“Stop talking,” Griffin says to Kace, then adds to a snickering Zander, “Both of you.”
“So,” Aurora says with a roll of her eyes. “Where are you all from?”
“An outlying village on the Cascadonian border,” Tristan answers in a clipped tone, clearly unreceptive to any follow up questions.
“Oh, okay.” Aurora’s eyes round in surprise. “What brings you to Seboia?”
“To broker trade deals,” Lena says, throwing a scowl at Tristan.
“What are you trading?” Griffin asks.
“Leather.”
Griffin and I share a confused look.
“In Cascadonia?” Griffin asks, his brows pinched.
Differing shades of wariness pass over the foreigners’ faces as they all nod their heads.
Cascadonia is known for our leather. We make everything from clothing to armor with it. Besides a repair shop, no other kingdom even has leathersmiths. Due to laraks only being found in the Cursed Woods, and no other kingdom having quick access to the forest, nor the animal, no one even attempts to compete with us. No other creature can produce such a high-quality product. This isn't just common knowledge; it's ingrained within all citizens of Vanyimar. For someone to come to Cascadonia, to Seboia in particular, to trade leather, is not only laughable, but mildly offensive.
“That's nice,” Aurora says as if it's anything but. “Are you leathersmiths yourself?”
Lena shakes her head. “I'm just brokering deals, and they're escorting me. My uncle’s the leathersmith.”
“Smart,” Kace says with a thoughtful bob of his head. “Twice as many coppers sending a pretty face.”
Griffin glowers at Kace, but he ignores him as he places his elbow on the table and rests his chin in his palm, watching Zander with the same adoring smile he gave Lena moments ago.
“I'm sorry to stare, but you’re a very handsome male.”
“Thank you,” Zander replies with a smug smirk, flipping his silky blonde hair over his shoulder.
“The ladies at the brothel would just eat you up. Have you been?”
“Not yet. We just arrived.”
Kace sucks in a breath, staring at him like he just admitted to murdering a litter of puppies. “That's no excuse.” He nods to himself. “We’ll head there on our way out.”
“Aww, how welcoming!” Zander's eyes light up, and he leans over the table to peer at Lena with a smile that stretches his cheeks from ear to ear. “Look, Lena. I've found my very own escort to the brothel.”
“Kindred souls, I see,” she replies with a fond smile.
Kace continues to worship Zander while he chats with Lena, but then the adoration suddenly dims in his eyes, the corner of his lips turning down into a frown.
“Your jewels are different. Handsome,” Kace reassures him with a tight smile, “but different from other shifters.” Kace leans in closer to Zander and squints up at the two copper jewels beneath the Shifter immortal’s eyebrows, his gaze narrowing even further when it veers to the lone starlight jewels near the outer corner of each eye. “That’s strange,” he mumbles, but as he says this, I now see that Zander’s not the only one who seems strange.
Tristan seems normal enough. A human with cropped black hair, ivory skin, and dark brown eyes. The only characteristic that may seem abnormal is the silver swirling scar covering the entirety of one cheek. But scars are common enough, even if this one is shaped oddly. But whereas Tristan is human and Zander is clearly an immortal shifter, even with his strange jewels, Amara is an enigma. With chin length brown hair, whiskey-colored eyes, and tan skin that’s long lost the suppleness of youth, common for a human woman in her early to mid-thirties, everything about her screams she's human. All but for the singular starlight jewel near her left eye.
Baffled, I lean back in my chair, searching and finding several peculiarities.
Amara and Lena are wearing trousers when, with my sister being the exception to the rule, females rarely wear anything besides dresses. I would normally shrug this off. I'm sure there are plenty of women and females outside Cascadonia who prefer trousers over dresses, but they wear fighting leathers similar to what our guards wear. Females aren't guards and they're certainly not warriors, but their attire suggests otherwise.
Zander, Tristan, and Amara also have the same lilting accent that Lena possesses; one I’ve never encountered before, even on my vast travels throughout the continent. And although both Tristan and Amara seem human and unassuming, that appears intentional. A distraction from the almost deadly air surrounding them, surrounding all of them. Their clothing, accent, and demeanor all point in the direction of them being hired mercenaries or warriors. But that can't be, since after The Battle of Brecca, no kingdom would allow a human to enter into such a violent profession.
“What are you?” Kace asks, his eyes darting from one person to the next.
“Kace!” Aurora hisses through clenched teeth.
“What? It's an honest question!”
“It's rude,” she scolds, even as she swivels to face their group once again, silently waiting for their response.
Unsure if their behavior is comical or embarrassing, I shove the thought aside and instead return my gaze to Lena, searching for the colored jewels that signify her most dominant immortal Gift. But as I look at the spot near the outer corner of her eye where the jewels we’re born with are placed, I'm shocked to find nothing.
She's human.
I'm completely dumbfounded to find not one jewel. How can that be? How can she not have any? Humans aren’t this attractive. Not even an immortal. It’s simply not possible that she’s human.
I narrow my eyes, searching for a jewel hidden somewhere, but all I find are small, dot-shaped scars, only a shade darker than her skin tone, the markings staggering across both eyelids, all the way to her hairline and partially beneath her brows. Scanning her from head to toe, I notice they begin again at her shoulders, loop around her arms, and eventually disappear beneath her leather vambraces. I don’t see more markings past that, but I imagine more are hidden beneath her clothing.
“Your jewels, or lack thereof, are nothing I've ever encountered before,” Kace notes shrewdly, gesturing towards their group with a wave of his hand.
As if choreographed beforehand, their entire party's features clear of all emotion and they slowly straighten in their seats, hardly blinking as they stare at Kace.
“Is that the mark of a lesser god?” Kace asks Amara, reaching out to touch her starlight jewel.
She scowls at the offending appendage and smacks it away. “Lesser gods?”
