just these, please. Can you box them for me? Thanks!" He turned towards Candle, his face flush with excitement. "There are parties most nights. The first one is tonight. How do you not know this? Surely your parents must have told you?"

"My parents weren't keen on the idea of my attending parties," said Candle, truthfully.

Zebulon seemed dumbstruck at this information, and his mouth dropped open.

"Is that why you have never come before? How awful. And I thought Mother was strict," he held out a tart. "You should try one of these, they are really good." He eyed the man behind the stall. "I wonder if he would give me the recipe?"

"Later!" said Asher. "You can harass the humans later. Let's look around first."

"Oh yes, please," said Candle, her eyes on the strange, little merchants at the next stall. They had finished laying out their wares, which seemed to be rather beautiful jewellery. Made of cold glass, it gleamed gold, sparkling in the dark.

"What in the Night is it?" she asked, reaching out a finger to touch a glass drop. It buzzed as she touched it, and she retracted her finger instantly.

"Handcrafted jewellery," piped up one of the tiny men. He glared at Candle, his hands on his hips. "Crafted with one hundred percent Dawn Bugs."

"Dawn spirits," murmured Asher, from beside her, and she made a noise of understanding. Now she knew what it was she could see the tiny golden spirits fluttering against the glass, their wings beating frantically.

"How do you get them inside?" she asked.

The tiny indigo man drew himself up proudly, puffing out his chest.

"Ancient methods!" he said, slapping his chest with his hands. "Passed down from generation to generation. Since the closing of the Dawn Gate. Big secret. Many years."

"It's not that long," Asher said, his voice soft in her ear. "They live short lives. It's only been twenty years since the Gates closed after all."

Candle nodded, as if she knew, trying not to grab onto the table to steady herself. Twenty years! Generations had indeed passed in the Day Nation. Time flows differently, Jotham had told her. She had known this. This was not new information. It was a difficult concept to digest, and she didn't say much as she followed the brothers as they wandered along the stalls. She needed to leave as soon as possible, who knew how many days or months had passed in the Day Nation while she had been eating cake with her new friends. Her chest felt tight at the thought.

The humans parted around them like minnows around an ocean predator, squeezing themselves away from the trio and regrouping on the other side. Candle wondered how Asher would respond to an accidentally jostled elbow, and decided she didn't want to find out.

"Oh, look at this!" said Zeb, picking up a sparkling tree made of gemstones. He held it up for Candle to admire. "Salad would love this."

"She's probably seen it already," said Asher.

"What do Orin and Sallith collect?" asked Candle. "If you all have collections..."

"Of course we do," said Zeb, "honestly, Candle you are so strange."

"Sallith likes anything that shines," said Asher.

"Anything," said Zeb, rolling his eyes. "Doesn't matter if it's trash or gemstones. I've seen her get excited over a sparkly milk bottle top."

"Orin goes in for trophies," said Asher. He was looking over the heads of the crowd and didn't seem particularly interested in the wares.

"Trophies?"

"Body parts, mostly," said Zeb. "He's sucking up to mother. But I know for a fact that he has a collection of ladies' underwear hidden under his bed."

"Zeb!" Asher flushed. His younger brother shrugged, laughing at his discomfort.

"It's true," he said. "I've seen them. When I make love, I prefer to do it in my dragon form."

"ZEB!"

"What? It's true! Speaking of love, I see my future mate at the bonfire – catch you later."

Zeb sauntered off and was soon lost in the crowd.

"Sorry," said Asher, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. " Zeb gets a little excited."

"It's fine," said Candle. "Come on, let's keep looking. I've never seen so many interesting things."

"Oh right," said Asher. "I keep forgetting it's your first time here. Are you hungry? We could get something to eat."

"Oh, yes please," said Candle, her stomach rumbling. The smells were driving her to distraction. After a brief debate Asher let her pick some delicious smelling moon-cherry pies. The fruit was so black it looked almost purple.

"Made with the finest moon cherries, harvested under the light of the full moon at the stroke of midnight," said the merchant, holding two out with a flourish. Asher took his pie, eyeing it warily.

"There's no meat," he said. "Why is there no meat? Human food is so strange."

"You liked the chocolate cake, didn't you?" said Candle.

"I suppose," he said, without enthusiasm. "But we can have something more substantial afterwards, alright?"

"Deal."

They took their meal down to the beach and sat on a rock looking out across the water. A few other people were seated along the shore, mostly couples, sharing their food. Here, the noise of the market was a distant buzz, and the beach was a silvery crescent lit by the gleaming line of magic where land and sea mingled. The breeze skimming off the sea was warm and pleasant, and the stars were bright away from the lights of the stalls. A small stone building occupied the end of the rocky promontory, roofed in rough slate, the walls lined with seashells. As Candle watched, a couple walked up to the little building, bowed, and left something on the smooth obsidian slab.

"What's that?" she asked, swallowing a bite of her pie with great relish. The flavours were hot and delicious on her tongue. Zeb was right, the bakers and cooks of the market were talented indeed.

"A shrine to the Goddess," said Asher. He was looking at his pie with some perplexity and took a cautious nibble, grimacing as he swallowed.

"You worship a Goddess?"

Jotham occasionally invoked the names of what he called Old Gods, but he had always given her the impression he worshipped nothing and nobody. He was scathing of what he called her obsession with her Ancestors. But then Jotham was, she was beginning to realize, an unusual dragon.

"We don't worship her... exactly," Asher waved a piece of pie towards the shrine. "It's more...prudence..."

"Prudence?"

"She haunts these waters," he said. "It's best to try and stay on her good side."

"You've seen her? I mean, she's real? Flesh and blood?"

"Oh yes," he said. "Her wrath is terrible to behold. Or so I've heard, I've never seen her angry. But it takes a lot to intimidate the elders."

Candle munched her food in silence, contemplating the concept of a creature so powerful she could inspire this kind of alarm in the powerful dragons who ruled over Angarrack. The kind of dragons who kept their sister's heads on walls. The sweet pie turned sour in her stomach, and she set the remains aside, her appetite gone. Asher didn't seem to notice her discomfort, and to her alarm, he reached out and picked up her hand. He traced the line of her palm with one sensitive finger, eyes locked on her face as she schooled her features to neutrality and fought the urge to snatch the hand away. This is what people did when they liked each other, she reminded herself. It was strange to have someone touch her, voluntarily. Not that it was unpleasant.

"Where do you come from, Candle?" he asked. "And why are you so tense?" He dropped her hand, flashing his teeth at her. They were very white against the bronze of his skin. Candle forced her muscles to relax and crossed her arms over her chest, annoyance warring with self-preservation.

"Well, I haven't had an easy life."

To her relief, he laughed and leaned back against the rock.

"Why don't you tell me about it?"

"What, my life?" Her cheeks turned pink.

"Your life, where you grew up, what you think of Angarrack, all of that," he said, examining a nail.

"My life has been... ordinary," she lied. "It's boring to talk about."

"Somehow I doubt that."

"And Angarrack is impressive," she said, looking over her shoulder at the towering bulk of the chalky fortress behind them. "I've never seen anything like it–" She bit her lip.

"What is it? What did you want to say?"

She shrugged.

"Tell me! You can tell me anything."

"I just...at home we treat our humans better," she said, regretting it as soon as the words crossed her lips. He frowned.

"You better not let my mother hear you talk like that," he said, "all jokes aside, you must understand they are weak and must be protected?"

"Protected, yes," said Candle, "but you treat them like slaves."

"They are not slaves," he said, standing up and grabbing her by the shoulders. She tensed, waiting for the violence to come. But this was not Rasmus, she reminded herself. And this odd boy seemed to like her.

"Well, it's not like any of them can just leave," she said. "Or do as they like."

He let go, much to her relief.

"Well, that's for their own good," he said dismissively. "They would die if they were left to their own devices. The Good Folk would feast on them–"

"The Good Folk?"

"The wights, the skinwalkers, the demons," he said, "the Necromancers."

"Perhaps," said Candle, cursing herself for starting this conversation. She didn't want to upset him, and it was unlikely she would be able to change his mind. She wasn't sure why it felt important to try. "But you could still...um... let people have more autonomy."

"I suppose," he said. "I've never really thought about it."

He stared at her curiously, and she made a conscious effort not to meet his gaze. It was so hard to look him in the eye, she almost missed her blindfold. Almost. The intensity of his gaze made her feel like a bug on a lens.

"Candle," he said, and his voice was gruff, "you are not like anyone else I've ever met, do you know that? I mean, Zeb and some of the younger ones, they flirt with human politics, just to be edgy but you really mean it don't you?"

"I suppose," she said, worried she had said too much. He was standing very close to her. She moved back a little, to give him more space, but he just came closer, so close she could see the flecks of gold in his eyes as he leaned towards her.

"What are you doing?" She pulled away sharply.

"Well, I was about to kiss you," he said, sighing. Amusement sparkled in his eyes and her stomach did a strange sort of flip flop. She was a little sorry she had jumped back. Perhaps. Maybe. Before she had time to sort her feelings, something small and solid barrelled into her stomach, knocking the wind out of her. She looked down into the cloud of red hair, and a small upturned face.

"Have you seen all the food?" Zephi demanded, her arms clasped around Candle's middle, and her small pointy chin digging into Candle's stomach. The small girl squeezed Candle with a surprising amount of strength. "Have you seen it?"

"I have. Asher bought me a very nice pie."

"What kind of pie?"

Candle disentangled herself from Zephi's embrace as Murmux came up the sand behind them. He grinned at her with the insolent expression that made her fingers twitch, and she wondered, with no small amount of embarrassment how much he had seen. Spotting Asher, his eyes narrowed, and the smile became predatory.

"Admiring the view?" he asked. Asher bared his teeth and snarled. Murmux's grin stretched even wider, and he flipped his hair over one brown shoulder.

"Let's go," said Candle. "I want to look around some more."

She set off up the beach, back towards the bright lights of the market, with Zephi running after her.

Alone on the strip of sand, Murmux and Asher sized each other up.

"Enjoy it while you can," said Asher, dusting the sand off his trousers. He turned his back on Murmux and set off up the beach after the girls.

"Enjoy what?"

Asher narrowed his eyes, the golden iris's glazed with disapproval and disdain.

"Your freedom."