Peduviel's markets woke earlier than the rest of the city.
By the time Aya and Nana reached the lower streets, the stalls were already alive with color and sound. Cloth merchants hung long ribbons of silk across their awnings, the fabric catching the morning light in shades of gold, emerald, and deep crimson. Bakers shouted cheerfully over one another while setting out trays of honey cakes and spiced breads, their warmth drifting through the narrow streets in clouds of sweet steam.
The air was alive with voices.
Music from a nearby corner drifted lazily through the market square where a trio of musicians had already begun playing for the morning crowd.
Aya walked beside Nana with her cloak loosely draped over her shoulders, the hood pushed back so the sun warmed her hair. She wore no circlet, no mantle of state - only the simple silver-blue of the North worked into a lighter traveling gown.
People still noticed her.
Of course they did.
