The merchant quarter beyond the Silk Gate woke early and argued all day. Hawkers shouted the virtues of saffron and river pearls, tailors' apprentices darted between carriages with pins in their mouths, and the smell of roasting chestnuts drifted over it all like a rumor nobody could resist.
Jolthar walked through it with the expression of a man dragged to his own execution and only now noticing the weather was pleasant.
They were out in the streets for shopping; Andrion insisted that they buy clothes.
"Robes," Jolthar said, eyeing a tailor's window full of embroidered sleeves.
"For a banquet I did not ask to attend. I walked into the Dreadland Depths with less complaint.
Is it really necessary what I wear? Regardless of what I wear, they only look at what I have done."
"The Depths did not send you an invitation sealed by the Emperor," Milan said, stepping around a puddle with the care of a prince who had never once been splashed.
