your carriage ride won’t be cheap, and neither will the inn or dinner—”
“I just want some new clothes since your crazy aunt burned these.” Kira eyed a woman who strode by with a well-cut outfit of flowing hunter green, beige trimmings, and a close-fitting dark leather vest. “How much would I need for something like that?”
Ryon followed her gaze and nodded in approval. “We can get you something better than that.” He glanced down at his own leathers, which had stood up to the recent events pretty well, all things considered. He fingered the hole Kira’s arrow had ripped through his jerkin. “We can break for fifteen minutes at the tailor, but then we’re going straight to dinner. I’m starving.”
An hour and a half later, Kira sauntered out in a new Katrosi-style getup, its blue sashes complimenting her eyes.
“Please . . .” Ryon dramatized from a bench outside the tailor’s shop as if he was mortally wounded. “For the love of sanity . . . could we go and get some dinner before the tavern closes?” His eyebrows rose as he glanced down her new outfit.
Kira beamed and stretched, her hands landing on her hips. “It was so worth it.” She’d even bought a matching sash for holding back her hair, a sheath for her d’hakka stinger, and two bags full of Katrosi-style outfits she couldn’t resist. A few rupero remained but she had no idea how much they were worth.
Ryon growled and slipped his mask into his backpack as he stood. “I’m never going to a tailor with a woman again.”
Kira laughed and strutted past him as if she were a noble out for a stroll among the common folk. “You should have known better. I thought you had a sister.”
“I’m not stupid enough to go shopping with her. Take a left,” he harrumphed as they approached a rope bridge that angled up to a higher level of the treetop city. “Here, let me hold some of your bags before you fall over, Your Highness.”
Kira grinned and handed him the herb satchel from Yesha. “Why, thank you, kind sir.”
Ryon rolled his eyes and tied the satchel’s straps to his belt with unnecessary force.
As they ascended, Jadenvive’s buildings increased in size and aesthetics while they decreased in number. Many grew into two- and three-story houses, some with large wooden decks, and others with fruiting vines trailing down their walls. By the time Kira and Ryon arrived on a thick platform that curved around the peak of a gargantuan birch, the architecture was twice as elegant as the first level.
A row of inns and restaurants backed up to the tree while their fronts boasted vibrant hanging signs. One bore an intricate painting of a steaming bowl of soup and whiskered river fish. Another displayed an illustration of a pyramid and a pita. And the one Ryon steered toward had a different style altogether: it had the distinct Malaano roof design, where each corner turned upward.
Kira brightened as thunder rumbled closer. “What is this place?”
“Het’saya,” Ryon announced, watching her reaction. “On the first floor, it’s the best Malaano food in town. On the second floor, it’s an inn. Most of the Navakovrae visitors stay here.”
Kira gazed up at the tavern sign, where a dark-skinned girl held a basket full of rice. The name was etched with both languages, but she pieced together that het’saya meant “rice maiden” in Phoeran.
Her mouth watered. She’d had rice with almost every meal of her life, but she hadn’t had a single grain in something like a week. “If they really have rice . . .”
“Oh, they do.” Ryon reached for the handle of a door decorated with a mosaic of stained glass. “We can’t grow rice here, but they import it from Navakovrae lands. Expensive, but luckily I’ve just come into a small fortune.” He winked and held the door open for her.
Kira stepped through to a spacious interior, lit by a sprawling stone hearth and a collection of lanterns. Bottles and jars of every color stocked a bar on the left. An assortment of tables and chairs clustered about the room. On the right was a row of private booths, and to the back was a staircase that Kira assumed led up to the inn’s rooms on the second floor.
The patrons were Navakovrae as often as they were Katrosi, and the jovial atmosphere was contagious. Kira breathed in and almost cried for joy. It smelled like home.