At the Market

After meeting with his father, Rashan set off to find Jalil. He spotted him in the dining hall, carefully setting a table, his movements precise and efficient. Dutiful. Focused. Wasted.

"Put that down," Rashan said.

Jalil hesitated, his hands pausing mid-movement before carefully placing the plate back onto the tray. He looked up, meeting Rashan's gaze with a quiet question in his eyes.

"Your tasks have now changed," Rashan continued. "You go where I go."

Jalil straightened, his posture naturally shifting into something more formal, as if waiting for further instructions. "Of course, young master."

Rashan stopped.

He looked at Jalil, truly looked at him, letting the weight of his words settle before speaking again.

"And when we are alone, you are to call me by my first name. I have high expectations for you, Jalil."

Jalil's brow furrowed slightly, his expression unreadable. Rashan could see the hesitation, the internal struggle—the ingrained deference of a servant who had never been told to think beyond his station.

"You will learn to read and write. You will receive an education. I am not looking for a tool." He paused, letting the words sink in before adding, "One day, you may fall in battle in my service—but not as a servant. As a comrade."

Jalil's lips parted slightly as if he wanted to respond but didn't quite know how. His hands, which had always moved with certainty while working, were now still.

But Rashan didn't need an answer. The moment had already happened. The shift had already begun.

He turned. "Come, let's go."

As they walked, Rashan made a silent decision. Jalil's mother would receive double her pay. Not from his father's estate, but from his own stipend. He wouldn't tell Jalil. Generosity didn't always need to be on display. Some things were better left unspoken.

As they walked through the halls of the estate, he spotted his mother and sister, Sadiaa, approaching from the other direction. His sister's eyes lingered on him, sharp and knowing. She wanted to ask. He could already tell she wanted to pry into the details of the wedding, to drag out what had happened, what had been said.

His mother, Mira Sulharen, was dressed in a flowing crimson and gold kaftan, embroidered with intricate geometric patterns along the sleeves. The fabric shimmered under the morning light, a symbol of both wealth and dignity. Despite her regal appearance, her smile was warm, inviting.

His sister, Sadiaa, wore a deep blue tunic with golden threadwork, paired with a finely woven sash around her waist. Practical, but elegant—just like her. She walked with casual grace, arms crossed, clearly entertained by something even before she spoke.

"My little star," his mother greeted him warmly, her voice carrying its usual gentle strength. "What do you plan on doing today?"

Rashan didn't answer immediately, and Sadiaa wasted no time filling the silence.

"Training? I bet he's already done that. Then he'll bury himself in his books. And then train again, Mother."

They both gave him a look, the kind that held too much familiarity, the kind that said, we know you too well.

Rashan huffed, shaking his head. "I do other things."

Sadiaa raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Name one."

"…Studying."

She laughed. "That doesn't count! That's just training, but for your brain."

Mira chuckled, adjusting the delicate gold bracelets on her wrist.

"I think he should come with us to the market today," Sadiaa suggested, her smile widening as she nudged their mother lightly.

Mira hummed in thought, tilting her head slightly, but Rashan knew better. She wasn't actually thinking it over—her mind was already made up.

"Yes, I think you shall come, my little star," she said smoothly, as if the decision had always been hers to make. "Come."

Rashan exhaled, nodding. "Sure. Let me set this in my room, and I'll meet you at the front gate."

He would be bringing Jalil.

His mother and sister nodded before parting ways, their silken garments swaying with each step.

Fifteen minutes later, Rashan arrived at the front gate of the estate, Jalil in tow, ready to begin the day.

The sun hung high in the sky, warming the streets as Rashan walked alongside his mother, Mira, and his sister, Sadiaa, weaving through the bustling marketplace. Merchants called out their wares, vivid fabrics fluttered in the breeze, and the scent of spiced meats, fresh citrus, and sea salt filled the air.

Behind them, Jalil followed dutifully, hands steadily carrying their purchases. He addressed Rashan as 'young master' in public, as was proper, keeping a respectful distance, never speaking unless spoken to.

Their family's personal guards moved discreetly among the crowd, never too far, but never obtrusive. Armed, vigilant, and well-trained, they blended into the movement of the marketplace, watching for any signs of trouble. They were not mere ceremonial figures—their father did not keep guards for show.

Mira was in her element, inspecting fine silks, fragrant perfumes, and rare spices, her keen eye picking out the best without ever seeming too eager. The way she haggled was an art form—calm, effortless, and entirely in control. No merchant ever realized they had lost until they were already handing over their goods.

Sadiaa, meanwhile, moved through the market like a noblewoman who had never needed to worry about haggling at all. She admired jewelry, traced her fingers along finely woven shawls, occasionally holding up an item for Rashan to consider.

"What do you think, little brother? The blue or the gold?"

Rashan barely glanced at them. "The blue."

Sadiaa huffed. "You didn't even look."

"I trust your taste," Rashan said smoothly, already drawn toward a bookseller's stall.

Sadiaa let out an exaggerated sigh. "How is it that you always manage to sound both charming and dismissive at the same time?"

"Talent," he replied dryly.

Mira, amused, placed a bracelet in her daughter's hands. "Take both. It suits you to have options."

Sadiaa beamed. "See? Mother understands me."

Rashan had already stepped ahead, his gaze sweeping over the stacks of books and scrolls at the vendor's stall. Trade records, historical accounts, navigational guides—but one item stood out.

A logbook.

Not just any logbook—a captain's personal journal, bound in thick, well-maintained leather, its pages slightly yellowed with age. This was a personal record of voyages, routes, and firsthand insights.

He reached out, running his fingers over the edge of the cover.

"That one is a rare find, young master," the bookseller said knowingly. "A captain's personal notes, chronicling his voyages through the Iliac Bay and beyond. A valuable piece of history."

The price, however, was steep.

Rashan was about to set it down when his mother appeared beside him.

"You have an interest in this?" she asked, her voice neutral but observant.

Rashan hesitated before nodding. "It's well-kept. The kind of resource that could be useful."

Mira turned to the bookseller with a calm yet commanding gaze. Rashan knew that look—polite, but entirely in control.

"This price is absurd."

The bookseller hesitated. "Lady Sulharen, this is a rare—"

"If it were as rare as you claim, someone else would have already bought it," Mira interrupted smoothly. She picked up the book, flipping through the pages, unimpressed. "Its worth is only as high as what someone will pay, and I know the value of such records. You've inflated the price for a noble's coin, but I am no fool."

The bookseller opened his mouth, hesitated—then immediately began lowering the price.

By the time the transaction was over, the logbook was Rashan's.

Mira handed it to him. "A mind as sharp as yours should have the tools to match."

Rashan stared at the book for a moment before looking up at her. "You didn't have to—"

"Nonsense." Mira adjusted the rings on her fingers, pleased with herself. "A foolish noble wastes coin. A wise one invests. Consider this an investment."

Sadiaa leaned in, smirking. "She just likes spoiling you."

Mira gave her daughter a pointed look. "You were quite happy with the silks I just purchased."

Sadiaa lifted her chin. "And I will wear them well. That is different."

Rashan shook his head but said nothing, carefully tucking the logbook under his arm.

By the time they reached the portside district, the sky had begun its slow descent, painted with hues of gold and amber. The scent of grilled fish, saffron rice, and citrus-infused sauces filled the air, mixing with the salty breeze from the harbor.

Mira led them to a refined open-air dining area near the water, where merchants and travelers gathered to eat, discuss business, and watch the ships drifting in and out of port.

Their family guards positioned themselves at a respectful distance, ever watchful but unobtrusive, their presence a quiet reassurance rather than an intrusion.

Their meal was a feast of grilled lamb, warm flatbreads, spiced rice, and fresh olives, the kind of rich, flavorful dishes meant to be enjoyed at a leisurely pace.

Jalil stood at a proper distance, hands clasped, his posture attentive. As a servant, he would not eat with them.

It was simply how things were. To sit and dine alongside nobility would be improper.

Still, Mira, noticing how long the day had been, gestured slightly in his direction.

"Jalil," she said, not unkindly. "Find a place to eat. You've worked enough for today."

Jalil immediately bowed his head. "As you wish, Lady Sulharen." He stepped back from their table, moving toward the servant's dining area, where those in service to noble families were permitted to eat.

Sadiaa, noticing, smirked. "Mother, you're feeling generous today."

Mira sipped her tea. "A good servant is one who is taken care of."

Rashan said nothing, already flipping through the logbook, scanning its contents. If the records were as good as he suspected, this would be more valuable than any trinket in the market.

The meal stretched into a relaxed afternoon, conversation flowing between family chatter and casual observations.

As the sun dipped lower, the harbor bustled with end-of-day trade—sailors shouting across docks, merchants making their final sales, travelers preparing for their next journey.

Mira eventually set down her cup, signaling it was time to return home.

As they stood, Jalil reappeared immediately, gathering their things efficiently, as expected. Their guards fell into position, subtly watching as they moved through the shifting evening crowds.

Rashan glanced at Jalil briefly before nodding. "Let's go."

As they walked back toward the estate, his mind lingered on the pages of his new book.

He had come to the market expecting nothing. Instead, he had gained something truly valuable, a memory he would never forget.