Rolling his eyes, Armannii gave Diomedes an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. But we’re checking that tavern out later.”
Diomedes could hear the pub—could even smell it—before he laid eyes on the tattered old building. The frame of the pub rested, and evidently relied, on a tree trunk to hold it up, at least on one side. A few people stood outside the doorway, some of them humming a melody out of key and out of sync. They leaned on one another, and one of them—a stout man with a bushy beard—cracked up in laughter at something the man next to him had said.
Whatever it was, Diomedes hadn’t heard it, and he turned his nose up as he passed them. They barely registered his presence. The handle to the door was sticky, and Diomedes wiped his hand on his trousers as it shut with a bang.
Several people stood by the bar counter, caught up in idle conversation; however, the majority of the customers crowded around a table where two men sat opposite each other. The two men grasped each other’s hands, and their muscles strained as they fought to slam their opponent’s hand onto the table. Diomedes did not recognize the burly bald man with his back to him, though he did note the tattoo of a pixie whispering in the man’s ear. It was a bold tattoo to wear with a war on magic still raging.
Unlike pixie man, his competitor did not have tree trunks for arms. That didn’t seem to matter. The onlookers cheered when the young man with glinting silver eyes gained several inches on the bald man. Diomedes stepped closer but stayed in the shadows. He wanted to avoid being a distraction to the silver-eyed man. Diomedes knew he was hiding pointed elf ears beneath his knitted hat.
A smirk crossed the elf’s lips. His reflective eyes locked on his opponent’s, but neither of their hands moved.
“Do you give up yet, mate?” the elf taunted, wiggling his eyebrows.
Sweat formed on the back of the bald man’s head, and though Diomedes couldn’t see his face, he had a feeling he was gritting his teeth because his neck muscles bulged. The elf’s opponent did not respond but braced himself by gripping the underside of the table with his other hand. He gained a bit of ground, but the elf’s smug smile never wavered.
“I could go all day.”
“Shut up,” the bald man said, spitting to the side.
Diomedes crossed his arms over his chest, tilting his chin up as he waited for the match to be over. He knew the elf was extending it, that he could end it whenever he pleased. Diomedes had seen him win on many occasions and enjoyed watching the largest of opponents walk away in shameful defeat.
“Finished yet?” the elf taunted again, inclining his head to the side.
The bald man grunted, still grasping the table as if it would save his dignity.
Diomedes stepped forward and pushed his way to the front of the crowd. As soon as the elf caught track of his movement and his silver eyes found him, Diomedes nodded toward the door. The council meeting had soured Diomedes’s mood, and while the arm wrestling match was entertaining, Diomedes desired to rant to someone who would understand better than his sister had.
“All right then,” the elf said, turning his focus back to the match. “I’m bored.” With a grin from ear to ear, the elf smashed his opponent’s hand down and stood up. “Your wager?” He rolled out his shoulder and held out his hand.
The bald man jumped to his feet, slamming his hands on the table. “Rematch. Double or nothing.”
Still smiling, the elf shook his head. He was at least a foot taller than his opponent, but the bald man was built like a bull, and he was snarling like one too. Unfazed, the elf wiggled his fingers. “As entertaining as that would be, I’ve had my fun. Your coin purse, sir.”
The man with the pixie tattoo tensed his shoulders, but they relaxed in a second. His hand went to the side of his belt, where the coin purse dangled, but it didn’t stop there. Instead, the bald man pulled out a dagger and aimed it at the elf’s face.
“You will give me a rematch,” he said in a low voice.
The elf raised both hands up, but before he could say anything, Diomedes had already placed his own knife against the bald man’s neck. The people surrounding them spoke in hushed voices. No doubt some of them recognized him, but none of their comments reached Diomedes’s ear.
“He said he was finished.” Diomedes kept his voice low. “I suggest you pay him and keep what little dignity you have left, sir.”
The bald man dropped his dagger with a grunt, and Diomedes watched his hands carefully as they went back to his waist to free the coin purse from the belt. He tossed it onto the table, and the elf snatched it up with a chuckle.
“Maybe next time,” the elf said, winking as he sauntered toward the door.
Diomedes held the knife against the bald man’s neck until the elf was in the doorway, then he took a step back and disappeared in the silent crowd before the man could turn around.
Compulsively, Diomedes checked behind them to make sure they were not being followed after they left the pub. The men outside didn’t even acknowledge them, most likely because half of them were now passed out on the forest floor.
“The trick’s in the hand placement,” the elf said from where he leaned against a tree trunk. “Get the upper hand, get the win. You’re late, Didi.”
Diomedes rolled his eyes, but his lips cracked into a smile. “I didn’t get out in time. Got sucked into one of the pointless argument matches my father calls council meetings.” They began walking away from the pub, side by side. The elf, Armannii Ovair, jingled his winnings in one hand before tossing the coin purse into the air and catching it with catlike reflexes.
“So I take it you didn’t end the war today then?”
Though he knew it was only a joke, Diomedes still glowered at the ground. “They’re all incompetent. Every single one of them.”
Armannii shrugged. “You’ll get your time. So what do you want to do with the rest of the day?”
“Well—”
“I heard from someone in the pub that there’s a new—”
“Market.” Diomedes pulled out his coin purse and tossed it to Armannii.
“No, I was going to say there’s a new tavern east of—”
“I want to go to the market,” Diomedes said, catching the coin purse when Armannii threw it back.
Rolling his eyes, Armannii gave Diomedes an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. But we’re checking that tavern out later.”
“I’ll give you five silver for it,” Diomedes said, a smirk on his lips as he crossed his arms over his chest. After half an hour walking down one of the many market streets in the lower town of Cyanthia, Diomedes could feel the thrill of haggling spreading through his veins. It tingled, and it made it hard to keep a straight face.
“No, no, no,” the merchant, a young man with a heavy foreign accent, said as he shook his head. “It’s worth so much more. Very valuable. Yes. It’s made from precious metals not found in Phildeterre. Two gold at least. Two gold.”
Diomedes raised an eyebrow as he glanced at the canteen. It shone in the light of the sun, which fell in slitted rays through the patched canvas covering the merchant’s stall.
“Precious metal, huh?” Diomedes said, nudging Armannii, who was clearly struggling to keep a straight face too. “You sure?” He nodded down the street. “Pretty sure we just saw the same canteen a few stalls down.” He hoped the man would take him at his word since he’d just spoken a lie. And since elves couldn’t lie without their eyes shifting from silver to gold, Armannii was not going to be much help in persuading the merchant that his canteen was not as special as he was making it out to be.
“No, no, no. This is quite impossible. One of a kind. But since you seem like a wise man, I will drop the price. Just for you. Not for anyone else. What about it? One gold piece and five silver. It’s a deal, no?”
Pressing his lips together, Diomedes frowned. Inside, though, he was giddy. He loved the dance, the back-and-forth. It excited him the same way it had when he’d been young and his father brought back gifts from his trips around the country.
“Sorry, I’ll give you five for it, but that’s it.” Diomedes raised his shoulders and dropped them.
The merchant, who already had wrinkles forming on his forehead despite his apparent young age, contorted his face in a way that almost made Diomedes think the poor man was in physical pain.
“Sir, you hurt me with that offer. It is too small. Too small. But I will forgive you. I can see you’re determined. How about one gold? Just one. Then this rare item is yours.”
“Five. Silver. Pieces.” Diomedes enunciated each word. “Or I walk.”
“No, no, no. One gold piece. Please, sir. Just one. And then—”
“Let’s go,” Diomedes said, nodding to Armannii, who had a grin peeking out. But his smile disappeared in the same second Diomedes’s did because the merchant reached out and grasped Diomedes’s wrist.
“Fine. Fine. Five silver pieces,” the merchant said, his voice rushed. After a terrifying glare from Diomedes, the man let go and shoved the canteen into Diomedes’s open hand.
Diomedes handed it to Armannii, who held it while Diomedes pulled out his coin purse. He counted out five silver pieces from the pouch, throwing in an extra one to see if the man noticed. It was almost tradition to pay a little bit more than was agreed while haggling, a way to appreciate the merchants for their banter.
The merchant did notice, and when he tried to hand it back, Diomedes shook his head.
“Keep it,” Diomedes said as he tied his coin purse back to his belt.
After they had traveled farther down the street, Diomedes refused when Armannii tried to hand him back the canteen.
“What, you don’t want to keep your prize?” Armannii asked, turning it over in his hands.
“Nah,” Diomedes said, his attention drawn away by the items laid out for sale in each stall. The colorful clothing of different regions didn’t catch his eye as much as the various pens and weapons, especially the knives. He’d accumulated quite a few back at the castle, and the coin purse on his hip was telling him to add to his collection.
“Ah, I understand. I’ll add it to the ‘bought it just for the thrill’ pile.” Armannii put it in his bag, something Diomedes had not thought to bring with him.
“I’m helping the economy,” Diomedes said, spotting a knife that was as long as his pointer finger. But before he could take a step toward the stall, Armannii pulled him toward an alley. “What are you doing?” Diomedes hissed.
Armannii pointed toward two guards striding down the street toward them. It didn’t come as a surprise. There were plenty of royal guards patrolling the market.
“They’re going to make an arrest,” Armannii whispered, and before Diomedes could ask how he knew, the guards passed the entrance to the alley where the two of them were hiding and went straight to the merchant’s stall they had just left.
The taller of the two guards pulled the merchant, who was frantically speaking in a foreign language Diomedes didn’t recognize, into the middle of the street. The merchant dropped to his knees and was pleading with the guards, his hands gripped tight together.
Diomedes was too far from the stall to hear what the man was being charged with because the guards were not shouting like the merchant. But Armannii, with his impeccable elf hearing, broke down what was happening.
“Some lady claims he sold her a necklace with a rune on it. They’re going to take him in for a trial, and—what are you doing?” Armannii didn’t grab Diomedes fast enough.
Stomping into the street, Diomedes approached the guard nearest him. “Tell me the meaning of this,” he demanded.
It took a second for the guards to recognize him, but when they did, they saluted.
“Your Highness, we . . . well, we were informed that this man is breaking the law by selling items with runes on them.” The taller guard cleared his throat after he finished speaking, glancing at his comrade, who nodded in agreement.
Their commotion had drawn a crowd, and Diomedes glanced back to see that Armannii had disappeared amidst the people. Probably for the best.
“Where is your evidence?” Diomedes asked, placing his hands on his hips. He blocked out the whispering happening around him. It was clear from the woman’s accusation that there were still some misguided commonfolk who believed the lie that magic was evil and corrupt. Surely there were people on both sides of the war standing amongst the onlookers.
“There’s a necklace, but it—well, we don’t have it,” the tall guard answered again, his brow dipping as he frowned.
Diomedes glanced down at the merchant, who looked up at him with wide eyes. He doubted the man had known he was the crown prince; they were in a part of the lower town Diomedes did not frequent as often. Most of the merchants he’d interacted with that did recognize him did not let him get away with a steal as much as this man had.
“Then leave him be until you have your evidence,” Diomedes said, raising his chin to stare both guards down.
“Your Highness, I beg your pardon, but—”
“Did I misspeak?” Diomedes asked, taking a step toward the guard. “This man”—he pointed down at the merchant—“is to go free until you bring forth your evidence. Clear?”
“Yes, Your Highness.” Both guards saluted, clicking their heels together.
“All right, now go back to whatever you were doing,” Diomedes said, raising his voice loud enough for the crowd to hear.
The crowd dispersed in seconds, although many people cast glances over their shoulders to get one last glimpse of the crown prince.
Diomedes helped the merchant to his feet, nodding his head over and over again as the man thanked him with tears in his eyes. He tried to shove a few items into Diomedes’s hands, but Diomedes refused them. The guards still stood nearby, watching with jaded expressions on their faces. Diomedes saluted to them just to acknowledge that he saw them.
“You need to pack up and leave. Don’t come back to Cyanthia for a while,” Diomedes said in a hushed voice, making sure his back was to everyone but the merchant. “Understand?”
“Yes, Your Highness. Thank you, Your Highness,” the man said, bobbing his head up and down. His expression blanked, and he took a step back, his focus shifting to something behind Diomedes.
One of the guards had reapproached the stall, and he saluted when Diomedes turned around.
“Your Highness, you shouldn’t be out here unaccompanied. If you’d like, we could stay with you and—”
“That’s unnecessary,” Diomedes said, sighing when he scanned the busy street. With Armannii gone, the market lost its appeal. “I’ll be heading back to the castle now.”
“We’ll accompany you.”
“Wonderful,” Diomedes muttered.