In Which Zareth Makes an Exception

December 31, 1181

It rarely snowed in Carvallon, so the markets were open year-long, but the air was cold and crisp enough that winter shoppers were just as scarce. Zareth preferred it that way. He'd never cared for shopping, to the point where he would have sent a servant if he hadn't resolved to be the sort of knight who still did mundane things for himself, but when it was a necessity, going at a time when the stalls were unlikely to be crowded was a somewhat less repulsive prospect.

Today was even less repulsive than most. The shopkeepers weren't in the most pleasant of moods, ranging from bored to anxious to openly frustrated, but so far as Zareth could see, there was only one shopper aside from himself, a young woman at the next stand, who looked to be minding her own business with no intention of striking up a conversation. Not that Zareth had expected otherwise--it was in warm weather that people came to the markets to socialize, though he;d never understood the appeal of bothering complete strangers--but nonetheless it was a relief.

"Ah, Sir Zareth! I see you're eyeing the pork sausage." The butcher nodded toward his own stock, at which Zareth had in truth only glanced, but he wouldn't have been at the meat stand if he hadn't needed meat. "My wife grinds it and stuffs it herself, she does. Only uses the best parts of the pig, and throws in a savory herb mix. One of our most popular products."

"How fresh is it?"

"From the batch finished this morning, sir--though if you want fresher, Rosie usually finishes another batch around midday. I could have my daughter deliver a few links to your castle for an extra coin."

That would have saved him the trouble of going back to his castle. Devidra had insisted that Zareth himself dine with her family for the last feast of the year, but he had wanted to leave the few servants he had with some good meat for their supper. "Very well. My steward will collect them at the door." He fished a handful of coins out of his pouch and placed them on the counter. It was probably a little much, but he supposed the girl could use a generous, preemptive tip; he knew for a fact that her brother had a bad leg. "Will that be enough?"

"By far." The butcher pocketed the money and smiled. "Thank you for your business, sir. Miss, can I help you with anything?"

So the only other patron had now reached the same stand. Not that it mattered; she had every right to shop where she wanted, and if she'd wanted to make small talk, he would have heard voices to his right and behind him.

"Thank you, but I'll let you know if something catches my eye. I'm here to browse today."

The butcher squinted, mouth curled in confusion. Zareth didn't blame him. Few enough people merely 'browsed' even when the weather permitted it. "If you say so, miss."

No doubt the butcher might have been annoyed, but Zareth couldn't say he cared. It wasn't his business what total strangers did with their time, even if he personally would have deemed it a waste. Besides, if Devidra had told him early evening, she meant for him to be there in the afternoon; if he preferred to end the year on a good note, he couldn't waste time with any social policing.

But he'd scarcely had a chance to turn around before someone was at his other side.

"Sir Zareth."

So it seemed only one of them had intended to mind their own business. "You're quick on your feet."

"And I'll be quick with my words. I don't think you want to linger."

At least she saw that much. That still left the question of why she was talking to him in the first place. "I don't mean to be rude, but I'm not sure what you want with me. Have we met?"

"No." But by her tone, it made little difference. "You're spending the night at the castle, correct? With your sister and her family?"

If she knew who he was, then it was a reasonable assumption. "Unless I've lost her favor without my knowledge."

"Good." Yes, yes, good. But why did a stranger care? "I can't say much, so you're just going to have to trust me. Something horrible is going to happen tonight. You have to be there for your friend."

"My friend?" If only he could say that was the truly confusing element.

"The, uh... the queen's maid." Her throat caught as she said it. Did she know about Mona? Surely she couldn't have. Could she? Who was this woman? "She's going to need you. You have to be there for her."

"Can you at least tell me why?"

"I said you'd have to trust me, didn't I?"

She had. He'd been alive long enough to know what that meant. "No, then."

She shook her head. She wasn't smug about it, though. If she felt she could have told him, she would have. "I'm sorry. But I'm never wrong."

About what, exactly, Zareth couldn't be sure. He was a wary soul by nature, not the sort to heed cryptic warnings from people he'd never met, barely the sort to talk to them if he could help it. He also thought himself grounded. If he couldn't see it, couldn't somehow sense it... well, perhaps that was the point of belief. But if it was, then he wasn't a believer.

But on the last day of the year, for Mona's sake, he supposed he could make an exception. "Thank you, then."

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