Lor approached slowly.
"Uh… carrots?" His voice was casual, testing.
Without a word, Ameth turned, picked up a bundle of fresh orange roots, and dropped them into a bag.
She handed it to him, her fingers avoiding his, her face blank, icy eyes unreadable.
"Thanks," Lor said, holding her gaze for a moment, searching for a spark.
Nothing.
He walked away, their silence heavy.
Maybe we really don't know each other at all, he thought.
But Ameth? A carrot seller?
It clicked—her desperate plea for ten silver coins from Silvia during the tournament, the urgency, the public display.
Not arrogance.
Need.
She's poor.
Point noted, he told himself, slipping the carrots into his bag, mentally bookmarking the exchange.
Back home, the kitchen was thick with the scent of simmering spices.