Chapter 16: Food and Fashion

Ayla Rúth Harya

Those of us who follow the Old Way will not eat meat nor eggs. It has always been a sign of our adherence to non-violence. For me, I think, it is like holding on to the last strand of a fraying rope, praying that no matter how hard the world pulls, it will not snap. I must confess that mine has nearly snapped many times.

The market is full of the sickly sweet smells of cooking meat. I have not eaten as well as I did in the enclave for weeks, rationing food like a jay during a famine. There have been times when even the boiling fat of whatever lizard or wild desert quail Jace hunted smelled appetizing. I know this is because my body has been lacking in calories and fat. It still makes me sick that my body would crave death.

I am a hypocrite. Have I not killed before to survive? Have I not recently killed Reavers and a darkling out of rage and thirst for vengeance? Mine is a fraying rope indeed.

Between all the scents that sickens me, one catches my attention and holds it fast. I am so drawn to it, than when Jace grabs my hand to guide me forward and through the crowded street, I do not think to complain—he is pulling me closer to the scent.

“You can smell it, can’t you?” Jace asks, snapping me out of my hungry delirium.

“Is that cheese?” I cannot help myself. My mouth waters. It has been so long since I’ve had cheese. Despite our efforts, we couldn’t acquire milking animals to raise in the desert, but I haven’t forgotten the scent. I remember that smell.

There is a line of humans we must wait behind before we are able to purchase a dish Jace calls “pizza,” which he says will spoil me for all other food ever. As I watch others walk away from the food stall carrying their pie-like slices of melted cheese, I wonder if he might be right.

Finally, he pays the funny man in a white outfit—how one can cook and keep such an outfit clean is a mystery to me—and we walk toward a nearby bench that has just become available and sit to eat.

Jace wasn’t wrong. Pizza is…amazing. The gooey melted cheese, the perfect blend of tomato sauce, garlic, and baked, slightly charred bread.

“You don’t have to cry.” Jace talks with his mouth full, open mouth huffing to cool the extra large steaming bite in his mouth.

I wipe away a tear I didn’t know was there. Who cares? I close my eyes and enjoy this little slice of heaven.

“Oy! Fancy running into you all here!” The irritating sound of the bubbly orange-haired girl shatters my reverie.

I open my eyes and Renn is there, gobbling up the last of her own slice of divine cheese pizza. She wipes her greasy hands on a handkerchief she then stuffs in a backpocket of her breeches.

“Hello Renn.” Jace sounds unbothered by Renn’s presence, which irritates me further. “Out for a stroll about town?”

“Something like that.” Renn looks at me and winks. Why does she wink? It isn’t like we share a secret. Who does this insufferable girl think she is? “I’m glad I ran into you, though. I noticed you parked at the Golden Pony. Excellent choice!” She touches her index finger to thumb to form a circle, the other three fingers extended straight.

Jace finishes his own pizza and I realize that I’ve finished mine as well. He wipes his hands and lips with his handkerchief, folds it neatly, and offers it to me with a small smile. I take it and do the same, though I’m not sure how to copy his neat folds and, thankfully, he takes it back before I can look the fool.

“You guys aren’t done eating, I hope.” Renn puts her fists on her hips. “Because I know all the best eateries around. Just name a dish, any dish at all, and I can find the tastiest place that makes it.”

What possesses me to answer, I don’t know. Out of spite, and not expecting her to even know what it is, I say: “Rice curry and naan.”

Instead of staring at me blank-faced, asking what it is, or pretending to know despite ignorance, she taps a finger to her chin and surprises me. “That’s an elvish dish, isn’t it? Hmmm…there’s only one place I can think of that has something like that. C’mon. I know the owner so I’m sure he can get us a seat.”

Jace gently pushes up on my jaw so I close my mouth. There isn’t even room in my mind to complain. I get up and we follow Renn.

The restaurant isn’t in the market. Rather, it is a few streets down where it is significantly less busy. As we turn onto a narrower, cobblestone street lined with smaller shops and something Jace calls ‘cafés,’ the bustling noise of the market fades into the background.

The restaurant itself is nestled between an artisan's workshop and a bookstore. Its exterior is inviting, with large, arched windows framed by dark wooden shutters and hanging flower baskets brimming with colorful blooms. A modest sign above the entrance reads “Rare Delights” in elegant script, accompanied by a small depiction of an oak leaf.

Despite the relative quiet of the street, the restaurant appears fairly full. Through the windows, I can see patrons seated at wooden tables adorned with simple yet elegant white linens and flickering candle centerpieces.

Renn guides us inside, says a few words to the person at the front, then, while we wait, she lets herself into the back, returning with a short fat man in a greasy apron. Renn introduces him as Bordain, the cook and owner. At first, I think he might be a dwarf, but he is just a short human. One with a net over his graying black hair, and peg leg. He takes a look at us, then nods approvingly. “A’right Renn. Bring ‘em on back. We’ll set up a table in the yard fer y’all. Mind you don’t feed the chickens. Makes ‘em think they own ya, yer table, and yer food.”

There’s no one in the yard. It’s surprisingly spacious, surrounded on all sides by buildings, but with enough space that a corner is reserved for a pen to keep the cattle. Free roaming chickens and a rooster stare at us with hungry sharp eyes, and I resolve to follow the cook’s advice and avoid feeding them.

We don’t wait long for the food. Jace answers Renn’s slew of questions about his adventures with a mix of ambiguity and specificity depending on the subject. As always, he avoids the subject of the war and anything to do with killing, but has no problems sharing his strategies for surviving the Waste, and details about what the remaining towns and cities in the west are like.

“Valenheim—” he says, “is like Tempest, only ten or twenty times bigger, and with the pervasive stink in the air of technomancers’ arcane workings as they try to soak up all the magic they can before the rift takes it all. You’re not missing much.”

I’m only vaguely aware of other details of the conversation, which begins to shift to the subject of Renn and her father’s business in the basin.

The only thing that occupies my mind is the bittersweet promise of food from home; and the dread that I will be disappointed.

It doesn’t take long for the cook to return, deftly carrying plates and water glasses for each of us on his tray. He laughs heartily when he sets everything before us. “It’s been a while since anyone’s asked for elvish cuisine.” He thrusts a thumb in Renn’s direction then winks at her. “This one was the last. But I’ll be honest. This is one of my personal favorite dishes. Please enjoy.”

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My hand shakes when I try my first bite, the familiar smell promising what I hope will be—and it is. It is just as it should be. I can taste all the spices; the things we couldn’t even get in Verdanveil. try to hold back the weeping. I don’t want to give myself away in front of this stupid little girl. But I can no longer, in good conscience, think of her that way. She has given me a taste of home—of my true home, the Tyrna. Something I thought I would never taste again.

When I finish and finally look up, Renn is studying me thoughtfully, with just a hint of more intensity than I feel comfortable with. Just as Jace said, her eyes are surprisingly keen. Not the eyes of a little girl at all, but seemingly much older. I can’t help but wonder what her true intentions are? Why has she singled us out? What does she have to gain by befriending us?

The moment passes and she grins girlishly, as if nothing is amiss. “Wow! You must really love that dish!” Then she turns to Jace. “Never seen someone get that way about food. Hey, what do you guys say about letting me give you a tour of Tempest? I know the best places for everything. I practically grew up here, ya know.”

“Are you trying to butter me up so we join your expedition?” I can tell Jace is only half joking.

Renn taps her nose. “And what if I am?”

Jace offers her a crooked smile. Perhaps he is spot on. “We need new travel clothes. Preferably somewhere that can provide protective wards and other enchantments woven into the fabric, or repair the ones we have. Ayla’s cloak has temperature control but it’s wearing out.”

“Easy,” Renn says.

When we arrived at the store, I didn’t expect it to turn into a fashion show. Renn insists that it is necessary. She insists so hard and with such genuine good nature that even Jace capitulates and is bullied into going first.

At first he tries on a variety of plain and practical clothes. Solid color shirts with multiple boring leather vests with a varying number of pockets.

Renn declares it is unacceptable, and retreats with both the poor old woman who runs the shop and Jace to the back of the store while I am left to wait on a bench for them to return. I feel a pang of jealousy when she grabs his arm and pulls him away. I crush this feeling ruthlessly.

When they return, my eyes widen, and I slap my hand over my mouth to stifle the laugh that tries to explode from inside me. Jace is wearing heart-shaped sunglasses, a red shirt patterned with hearts, a pink-dyed vest, a matching pink hat, and tight black trousers. The funniest feature of the outfit, however, is his mortified scowl.

“How…?” I mean to ask “how did she convince you to wear that?” But just opening my mouth to speak runs the danger of releasing my undignified laughter.

Jace is not amused. He glares at the old shopkeeper. “Why would you even have this kind of thing in stock? Who buys clothes like this?”

“You’d be surprised what young people like to take into the bedroom these days.” She replies. Then the old shopkeep winks at me and my smile turns to scowl mirroring Jace. “Fashion is an ever evolving animal.”

Hands on hips, Renn declares victory. “Yes it is, isn’t it.” Renn offers me a knowing smile. I hadn’t realized how sad I’d been since eating the curry until now. Had Jace and her conspired to cheer me up?

“That’s enough.” Jace growls. “I’m going to change.”

Ultimately, he chooses a brown leather duster, several plain solid-colored shirts, and a brown vest with multiple pockets—not unlike his previous one—along with several pairs of sturdy jeans. Also, he buys fresh boots that are also very similar to his old ones.

Renn decides to take a turn modeling, choosing several dresses that I have to admit she looks good in, and I once again have to squash my jealousy when she comes out in dresses with a low neckline and Jace pays her compliments. She doesn’t buy anything, though, saying she has too many outfits already.

Then it is my turn. I surprise myself by not refusing. I almost forget myself and let Renn into the changing room with me, before I catch myself. I can’t let her see the long ears underneath my headwrap. At some point, I’d become much too comfortable with this human. I check myself for any hints of charming magic that might be affecting me. I find nothing.

Renn doesn’t make a thing out of my disallowing her to enter the changing room, even if she looks a bit disappointed. Even so, she does bully me as effectively as she did Jace, and I turn beet red when I stand before Jace in several elegant gowns. I have not worn clothes this nice in a long time.

The way Jace’s eyes linger on me makes my heart race, and nothing I tell myself can make it stop. My favorite dress is modest and deep green, with flowing vine-like lace along the sleeves and neckline. It is impractical for travel, but I can’t help wishing there was an occasion to wear it. When was the last time I had occasion to wear something beautiful and elegant, rather something meant for work, practicality, and running away.

Ultimately, all the garments I choose are clothes for practicality, with pockets and belts to hold ammunition. They are similar to Jace’s style, but tailored to better fit my form and not hinder my mobility.

The shopkeeper tries to sell me cloaks to replace the one Jace gave me, but I refuse. She will repair it, the enchantments, and add a camouflaging feature.

Jace leaves a list of enchantments he wants the shopkeeper to have sewn in. And though she can’t promise the success of all of them, she agrees to try her best with the materials at hand. I don’t know much about the value of money in the human realm, but I can tell that the prices she gives for our order is exorbitant. Jace doesn’t bat a lash when his heavy bag of coin becomes a big pile on the counter that leaves it significantly lighter. He promises to pay the rest upon delivery.

Before we leave, Renn places a silver brooch on the counter. Its design is that of a crescent moon encompassing a sun over an oak tree. The craftsmanship is extraordinary. “I saw your girl eyeing this, Jace. You’re going to buy it for her.” Renn is lying, of course. I I have never seen it before. That said, I cannot deny its beauty, nor how nostalgic the design makes me feel. Jace takes a look at me. I’m able to keep a straight face this time. It is indeed beautiful, but I am confused and I know spending more coin on such paltry things is impractical.

I open my mouth to express the needlessness of such an unnecessary purchase. But Jace digs into his pouch and sets another small pile of coins in front of the shopkeeper, and I find I want the brooch too much to refuse. “Enchant this one with the strongest defensive charm you can muster.”

I look up at Renn. She winks at me. Despite my efforts, I blush once more.

When we finally leave the shop, wearing fresh, clean clothes, it is almost night time, the streets illuminated by their strange, flame-less light posts.

“You should probably call it a day in terms of shopping.” Renn says. “Instead you should visit the theater and watch the play. Just tell the guy at the ticket booth that Renn sent you and you won’t have to pay anything.”

“What are you, the mayor of Tempest?” Jace asks. It isn’t a serious question, but Renn’s face twists into an ugly scowl. It is the first time her expression has been anything but bubbly and carefree.

“Please don’t. I don’t want to even think of being in the same category of person as Prospero.”

Jace nods. “Aye.” Then her scowl vanishes and she is her good-humored self again, and gives Jace directions to the theater.

“I’ll be off then. Find me tomorrow at the inn, ‘kay?” Renn waves us goodbye. Then folds her hands behind her back and leans forward. “Just so you know, you passed the audition.”

Before Jace or I can ask her what she means, she skips away, turns a corner, and is gone. I almost miss her cheerful presence. Then I remind myself she is human. “You think we can trust her?”

Jace tilts his head. “I don’t know. She’s definitely eager to hire us as escorts for her company’s caravan.”

“Why?” I ask. Jace meets my eyes and offers a crooked smile. Then I remember who I’m talking to. Images of Jace raining lead and death on Sandsharks, Reavers, and even Marcus and the others flash to the forefront of my mind. I can’t help but shiver. “Never mind.”

Jace’s lips purse as he considers something. “There’s definitely something unusual about that girl, though I don’t sense she means any harm; only time will tell.”

“Should we really be considering taking her job offer seriously?”

“They’re definitely knowledgeable about the region. Traveling with her company for a while might prove useful.”

We start walking down the street, night falling slowly but surely. I could tell Jace was lost in thought about something. But then, so was I as I replayed the day’s events.

Then I felt Jace’s gaze on me, his eyes twinkling in the dim light. “So, Ayla. Do you like plays?”

My eyes narrow and I glare at him. “What are your intentions, Jace?”

He shrugs. “A quiet, contemplative evening with my wife.”Jace groans when I punch him as hard as I can in the side. I smile, satisfied with this reaction.

“Sure thing, husband.”