Caudin had said more than a few times that the key to understanding a city lay in its market. For the last few days, Al had walked through a place that might have been one, but had meager offerings, fruit and vegetables close to rotting, threadbare, second-hand clothing, and a few items here and there that were never likely to sell. It was the one place in Eri Ranvel that he had started to feel comfortable in. He’d traded halting conversations with kind, patient people, who managed to compliment his learning even when he bought nothing.

Despite the miserable conditions, the market was always some sort of lively. So, it was a shock when he rounded the corner and was met with silence. Not a soul spoke a word and everyone tread lightly, their heads hung. There was no laughter, no banter, no easy joking, just silence.

“What is happening?” he asked Mavet, a woman who sold a smattering of clothing.

She glared at him and tapped her thumb and index fingers together. He didn’t know what that gesture meant, so he mimed confusion. She sighed and pulled out a calendar, pointing to August 20th and pointing down.

Al nodded and bowed his head in apology. Today was the anniversary of the Coup, which had occurred eighteen years ago that day. The Arvonnese must remember it by being silent.

And when he realized that, he walked through the market with an amazement, watching as people conducted sales in silence. He continued on until the bells tolled in a nearby church. The people around him frowned and continued on with their day.

Al was thrilled with this display of disapproval, so much so that he walked back to the hotel and found Caudin immediately. “You have to go outside,” he said.

Caudin looked up from the newspaper he was reading. “I planned on staying in today.”

“I know, it’s not a good time for you. But, I really think you need to go somewhere.”

“Why?”

“You’ll see. Trust me, please.”

Caudin set down the newspaper and sighed. “Fine, but don’t expect me to stay out long. I’ll be back in an hour.”

Really, of all the days the wizard wanted him to go and put on a merry face… It was the anniversary of the day everything ended for him and Al knew that. And while he had gotten over most of anger, there were old channels he couldn’t help but take for a brief moment before he retrained his thoughts. There were still some people in this city, in his home, who had yelled “Down with the Alscaines!”, who had killed his family. He’d much rather stay inside and not bump into any of those folks, especially not on that day.

Still, he had done his best to look for familiar faces for the last week. There had to be someone left in the city that could point him in the right direction. Thus far he’d come up empty-handed. Perhaps it was defeatist, but he just wanted a day off to reflect and wallow in a little discouragement. He didn’t want to be outside.

He took some pocket money and headed to the market. He normally bought food and gave it to a family he’d see on the way over, huddling in an alley or street corner begging for whatever they could get, but today he was scolded by the grocer when he tried to buy something. He knew the gesture the man used immediately, but couldn’t understand why he wanted him to be quiet, nor why he shooed him away with a fist full of vons, ready to pay.

It was then that he noticed everyone else in the market was quiet. All he could hear was the occasional cough and the rustling of bags opening for items to be deposited inside. No one spoke, no one wore loud shoes, no children played and shrieked. It was silent.

He was stunned for a moment. He chided himself for not noticing that the people were taking part in a day of solemn silence. Two months out of Arvarikor and he had forgotten to be careful, to listen and pay attention.

Then, he smiled. The people were with him. Every person who refused to speak was still mourning the loss of his family. He blinked a few times and lightly cleared his throat before continuing his walk through the market.

It was meager. Even two days ago when a harvest had come in, it was still so paltry compared to where it should be. Baskets were empty and anything too expensive gathered dust.

He continued walking into the market until the silence was broken by a very loud “sir!”. Along with everyone else, Caudin looked over at the man excitedly waving. Not just waving in general, but waving him over. A few fellow merchants hissed at him, but he completely ignored them, continuing to beckon him to his stall.

Caudin saw immediately the man sold books. There were stacks in piles behind him, some even propping up the piece of wood he used as a counter. He had one open in front of him.

He hesitated. The old man was a fool by going against custom, yelling cheerfully for him. Likely, he was just a very desperate merchant who didn’t care whom he irritated. He moved to walk away, not wanting to be associated with him, when the old man jumped over his counter, held up a book, and said, “Sir, I have the title for you! A romance with a happy ending! It’s called Sweet Rose.”

Caudin froze, then slowly turned to look at the man. He held the book aloft in his chubby hand, next to a head of wild, white hair that stuck out in every direction. By his girth and his red, blossomed nose he could tell that the troubles of the city hadn’t affected him like so many others. A healthy, well-fed man selling books in a poor market who knew the last code word his father had given him before the Coup had happened.

And he just so happened to look like an older Jemerie.

He walked over to the stall and quietly said, “Is there some other place we could speak?” The man smiled and beckoned him, leaving his merchandise behind.

They walked in silence for several blocks, Caudin trying to remember what part of the city this was. Debruste, he decided, which had comprised of several neighborhoods that had housed merchants and bankers. Most of the homes looked abandoned, or were very unkempt, with broken windows and stitched together canvas bags used as dividers instead of doors. The man took out his keys and unlocked his untouched door, holding it open for Caudin to walk inside.

“Tanvin! Go mind the books!” he yelled. A young boy just nudging into adolescence ran down the stairs and left without complaint.

“You have a well-behaved grandson,” Caudin said.

“No, I have a grandson spoiling to not study. Come, sit down. Chavet? Dear, could you make some tea for me and my friend…?”

Since this man hadn’t introduced himself or acknowledged who he suspected Caudin was, he felt it was fair only to play along. “Quin Sesault,” he said.

“Quin, yes. If you could also get the sweets, too, Chavet.”

A young face, a few years younger than Tanvin, poked around the corner. “The…sweets?”

“Yes, Chavet.”

“Really?” she squeaked, her eyes widening as she studied Caudin.

“Yes, really.”

She beamed as she took off, running up the stairs. Caudin sat on a davenport and smirked. It seemed pageantry was just as alive in the hearts of romantics as well as those who employed trirecs.

He took a moment to study the room. It was a parlor just off the main hallway, filled to the brim with books. Many of them had the distinct green-gray color of alley novels. This place was not wanting; though it might be a bit dusty, it was decorated nicely and there didn’t seem to be any stains or tears in any of the furniture.

The man sat in an armchair next to him and he took the opportunity to thank him for the invitation. “The pleasure is all mine,” he said. “What brings you to Eri Ranvel?”

“Who says I haven’t been here for a while?”

“You still have the smell of horse on you. Not unpleasantly, just enough where a fine nose could detect it.”

“Why is someone with a fine nose selling books? Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, tasting cheeses instead?”

The man smiled. “Yes, once upon a time I did just such a thing. But, nowadays gourmet cheeses are hard to come by and aren’t produced as they once were. I had to take up selling books to cover the costs.”

“And you seem to be doing well at that.”

“Not particularly. I’ve picked up writing as well.”

“Writing books? That pays well?”

“If you write the right kind of book, people will skip meals to afford them and sleep to read them.”

“Hmm,” Caudin said, his suspicions mounting. He heard the thumping steps of Chavet come down the stairs, then stop as she entered the room with as much grace as a gangly older girl could muster. Her hand shook as she placed a tray of sweets on the coffee table in front of the two men. She curtseyed, then said, “Tea will be ready shortly, Grandfather.”

“Thank you, Chavet,” her grandfather said. “Do you have children?”

“No.”

“You are married, though? I see you have a ring on your finger.”

“I am, newly married. She was really the main reason why I returned to Eri Ranvel.”

“I see,” he said, dropping his smile. “May I offer you a sweet?” he said, gesturing to the plate his granddaughter had left. “Please, pick your favorite treat and enjoy.”

Caudin looked down and immediately saw what the game was about. On the serving tray were several varieties of chocolates, candies, and confections famous in Arvonne and around Noh Amair. Off to one side was a bonbon with a dripped star at the top, a chocolate-covered frayed almond. This had been a favorite of his as a child and Jemerie knew that quite well since he had snuck in boxes of it through Belisant, his butler. He wiggled his fingers above the platter, then plucked the bright orange kiic candy and popped it in his mouth.

He could almost hear the sound of disappointment in the man’s throat.

“This takes me back,” Caudin said, sucking on the treat. “I had a friend when I was little, fiance really, named Mayasena. She was the princess of Kinto, did you know? She used to bring me these all the time when she visited me here in the palace. Of course, you wanted me to pick the chocolates you used to get me, but you did say I should pick my favorite. I’m sorry to have to break it to you all these years later, but Maya won that round.”

The man’s mouth was open.

“Now, if you want to continue playing games with me, Jemerie, we’ll be here for a while. Maybe you can hold three flowers up and I’ll have to pick the day lily, since it was my mother’s favorite, but I’ll actually pick another flower because it reminds me of my wife. Or maybe you’ll ask which one of your alley novels is my favorite. Easy answer: none of them.” While he had been a bit peevish up ’til that point, he was now serious. “How dare you exploit my family’s deaths by writing insipid romance novels?”

“Your Maj- Highness, I didn’t mean any harm. I was only trying to put the word out that there were people here supporting you. I had hoped you would read one and realize you should come home, that we had a system in place to take everything back.”

“You realize I hadn’t read a single one of those books until this year, and only because a dear friend of mine loved him. He’s a smart man, but no accounting for taste. He thinks Caudet is the best wine ever created.”

“Surely my books aren’t as bad as Caudet…”

Caudin smiled and sat back as Chavet returned with the tea. He took a few sips and waited for her to leave, though he suspected she was hovering just around the corner. “If everything is in place, why haven’t you propped up one of my cousins as a figurehead and retaken the throne?”

“It’s not quite that simple, Your Highness.”

“We can drop the honorifics, Principal, since neither of us have anything but our blood. Tell me what I’m walking into.”

“There is a group of us former principals and dukes who have survived the culling that happened in the years after the Coup. We meet yearly, or more frequently, depending. Of those, there is a rather large and stubborn percentage who refuse to accept anyone but an Alscaine. I consider myself one of those,” he said proudly.

“Why would you assume I was alive?”

Jemerie hoisted himself out of the armchair and walked over to one of the bookcases. He plucked a thin, leather-bound tome out and carefully shook out a letter, which he handed to Caudin.

“J-, I have C-. We are with I-. and headed to AK. in W-. C-. is safe and unharmed, but I-. is badly injured. I will write again once we have made contact with A-. at his home. I hope this letter finds you healthy and safe. We will resume with step four when it is safe. B-.”

“I never got the second letter, but I hoped that something had happened to the courier and not the writer.”

Caudin leaned forward on his knees. “King Anistro died before we could make it to Akau Vria. We were in Walpi for some time, after Ikiyel died of gangrene. I don’t know if he ever wrote you a second letter or what happened to it if he did.”

“What happened?”

“Quite frankly, I’m at a great disadvantage right now. I have no idea who to trust.” He met Jemerie’s gaze sharply. “If I say what happened, I will only say it once and then it will not be repeated ever. Ever. You’re not writing some stupid romance book that makes me look like a goofy idiot; it wouldn’t fit anyway.”

“Belisant and your father trusted me enough to be in on the escape. Isn’t that enough?” he asked, nervously.

“I’d rather you had the trust from someone else.”

“Yes, your wife,” he grasped. “You said you were here for her. I suppose she nudged you here not just because you wanted to show her your home. She wants this, too, I bet. She wants you to live your destiny. Perhaps you could bring her over? I would like to meet the woman who made you a king.”

Caudin closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. The tension drained from his shoulders. That was the final piece of his dream, the words he had been waiting to hear from his friend. “All right,” he said, opening his eyes. “I’d like you to meet my three companions, actually.”

“Excellent!” Jemerie said, clapping twice. “Great! I’ll invite three of my closest confidantes and we’ll have a little soiree tonight. Nice and even. I’ll get you the address.”

“Great,” Caudin said, suddenly feeling tired. “And I’ll make sure my friend doesn’t bring Caudet.”