Page 36 of The Turncoat King
The stores managers and free traders kept to the back of the Rising Wave column, out of the way, and she made her way through the tents toward them.
In the weeks she had been with them, Ava had made connections with the traders on the Venyatux side, but she hadn’t seen any wool or knitting needles among their wares.
Then again, she hadn’t been looking. Perhaps she just hadn’t noticed.
Raelene assured her she could find supplies on the Rising Wave side.
When she reached the traders’ area, she found she was far from the only one looking to buy or trade this late at night.
The tents had crowds in front of them, and quite a few people were from the Venyatux column.
There was obviously an interest in seeing what new items were available. And probably a fair crowd from the Rising Wave were over on the Venyatux side, too.
While she stood, looking for the most likely stall for what she needed, she felt the sudden, quick flare of warning from the working embroidered into her cloak.
She turned slowly, trying to find where the ill-feeling was coming from, but it was difficult to see over the crowds, and she was hemmed in.
“What’re you looking for?” A girl tugged at her cloak.
Ava turned sharply to look, but there was no danger from this direction. The girl was about fourteen, slender, with huge eyes in a narrow face.
“I want to knit,” Ava told her.
“We have what you need. The best yarn.”
Ava followed her around the back of a small tent which had a sizeable crowd in front of it.
“How come I get special treatment?” she asked.
“Because I saw you earlier. You’re the Commander’s lady, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” She hadn’t thought about this. That her relationship with Luc would elevate her in the eyes of those in the Rising Wave.
“We honor the Commander’s lady. It will be our pleasure.” She gave a cheeky grin before she slid between the flaps at the back of the tent, then stuck a delicate hand out and waved Ava in.
Inside was gloomy, lit only by a single lantern, but the smell in the air . . . it was of lanolin and the earthy, almost musty scent of vegetable dyes.
Pieces of fabric were folded and stacked on top of each other, the colors mostly plain—black, cream or gray.
The wool, on the other hand, was in baskets, rolled into balls of every hue. Greens, blues, reds and browns.
Ava crouched down to touch them, scrunching them in her fist, delighted by the squishy feel of them.
This tactile heaven was something she’d never even thought of, all those months in a cell, hiding her needle and thread.
“What’s your name?” she asked the girl, who was hovering over her shoulder.
“Lettie.”
“Lettie, what’s your softest wool? The type that feels the best against the skin.” She turned to look up at the girl, saw her worrying her lower lip.
“Some are a little bit scratchy, but this one always feels good. I’ve never had anything made from it though. Mother says it’s too expensive.” She held out a plain cream hank. “It’s made from the goats up near the Skäddar border, in the Venyatux mountains. But then, you’re from there, aren’t you.” Her face fell. “You probably already have this yarn. It’s probably not special to you at all.”
Ava took it, rubbed it between her fingers. It sang to her, the texture, the feel. She lifted it to her cheek and brushed it against her skin.
“No. I don’t have any.” She held it closer to the lantern. “It’s not dyed.”
“It’s even more expensive if it’s dyed, so we just got the undyed type. And we haven’t been able to sell it yet.”
