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

Blayle
confided. His eyes rested on Laman’s staff a moment before he
turned back to minding a spit of lamb. “Important stuff, I’m sure.
Best not worry about it, we’ll see them soon enough.”
    Dayn thanked him and went his way. Maybe
the Elders already know. The thought lifted his spirits, but he
still wanted to be sure, so he looked for them in earnest as he
ate. The savory spices blended perfectly on his skewer, but the
flavor was lost on his tongue. He greeted Wia Wells friends, but
felt oddly alone, as though he bore some strange affliction. The
music and merriment grew steadily in the Wustl Square, but did not
warm him.
    “Just the lad I wanted to see!” Jairn the
gemcutter beckoned to Dayn from his booth. “I could use some new
moondrops, if you've brought any.”
    Dayn groaned. “I forgot my gems!” Trading was
the last thing on his mind after this morning. If he saw something
that took his fancy, haggling would prove to be a fine chore.
    “Ah, pity. Suppose you've been busy, with all
that's going on.” He looked away, hiding his disappointment. “Well,
it's a big night. Go enjoy it.”
    A tight-lipped smile reappeared under the
gemcutter’s white mustache as he turned back to two Misthaveners at
his booth. The couple eyed a fine emerald pendant, but loudly
questioned its quality. Jairn's teeth began to grind louder than
his polishing stones as Dayn moved on.
    Not five paces away, he spied the offworlder
booth and eagerly approached.
    Dayn picked up a chunk of gray rock, one of
the only items on display. He could see someone stirring in the
cart behind the booth. “Peace upon you, offworlder,” he called out.
“Is this a piece of torrent?”
    “Don't touch anything! I’m just getting set
up.” A balding man with a reddened face and sagging jowls labored
into sight and peered at Dayn. Sweat poured down the man's face and
stained his shirt, despite the perfect weather. Dayn set the rock
back where he found it, somewhat wounded.
    “Wait. You Shardians are all so blessed
polite.” He grinned apologetically. “Name’s Flareze, from Ista
Cham. First time to your world. I know why you’re so friendly. This
ground would wear you right down into your graves if you were to
fight among each other. How do you stand it? My feet can barely
lift my toenails.”
    “Feels like you’re standing up even when you
sit down?” Dayn asked, letting the trader's ill manners pass. He
remembered how Grahm once complained of the ground.
    “Exactly! Say, you look to be local, not
jumping over every twitch in the underbrush like the fellows who
brought me. Honestly, now. Is it... safe, here? I've heard
stories, you see.”
    “Of course it is,” Dayn said. He could
imagine the Misthaveners filling this offworlder's head with
nonsense. “Why wouldn’t it be?
    “My...travel companions whisper of a
monstrous chasm nearby? They say the land for miles around is
cursed, and this whole village might fall into it any day.”
    “Peace, no,” Dayn replied. Misthaven
superstition never failed to astound him. “My farm is closest to
the Dreadfall, and those cliffs won't budge until the Last Mist
rises. Trust me, I've seen―” He snapped his mouth shut. The entire
village would take turns skinning Dayn if they discovered how often
he explored there. “I mean, I've heard―”
    “Heard about this Dreadfall, yes.” Flareze
gave his nose a knowing tap, smiling at Dayn's slip. “Honest,
polite and the worst liars in the Belt. That is peace's own truth.
I could do quite well here. That rock is from the torrent, yes.
I'll do a special bargain for you.”
    It was said to count your rings after shaking
hands with an Ista Cham trader, and to count your rings and fingers besides if the trader walked away with a smile. Flareze was
already smiling. Dayn took a deep breath. “How about this? I’ll
help you unload the rest of your wares. At the rate you’re going,
everyone will be asleep before you finish.”
    A grimace cracked