Bloodline Plant Lord: Rise of the World Sovereign

The lamps were already bobbing between the stall boats when Ren reached the water steps.

He stopped near the top to look for Lyra and Iris. Below him, broad steps descended between terraces crowded with awnings and customers. The worn middle of the stair remained clear, though people lingered at either side to finish their food. Light spilled from the stalls onto the stone. A pan hissed somewhere below, and a bell rang twice over the voices.

Lyra spotted him and waved. Iris stood beside her, looking toward the far side of the market, where another set of terraces climbed above the boats.

”You’re late,” Iris said when he reached them.

”I’m on time.”

”For here. I had us eating by now.” She caught his hand and led him toward the stalls. ”Come on.”

— • —

Lyra chose a stall at the far end of the second terrace, a low counter with a griddle behind it. The man tending it turned a row of skewers without looking up.

”Three,” she said, setting coins on the counter.

Ren reached for his own money, but she was already handing him a skewer. The pieces on it were dark red and glossy. He expected something sweet.

The first bite was sour enough to make him squint. Then he tasted the smoke and salt. Beneath the browned surface, it was soft as cooked root; he took another bite before asking what it was.

”Well?” Lyra said.

”I need another one.”

”You haven’t finished that one.”

”I’m going to.”

Iris finished hers while Lyra was still eating. Lyra offered Ren the last piece from her skewer, and he took it before going back to the counter. The stallholder saw him coming and turned another skewer onto the hotter part of the griddle.

They wandered while he ate. One stall sold cords in more thicknesses and colors than Ren could find uses for. At another, two children argued over which painted lamp to buy while their father held the money. Iris waited for Ren to finish, then steered them down toward the water.

— • —

The game occupied a stretch of the lowest terrace. A rope marked the throwing line, and beyond it a dozen small floats drifted in a shallow enclosure, each carrying an upright peg. A woman stood beside a tray of painted rings. Their rims were weighted, and Ren turned one in his hand before putting it back.

”Three rings each,” Iris said. ”Most pegs wins. Loser buys dessert.”

”You’ve played this before.”

”Several times.”

”And you’re only telling me now?”

”You had the whole walk down to ask.”

Lyra stepped aside with a clear view of both of them. ”I’ll keep score.”

Iris paid for two sets. Ren took his place at the rope and watched the floats separate, turn and drift together again. They were close enough that reaching them needed little effort. He chose a peg moving away from the others and threw.

The ring flew flat. As it fell, the float turned sideways in the current. The ring struck its rim beside the peg and dropped into the water.

Iris stepped up beside him. She waited through the same turn, then sent her ring in a higher arc. It settled around the peg.

Ren looked from her to the water.

”The lamps,” she said. ”Watch the little ones coming past the corner.”

A floating lamp slipped between two boats outside the enclosure. As it passed the corner, the nearer targets began to turn. Ren watched another follow it, then selected a float farther out.

His second ring reached it at the right moment, but clipped the peg as it tilted and spun away. Iris waited longer before throwing hers. It caught, and Lyra held up two fingers.

On his last throw, Ren followed a target through its turn and released as it straightened. The ring dropped over the peg and stayed.

”There,” he said.

”Unfortunately,” Iris said, picking up her last ring, ”you only bought three.”

She landed that one too.

”Three to one,” the stallholder announced. She reached into a box beneath the counter and gave Iris a small painted float, the prize for a perfect round.

Iris turned it over once, then held it out to Ren.

”Proof I won.”

He took it and slipped it into his coat pocket.

”She did warn you, Ren,” Kaia said privately.

Lyra was laughing. Ren looked up the terraces for the dessert stall.

— • —

The fried dough came in paper twists, three pieces to each, with honey running into the folds and a little salt scattered over the top. Ren paid for three portions. Only one was ready; the vendor was lowering another batch into the oil.

He handed the first twist to Iris.

”I’ll get us a seat,” she said. ”Bring the others up when they’re ready.”

She took a narrow stair between two stalls. Lyra stayed beside Ren at the counter, catching his sleeve when someone carrying a tray squeezed past them.

”Does she always win?” he asked.

”At that stall? Often enough that I stopped buying rings.”

”You might have mentioned that.”

”And miss this?”

He glanced toward the stairs. Iris had disappeared above the awnings.

”Where’s she taking us?”

”A ledge above the market. She showed me while you were away.” Lyra kept hold of his sleeve. ”You can sit down up there without someone asking whether you’ve finished eating.”

”That sounds worth a dessert.”

”It’s the dessert you lost, Ren.”

”I remember.”

The vendor lifted the basket. While the dough drained, Lyra leaned against Ren’s arm and watched the honey being poured.

”I found a contract,” she said.

”What sort?”

”A lake survey. I’ll tell you upstairs.” She looked up at him. ”Iris has already heard me talk through all three choices. She wants to hear me choose one.”

Ren collected the warm paper twists, and they followed her up.

— • —

The ledge lay above the highest terrace, behind a low stone wall worn smooth along its top. Iris had found room for them on the broad capstone. She moved aside as Ren approached, leaving him a place between them.

From there he could see the market spread below in tiers, the boats rocking against their moorings and the lamps traveling slowly through the gaps. The vendors’ calls reached them, but he could hear Lyra without leaning close.

”I come up here when it gets crowded,” Iris said.

”How did you find it?”

”Followed someone carrying a chair. I thought there might be more stalls.” She took another bite. ”There was a man fixing his awning.”

Lyra accepted her portion from Ren. They ate while a boatman below used a pole to free a lamp caught against a mooring rope.

When Lyra had finished her first piece, Iris nudged her knee with the back of her hand.

”Tell him.”

”There’s a survey contract,” Lyra said. ”Guild-listed. A shallow inland lake system, three sites. Plant cover, what feeds on it, and whether it’s changing as the water drops. They want a team of four, including someone responsible for keeping the collected growth alive.”

”You want to lead it?” Ren asked.

”Yes.” She folded down the sticky edge of her paper. ”I kept coming back to that one. The other two have their teams already arranged. This one needs somebody to put the team together and work out the visits.”

”Who are you asking?”

”I haven’t decided. I want someone who knows the water, for a start. The listing calls it shallow, but that doesn’t tell me what the bottom’s like.”

”And someone who’ll carry the jars,” Iris said.

”Everyone can carry jars.”

”You should put that in the offer.”

Lyra looked at Ren. ”I want to run it. Pick the people, make the decisions, see whether I’m any good at it.” ℴℴ𝘮

”When do applications close?”

”I have time to speak to a few people first.”

”Tell me when you’ve chosen them.”

”I will.”

She took another piece of dough, and Ren turned to Iris.

— • —

”Holt asked me to help plan an exercise,” she said.

Ren remembered the professor checking his name on the attendance sheet when he had finally turned up for a lecture.

”For your class?”

”First-years. Twelve of them, crossing the training ridge at night. Holt supervises. I get to give them a problem.”

”Only one?” Lyra asked.

”He was very specific.”

Iris brushed a few grains of salt from her fingers.

”The bridge has a posted load limit. I want to give them more equipment than they can take across together. They’ll have to split it up.”

”And if they don’t read the sign?” Ren asked.

”The supervisor stops them at the bridge, and they take the long route. With everything they packed.”

Lyra laughed. ”You’ve already worked out how much to give them.”

”Almost. I need Holt to approve it.”

”Does the sign count as your hidden problem?”

”It’s only hidden if nobody looks at it.”

Ren could imagine Iris standing at the far end while twelve students argued over whose pack ought to go first. He reached for his last piece of dough and found Iris watching it.

”You’ve finished yours.”

”Yes.”

He broke it in half and handed her a piece.

— • —

They stayed on the wall as the busiest stretch of the evening passed. Lyra pointed out a boat leaving with so many baskets tied along its sides that Ren had mistaken it for a stall. Iris knew which vendor owned it. They watched it clear the moorings with barely room to spare.

After a while, Iris said, ”I missed hearing from you.”

She was looking down at the water.

”I missed you both,” Ren said.

Lyra rested her head against his shoulder. On his other side, Iris let her knee rest against his. He stayed between them while the boat’s stern lamp moved out beyond the market lights.

”How was the inquiry?” Iris asked.

”They took the original and gave me a receipt. They’re following up with the carrier now.”

”Will you have to go back?”

”They might need another identification, or have more questions. They’ll send word.”

She nodded and ate the piece he had given her.

His slate had been quiet all evening. It was within reach if it sounded; he left it in his coat.

Below them, the skewer stallholder began scraping his griddle. Ren watched him sweep the scraps into a bucket, then turned as Lyra lifted her head.

”Ready?”

He gathered the empty papers while Iris slid off the wall.

— • —

By the time they reached the narrow stair, vendors were drawing in their awnings. Along the water, long poles hooked the floating lamps and lifted them back onto the boats, leaving dark stretches between the moorings.

Lyra went down first, with Iris behind her and Ren carrying the papers. At the bottom, he dropped them into a vendor’s waste basket. Iris waited on the last step.

”Next one’s yours,” she said.

”Next what?”

”Evening. You plan it.”

Ren looked at Lyra. She slipped her arm through his and waited for his answer.

”All right.”

”You don’t have anything planned, do you?” Iris asked.

”Not yet.”

”Good. You have until I get hungry again.”

She stepped down beside him, and the three of them started up the water steps. The little painted float tapped against his slate as they walked.