The Seedbearing Prince: Part I by DaVaun Sanders Read Free Book Online

the Sweetwater King is,”
Dayn said. He was not so addled over the girls as Joam, but still
intended to enjoy seeing the new faces. Shardian villages with the
best harvest received honors from the Misthaven Trader’s Circle on
Evensong, and Wia Wells had long been overlooked. “I have to make
sure there’s a dance or two saved for the rest of us common
farmers.”
    Joam twirled through a staff form as though
to remind the entire village of Sweetwater. The King's Circlet, of
all things! Only the most brazen fighter would even think of using
it. He offered Dayn a magnanimous smile. “I'll do my best.”
    The offworlder booths beckoned to Dayn. The
two began wading into the festival, but a slender girl with a sulky
mouth planted herself directly in their path. She wore a blue
garland too, but neither of them were glad to see it.
    “Happy Evensong, Milede,” Dayn said.
    Milede Kaynerin wore a scarlet dress, and her
twin black braids shone with fresh beeswax. She stood directly
beneath a hanging cluster of purple maidenvine, but Dayn would not
steal a kiss from the Elder's daughter if she were the last girl on
Shard.
    She jabbed a finger into Dayn's chest so hard
her bracelets clinked together. “You two better not be pestering
every girl in sight. We’re to show our best manners, especially you , Dayn!” She abruptly stalked off, leaving Dayn and Joam
with their mouths hanging open.
    “She's just salty over not being the
prettiest girl at festival for a change,” Joam said with a smirk.
“But she’s right, you know. The Elders won’t be happy if you—”
    Dayn shook his head. “Give up on talking me
out of it, alright? For all the Elders know, there’s a pair of
ridgecats sneaking around Southforte. They won’t believe a little
boy, but they will listen to me at least.”
    “But the Elders are all—you know, forget it.
Do what you want, I’m through helping you see sense.”
    “Catch me up after you find your kin,” Dayn
said. “I want to see the offworlders first.”
    “They probably can't even stand up straight
on our ground,” Joam said with a grin. “Sit with us at the
storytelling. And remember―you owe me an ember-eye, courser!”
    “I will,” Dayn said, giving him a shove. Joam
laughed as he moved away into the throng.
    Dayn turned back to the traders, looking for
Elders as he went. Several booths displayed the woven baskets,
wreathes and furniture fashioned from the endless redbranch
surrounding Wia Wells. Southforte traders bellowed over the quality
of the goods they made from the tough plants growing in their
swamps. Their rope earned a passing glance, but Dayn would never
wear clothes so coarse and itchy. Most people agreed, judging from
the frustration apparent on the Southforte folk's faces.
    Woodworkers from Misthaven curried the most
attention. Many a farmer surrounded those booths, bartering
vigorously for new staffs of Highland silverpine. Milchamah stood
there, but Dayn ducked away before the weaponmaster saw him.
    “Dayn Ro'Halan! Tell me that is not you!”
    Dayn winced at the displeasure in his
mother’s voice. He turned to approach her booth reluctantly as a
goodwife moved away, clutching a painting of a single homestead
perched on a field of tall, golden grain.
    “Do you need my help, mother?” Dayn
asked.
    “No, but it looks like you need mine,”
Hanalene replied. She wore a flowing blue dress of some crushed
fabric Dayn did not recognize, and her dark hair arranged in a
multitude of braids. Honey-colored eyes took in Dayn and read his
face as readily as one of her palettes. “Sparring with Joam, again?
In the festival clothes I set aside for you?”
    Dayn gave a sheepish shrug. “No. He thought
to best me in bounding.”
    “You surely set him straight,” she observed.
She spread her arms expectantly, and Dayn returned her firm hug.
Her own smellgoods mixed with the pleasing scent of dawnlily from
her white garland. “At least you smell fine enough to give