The Blooming Bazaar

The next morning came heavy.
Not with rain or fog, but with the mood left over from last night. The card still burned in the back of Tia’s mind, though it was hidden safely away. She didn’t sleep much, and judging by the dark smudges under everyone else’s eyes, neither did they.

Breakfast at the inn’s long wooden table started in silence. The only sounds were spoons against bowls, the scrape of chairs, the muted bustle of other travelers around them. Tia toyed with her food, tracing the rim of the bowl instead of eating. She half expected someone to make a joke, maybe even herself – but no one dared.

Finally Balthan’s voice broke the quiet.
“From now on, we’re done playing loose,” he said. “No wandering off, no showing off, and absolutely no card. We move in pairs at minimum. You step out of line, and we risk the whole city coming down on us.”

Tia winced at the sharpness in his tone. He wasn’t wrong, but he didn’t have to sound like her teacher.
“Yeah, I get it,” she muttered. “Keep the mysterious god-brand tucked away. Promise.”

Balthan gave her a long look, as if weighing whether to believe her.

Rika leaned back in her chair and stretched, breaking the tension. “Well, good to know we’re all officially broke and grounded. What’s next, then? Because unless the innkeeper takes promises and paranoia as payment, we’re out of coin in, oh, three meals. Seems like five people and a Sska’veth isn’t little to feed.”

Vesh adjusted his frills, his voice even but grim. “She’s right. We’ve enough left for today, maybe tomorrow, no more. Food, rooms, tools… it adds up. We need revenue.”

Corin, who’d been trying to look serious but mostly looked sleepy, perked up with a crooked grin. “Don’t suppose we can just magic ourselves a pile of gold?”

“That’s not how it works,” Vesh and Rika said at the same time, then glared at each other for the unison.

Corin shrugged. “Hey, worth a shot.”

Balthan turned his gaze to Tia, his brow furrowed. “Speaking of spending… how much did you two pay for those new trinkets? Hats, wand, book.”

Tia blinked, then realized he meant their magical items. “Oh. Uh. Nothing?”

“Nothing?”

“Yeah, Mystikos just gave them to us.” She tried to sound casual, though she felt the others’ stares pressing into her. “Said we were his apprentices now, so… perks, I guess. He kinda insisted.”

Vesh’s brow furrowed further, suspicion sharpening his tone. “That’s generous. Too generous. Are you sure he won’t sell you out the moment the soldiers knock on his door?”

Tia snorted. “Mystikos? Please. The guy’s a walking accident with robes. He’s harmless. More likely to spill soup on himself than spill secrets.”

Corin chimed in eagerly. “He’s not a schemer. He’s just… lonely, maybe. Teaching us is probably the most fun he’s had in years.”

Rika raised a brow, arms crossed. “Lonely wizards are the ones who summon demons by mistake. Don’t tell me you’ve never heard those stories.”

Corin paled slightly. “…Okay, fair, but still.”

Balthan exhaled slowly, clearly dissatisfied but not willing to argue more. “Fine. Keep your ‘teacher.’ But the rest of us will keep our eyes open. That man owes us nothing.”

The silence threatened to return, until Rika leaned forward, tapping the table. “So. Work. Money. What’s the plan?”

Vesh spoke first. “The markets. Rika and I can scout the trading stalls, perhaps make a few flips. Small goods, easy profit.”

Balthan grunted. “Corin, you’ll go with them. And I’ll take Tia. Floral market.”

Tia perked up at that. “Floral market?”

“For trade,” Balthan said. His voice was stern but softer than before. “And to know the place. You’d be surprised what you can learn in flower stalls – roots run deeper than petals show.”

“Poetic,” Tia said with a lopsided grin. “Didn’t know you had that in you.”

He ignored her.

The plan settled, they gathered their things. Tia reached for her card, only for Balthan to stop her with a sharp look. “Not today. We’re not drawing attention. Leave it up in our room.”

She rolled her eyes but complied.

By the time they stepped out of the inn, Ssarradon was alive with morning. Narrow streets bustled with scaled figures of all sizes, hawkers called out prices in sharp, rolling tones, carts rattled over stone. The air was thick with spice, smoke, and the tang of river-wet scales.

The group parted ways at the crossroads. Vesh, Rika, and Corin headed toward the open markets, voices already blending with the crowd. Balthan and Tia veered down another street, where the scent of earth and blossoms grew stronger with each step.

Tia breathed it in. Better than the inn’s stale air. “Well,” she said, grinning up at Balthan, “at least if we go broke, we can eat flowers.”

“Stay close,” he muttered, scanning the crowd. “The market draws all kinds. And keep your ears open – sometimes flowers hide thorns.”

Tia snickered. “You’re full of those today.”

The floral market opened up like another world.

They turned a corner, climbed a short stairway of carved stone, and the city seemed to fall away behind them. The terrace spread broad and sunlit, every inch alive with color. Stalls lined in neat rows spilled over with greenery: trays of seedlings, bundles of roots tied in twine, racks of clay pots where blossoms unfurled in bursts of red, yellow, and deep purple. Tia leaned down to smell one particularly beautiful, too sweet, cloying enough to make her stomach twist, as if the flower itself wanted to be noticed.
Awning cloths stretched wide overhead, dyed in pale greens and golds, casting the whole place in dappled shade that smelled of wet earth and sweet floral wonder.

“The Blooming Bazaar,” Balthan said in his usual mythic tone. “Some call it the Rooted Fountains, others the Glass Gardens.”

Between the stalls ran narrow channels of water, trickling over inlaid stones, feeding little fountains that hissed and sparkled in the sunlight. In the trickle of water channels, Tia noticed dark roots snaking along the stones, like veins under skin. The air was warm, damp – almost tropical – and thick with the mingled perfumes of spice blooms, medicinal shrubs, and soil still clinging to roots.

And at the center of it all, towering like some jewel of glass and iron, stood the conservatory. A great dome and its attached wings gleamed under the sun, every pane reflecting hard light until it was almost blinding. Even from a distance, Tia felt the weight of the heat rolling off it, a greenhouse so massive it seemed to hold a second summer and sun inside.

She whistled low. “Now this is a market. Beats stale bread and dried meat.”

“Eyes open,” Balthan muttered beside her. “This isn’t just flowers. Every stall here’s information if you know how to listen.”

To keep up appearances, he paused at a booth where cuttings of a climbing vine dangled from hooks. He pointed casually. “Bindroot. Stronger than rope once it takes hold. Hunters use it to tie kills.”

They moved on. A woman behind a counter was selling pale bulbs with curling tendrils. Balthan tapped one with a knuckle. “Brew it into tea, calms nerves. Too much, though, and you don’t wake for a day.”

Tia leaned close, wrinkling her nose at the earthy tang. “So basically sleeping pills. Great. Put me down for two barrels.”

Balthan gave her a look. She smirked back.

They walked slowly, weaving between stalls, and for a time it almost felt normal – a morning of learning plants and making idle jokes. But then, as they passed under a striped awning, Tia caught a murmur that froze her steps.

“…blank mark, they’re saying…” a merchant whispered to a customer, head bent low.

Balthan’s hand closed around her shoulder before she could turn. His voice was low, steady. “Eyes forward. Keep moving.”

She obeyed, but her ears pricked. Another stall, two men in plain tunics leaning over a tray of herbs:

“…ritual gone wrong, I heard…”
“…glowed, they said –” the man’s eyes flicked past her, just for a second. Too quick to mean anything. Too sharp to mean nothing.

Her pulse quickened. They didn’t look at her, not directly, but every mention of those words felt sharp, dangerous.

Balthan slowed near a stall shaded by a faded green awning. Clay pots lined the counter, each brimming with short, thick-stemmed plants whose leaves shimmered faintly with a waxy sheen. Small bundles of dried roots hung overhead, their earthy smell cutting through the sweeter perfumes of flowers nearby.

He picked one up, turning it in his broad hand. “Silverleaf,” he murmured, mostly for Tia’s benefit. “Keeps cuts clean, speeds healing. Good for the road. But only if it’s fresh.”

The stall keeper, a broad-shouldered lizardman with scales dulled by dust, leaned in eagerly. “Fresh as they come. Picked this morning from riverside plots. Fine stock, see the veins?” He tapped one leaf with a blunt claw.

Balthan grunted, unconvinced. “Half-wilted. A day old at least.” He set the pot back down with deliberate care.

The merchant clutched at his heart. “Wilted? You wound me, sir. This is quality – look, take three and I’ll cut the price.”

“Two,” Balthan said flatly.

“Four, and I’ll throw in a bundle of dried roots for free.”

“Two,” Balthan repeated, crossing his arms.

Tia hid a grin behind her hand. She’d never seen someone haggle by saying less, but somehow Balthan made every word land like a hammer.

The stall keeper wavered, then sighed and held up two claws. “Fine. Two. But you’ll come back for the roots when your cuts fester.”

Balthan slid coin across the counter, scooping up the two pots with a curt nod. “They won’t.”

The transaction seemed done, but the merchant, chatty now that the deal was struck, leaned on the counter as though sharing a secret. “Busy day, eh? Folks restless. You hear the talk? About that mark?”

Balthan stiffened almost imperceptibly, the pots still in his hands, now in fear of being strangled. “Mark?”

“Blank mark,” the trader said, lowering his voice. “No job written in, just glowing. Bad omen, some say. Botched ritual, others swear. But glowing white? That’s divine business, and divine business means trouble.” He chuckled dryly, shaking his head. “Wouldn’t want to be the poor soul walking around with that painted on their skin. Sooner or later, soldiers’ll sniff it out.”

Tia’s chest tightened.

Balthan didn’t reply. He turned on his heel, heavy steps carrying him back into the crowd. “I wouldn’t believe plain rumors, we’re done here,” he said, his voice flat and final.

Just when they got a bit away from him Tia swallowed. “They’re everywhere. They’re all talking about it.”

“Which is why we’re leaving,” Balthan growled.

They threaded between stalls, the scents of honey and damp soil suddenly too thick, too heavy. Tia tried to calm her racing thoughts – only to stiffen again.

Across the way, just beyond the spray of a fountain, the hooded figure lingered. Same height, same way of standing too still among the drifting colors. Her head was tilted just enough that Tia could feel those eyes on her.

When their gazes met, the figure turned sharply.

Tia’s breath caught. She tugged at Balthan’s sleeve. “They’re here again,” but he was already scanning the way ahead, jaw set. He hadn’t seen. She had.
And the figure was gone.