it.”
I try not to let my disappointment show, left with no choice but to settle into our walk.
Curmana truly is another world. A wondrous, relaxing, beautiful world.
A group of tourists stretch themselves upon the sand, catching up on the latest parchments or tomes. Many wear giant hats and glasses to shade their eyes, while they cover their skin with loose pants and billowing tops. Curmanan workers in black linen use mind magic to float an assortment of goods around them, offering tourists food and drinks.
More tourists sit nestled comfortably beside a fire pit, while others in the distance relax upon flat cots, their bodies glistening as attendants massage oils into their skin and rest steaming stones upon their backs.
As relaxing as it may be, it’s difficult not to notice how quiet all of Curmana is. In a way it reminds me of when I first met Zale in her camp back on Zudoh. Only this silence isn’t made from fear. Because so many Curmanans use mind speak to communicate, the tourists have naturally followed their lead by keeping quiet. Even when they do speak aloud, their chatter is little more than a whisper.
“We could go in if you’d like,” Elias offers as he catches me admiring a beautiful stone hut with steam billowing from within. “It’s a building meant for meditation. It’s supposed to help detox your mind and soul. Some claim to even use it to try to communicate with the gods.”
I snort. “Like the gods would ever bother themselves with a human.”
He laughs. “We’ll pass on the steam room, then. No worries, there’s more to see.” Elias paves the way deeper into Curmana, steering us away from the docks.
My morning is spent being toted around while I’m forced to pretend my head isn’t pounding from the poison.
It’s not that my time with Elia is bad, but the more touristy destinations we visit, the more my thoughts wander to what a date here with Bastian might be like. If I let him show me around his home island, Zudoh, he’d never show me places meant for tourists. He’d show me the cavern he used to explore as a child, or the best vantage point on the island. And even if it took us two hours to reach, it would be worth it. He’d never show me the places anyone could find; he’d show me the places that held small pieces of his soul.
Even here on Curmana, I’m certain he’d have far more fascinating things to show me than a quaint lunch establishment I couldn’t eat at, or a journey through the various spas.
With Elias, I can’t help but wonder—where’s the fun on this island? Where’s the underbelly? The gossip and the secrets of the island that you have to dig through the surface to find?
Being with Bastian has spoiled me; anything less than that doesn’t even feel worth my time.
“That head of yours sure is up in those clouds,” Shanty whispers as she cranes her neck at the sky, squinting against the sun. “If we look hard enough, do you think we might be able to find it?”
Focus pulled back to the world around me, I roll my eyes despite her grin. “Ha ha, funny.”
A thicket of banana trees lies ahead in the distance, wildly overgrown with their large leaves hanging haphazardly. Beyond them, farther north, is a landscape so dense with flora that I can’t see even so much as a gap within it.
“Up there’s the marketplace,” Elias offers, following my gaze. “Most of the locals live out this way. We try our best to ensure the area by the water stays quiet to maintain the peace for the tourists. Many of the locals like to live farther out; they can be noisier, and the rules are less strict. It’s also closer to the marketplace, and any of the jobs that involve work in the jungle, like collecting herbs for Suntosan medicines.”
“And for poisons,” I grumble under my breath to Vataea, who straightens her shoulders and peers warily around us in response.
As the sand gives way to snaking roots and dead leaves that crunch beneath my boots, humble buildings take shape, marking what I know must be the edge of the market. At the base of it sits a small stone building decorated with moss and the leaves from hundreds of thick trees that loom over it. There’s a tiny painting of a teacup and billowing steam on a hanging wooden sign over the door.
“This is one of