Goddess Liv Savell (best autobiographies to read .TXT) 📖

“I’m not all that tired,” she murmured, the yellow paint across her eyes making her black lashes look all the thicker as she covertly glanced towards the perimeter of their camp and the walls of Gwynhafan beyond. She looked mischievous, sharp-eyed. Beautiful.

“What are you saying?”He knew he was going to say yes before she answered his question.

“We could go into Gwynhafan. Look around. You know...” She shrugged. “Find the temple of Esha, learn the layout… It would be almost entirely tactical.”

A slow smile was creeping over Etienne’s face. “Of course. It would only aid the mission…”

His chest twinged a little in guilt at the idea of leaving Delyth, but she had warded her tent, and she was more than capable of taking care of herself. Besides, they didn’t have to be gone long…

He stood and offered Meirin a hand. “And if we just so happened to see some of the city along the way, even better.”

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The walk into the city was a short one; the moon barely moved in the sky as Etienne and Meirin made their way past the gates and into the sprawling streets of Gwynhafan. The city was bustling with life even after the sun had set. The buildings had torches burning that illuminated their streets and doorways. It was so bright, when Meirin glanced up at the sky, she could hardly make out the stars. There were tanneries and butchers and blacksmiths. Apothecaries and seamstresses…Cursed Realms, there was just about a shop for everything!

“In Mynydd, the smith does all the metalwork,” Meirin explained as they paused to make way for a large group of people, standing by a shop proclaimed to be a jeweler. “There would be no need for them to learn only how to work silvers and golds.”

The cluster of people walking past was loud and boisterous, laughing and gesturing emphatically. She loved them for it. The population was predominantly dark-skinned, but there were the coppery tones of her own lineage, fair-skinned people like Delyth, and even the occasional islander, though they were far and few between. Meirin did note there were no winged people, and there was not a single person as devoid of color as Etienne. Tomorrow, he and Delyth would undoubtedly stand out.

Not that it mattered now.

Meirin started to follow after the laughing group, reaching back to catch Etienne’s hand and tugging him along. The group was composed mostly of young folk, their own age.

“Look how they dress! I haven’t seen a single set of furs and pelts yet. Of course, these are the lowlands, so their winters would be gentler, but still…” She loved the mixture of colors and patterns these Gwynhafans wore. “Where do you think they are going?”

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“Wherever it is, it smells amazing,” Etienne said, grinning. He took in a deep breath that carried with it the aromas of smoke and spices along with the less pleasant undercurrent of so many people living so close. “Let’s follow them and find out.”

Etienne squeezed Meirin’s hand and let her pull him after the group of young people through narrow, seemingly unplanned city streets that careened past buildings of every description. There was something chaotic about Gwynhafan that he had never felt in the ordered grid of Dailion. Something a little wild.

Something that reminded him of Meirin.

She was wide-eyed and grinning when they swept through the last of the tight streets and into a wide, open market lit by paper lanterns in every hue. The smells of pastry and spices were stronger here, their sources easily discernible in the bright signs of taverns—doorways clustered with old men sucking on pipes, others bending over games of chance set up on small tables beneath tavern windows. In the center of the square, two musicians played between stalls of food vendors, one plucking a long-necked lute, the other drumming a cheerful rhythm.

The group Meirin had followed was disappearing into a tavern, its sign boasting a pair of people dancing, and all around them, more throngs of people gathered, as brightly colored as wildflowers. Nearby, a man stood behind a cart, dipping ruby apples in a thick, dark liquid that dripped and stretched from the fruit.

“What do you want to see first?” Etienne asked, a little breathless.

“Do you have any money?” Etienne didn’t have much, not after all the supplies he had bought since leaving Dailion, but it didn’t seem to matter. Meirin only hesitated a moment before digging into her pockets.“Here.” She dropped a few copper pieces into his hand, and smiled broadly. “I’ll go buy one of those, and you find something, and we’ll share.”

Before Etienne could agree or disagree with her plan, Meirin cut through the passersby and began talking with the apple seller. He smiled as the pretty warrior approached, and she had him laughing in a matter of seconds.

Etienne stood stunned for a moment, watching Meirin throw her head back, her braids ribboning out behind her. Then he shook himself and set off to find the source of the spices he was smelling. His nose took him halfway across the square before he found the right place.

The woman working the stall eyed the thin, pale stranger at first but warmed considerably when he showed her his coins. For one of them, she gave him two of the thick pastries she was making, each filled with a mixture of nuts and dates and rich spices. Just the aroma was enough to bring a big, goofy grin to his ordinarily serious countenance, and he went racing off back across the square to find Meirin so that he might share his newfound treasure with her.

“Hey, look what I found,” he said when he reached her, cutting off the stranger she was talking to more out of enthusiasm than any real rudeness and dropping a hot pastry into her hands.

Meirin looked a bit chagrined as she caught the pastry, her mouth full of the