We weave through the city. People seem on edge, though I never can tell with city-dwellers. Maybe it's this season. It's not like the farms or the herds, where you know what time of year it is by looking around.
We're heading into the summer. I'm glad to have my loose coat to keep the sun off my skin. When I check on Ramir, he's crowned with beads of sweat. It mixes with the dust.
The city stinks.
And nobody gives space. The Temple Quarter is the worst part of the city I've been in. Even without the devout coming to pay their respects on the holy days, all traffic from the old city to the outskirts has to flow through it.
Someone nearly knocks me over. Ramir steps in to catch me, but he doesn't need to. I'm quick enough to stay on my feet. A glob of spit lands by my feet. If I could figure out who it was in the crowd, I'd yell at them, but it doesn't make sense to start a scene over such a thing. Ehramites are rude. When the streets are filled with strangers, people go about their business with their heads down.
It reminds me just how far from home I am.
I lead the priest through the winding streets. He's not used to the city, though I'm hardly more familiar with it than he is. "You don't leave the temple much, do you?"
"No, not often. Just for ceremonies and events."
"I'd say you're missing out, but it's not that great."
"You're from the desert. Why come to Ehram?"
"My betrothed was conscripted."
"Oh?"
"For the guard. You've noticed they're not Ehramites?"
"I don't have encounters with the guard."
We don't say anything else to each other. I can tell we're nearing the outskirts when the crowds' clothes lose their color. Dye is expensive, and the outskirts are rough.
Ramir notices but doesn't say anything. He has more tact than his father.
The streets widen as we leave the Temple Quarter. They're newer and more orderly than the twisting alleys that make up the inner districts.
Suddenly, like passing into the eye of a storm, we find ourselves alone on the street.
"Is it always like this?" Ramir tugs at his collar.
"No."
I can hear someone shouting in the distance, but all I can make out is a man's voice.
A woman walks past us, grumbling under her breath. "Where's the guard when you need them?"
Ramir slows down.
"Come on," I say, "this will be interesting!"
The man's voice is clearer once I'm closer. "–the city! We will all pay the price for our sin!"
The crowd jeers. Some laugh. A couple more people pass us, casting glances back over their shoulders at the plaza.
I see him once I round the corner. The shouting man has climbed onto a balcony, and he's addressing a crowd.
"The Glassmakers have doomed us all!"
The man collapses to his knees and wails loudly. Someone from the crowd throws a stone at him.
I turn to one of the bystanders. "What's going on?"
"He is a madman, a dreamer. He says that–well, you've heard what he says by now."
Maybe he's had the same dream I've had.
I turn back to Ramir. He taps his foot impatiently.
If he wants me to acknowledge it, he's sorely mistaken. "We'll go the other way to the shrine."
I'm sure he notices that I'm leading us back the way we came, and that the shrine is in the opposite direction, but I don't care to acknowledge it.
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