While it didn't change much, it did seem that fewer eyes watched over them and that she could be around her mother without going stiff to the bone.
Her mother was never unreasonably cruel, and so whatever the reason, Salīa had come to accept that this was how things would be. Yet being a Queen and a mother of young children did demand a lot of her mother's time, so it was only natural Salīa would see less of her.
No matter, she'd always say to herself, I'll just have to find more ways to amuse myself.
That's how she found herself often threading through the villages and stretching to the neighboring ones between lessons.
Many travelers had made a home of Salazā, although they weren't quite like the Salazāhns. Most came from Palosa, where there were knights wearing leathered armor coated in glistening mail.
They traveled on eager horses with gleaming coats and golden inlays on their saddles. Some had brooches with its story of how it was awarded. These men were known to board at inns for a while.
They'd ride and ride until they found a home, usually with a Salazāhn woman. Or a man, often in secret, at least for a little while.
Magi Inio, a small, crease-skinned, and gentle man, was the magi of the Salazāhns royals who often warned Salīa to keep caution in befriending them.
They were watchers and whisperers, he claimed, they would only stay for as long as they were told. Yet some truly did stay and never went back.
Her mother was once visiting her sister with the twins and couldn't take Salīa since she had lessons to complete. When the master fell asleep, she snuck out in a hooded coat with a blade she'd sharpened vigorously.
She heard many stories of one who travels alone, even in her own land, but less so than others. Then she slid through her village, her curls bound under her hood, and her head down, so none could know the princess travelled without zazi.
The closest was a tavern just outside of the Salazā mainland, bridging between the smaller Shumpa village.
She was met by a stable boy who paid her no mind since she traveled on foot. She entered a cozy dome with fires on both sides and a long, cinder-colored feasting hall with a swirl of people, all drunken on the freshly brewed barley.
Beyond was a door to the resting rooms. She'd seen them once, yet you couldn't pass without enough coin.
She sat in the shadows, wanting to be unknown. In the center were the musicians, battering softly at djembe drums until they vibrated while the singers hummed some classic tunes and swayed slightly as the marimbas warmly trickled through, offering light and lively vibrations.
The music was still much gentler than how vibrant it would be the deeper in Salazā one went. Even the clothes they wore were plainer and more…put together.
Usually, Salazāhn dancers and musicians thrived on bold colors and clothes that weren't shy to show flesh. Not to entice but to entrance through movement. It let them be freer.
Even the drums would be more eager and matched with the occasional touch of shakers, rattles, and mouth bows. Even the singers would not be shy to holler, call, or cry if needed over these barely audible tunes, which sounded more like a tight-lipped conversation that they were only slightly privy to hear.
Yet since this inn was so close to entering and leaving Salazā, it was decided that some places would thrive on simplicity and sameness. It was supposedly to accommodate those of milder tastes from different lands so as to not feel overwhelmed.
Though a demand for such surprised Salīa. When she travelled, all she sought was to soak up each bit of culture and lore and ways of the people of all the lands she ventured through.
What sense did it make to go somewhere and expect it to be like everywhere else?
Though it was just a tavern, it was probably better to not make such a fuss of a place where people came to unwind. After all, this place did keep some remnants of its pride.
The walls were black with gold paint, colors representative of Salazā. And the paint was used to draw symbols of its history, as their ancestors were known for, and occasionally drawings of its sigil tiago tigers were sprawled across.
Yet animals that more commonly roamed, such as lions, elephants, and zebra coated throughout, often with touches of different colors. Even little proteas hid in smaller corners.
Salīa's favorite part of all the inns and taverns here, whether further in or further away, was the food. And just like everyone here, each had a table full of it.
Salīa couldn't help but inhale the rising scented steam of spicy samosas and crispy masala potatoes. If she had been more restrained, that would've been where she left it.
Voracious as she was, those plates were matched with soft, fluffy rotis paired with a ramekin full of curry, steeped in the flavors of cardamom, nutmeg, cloves, and other fragrant seeds.
Even more demanding was her sweet tooth, which welcomed the squishy malva pudding doused in a creamy banana custard sauce.
She could taste the tartness of the apricot jam and layered more over it. Beside it was a mix of the fried braided, and balls of dough, which was lathered in syrup and sprinkled with shredded coconut.
Some did give her a few once-overs in passing as she started eating it alone, yet being so far back, it's not like many could stay staring without awkwardly standing in front of her and being in the way of others passing.
"Hmm," she smiled as she lapped up the last of the curry with the roti and even threw in the last crumbles of the potatoes.
Almost as good as mother's and Auntie Nomusa's.
Salīa would admit it out loud, but she was just as talented in cooking up a feast. Yet these samosas and treats were something else. It was no wonder that while everyone here was drinking spirits, they couldn't help but pair it with something tasty.
How could they? For so many different aromatic flavors were dancing through the air. Not that Salīa wasn't bold enough to do so, she settled for a pot of rooibos tea over anything her mother might frown at her for.
It did make it a lot easier to listen to others. The first were some card betters who were speaking with a neighboring table of domino players. They bonded over bottomless beers and shared gatsbys.
The bread rolls at this inn were nearly as long as the tables, were stuffed so abundantly with shredded spiced potatoes and a tangy chili sauce, that it was too good not to cut up and pass along. After all, it was made that way for this reason.
Salīa almost felt bad for not inviting others to do the same, yet she couldn't risk being exposed. Either by threats or those who would look down on her.
So, she continued to lean over, pretending to look at the book she propped up as she listened on.
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