Carynthos — Crimson Bazaar, Late Morning
The winter sun lingered behind drifting clouds, yet the Crimson Bazaar blazed with color. Rows of silk banners rippled overhead like captured sunsets—scarlet, saffron, indigo—turning every breeze into a wave of shifting light. Spice vendors fanned fragrant clouds of cardamom and clove across the cobblestones; jewelers' stalls glittered with tiny mirrored trays; weavers set up hand-looms in the open so shoppers could watch gold thread become living patterns.
Kite stepped through the main archway and stopped, taking in the controlled chaos. Ryenne slipped beside him, chin tilted in a practiced look of indifference—though her eyes darted from stall to stall, bright and eager.
"Remember," she said, folding her arms, "we're here for Jyotiksha outfits—nothing more."
"Understood," Kite answered, already smiling at her transparent excitement.
Behind them, Harley bounced on her toes. "Look, look—paper lanterns shaped like phoenixes!" She tugged Audrey's sleeve. Audrey just laughed, the sound light for once. Chu-Chu peered from Kite's inner pocket, whiskers twitching at the scents.
---
Their first stop was a sprawling fabric booth where bolts of Majapahit songket shimmered under morning light—deep reds shot through with gold, midnight blues threaded with bronze. A tailor with silver needles pinned swatches onto a mannequin as fast as clients chose them.
Ryenne ran her fingers over a cloth the color of pomegranate wine. She caught herself, cleared her throat, and moved on. Kite pretended not to notice, then circled back and purchased a meter of it in secret.
For himself he chose a dark-crimson beskap cloth, understated but elegant. The tailor measured his shoulders, grinning at Chu-Chu's curious squeaks.
---
Farther in, Harley found a batik stall alive with wax-resist designs—floral scrolls, mythic beasts, rising suns. She wanted a sky-blue pattern for her festival sash. The vendor quoted a price that made Audrey raise an eyebrow.
Ryenne stepped forward. "That's twice the going rate and you know it."
The vendor shrugged. "Festival rush, miss."
Ryenne leaned closer, voice lowering to a silken threat. "I can walk two stalls east and get the same weave for half, plus a smile. Your call."
The man blinked, laughed nervously, and cut the price by forty percent. Harley beamed. Kite murmured, "Remind me never to argue prices with you."
Ryenne flipped her hair. "Remembered."
---
At midday the bazaar's narrow Lantern Street bloomed with paper and glass globes—reds for good fortune, whites for remembrance, blues for new journeys. Children wrote wishes in charcoal on thin slips and fed them through lantern frames.
Kite bought two small red ones. "One for the Holland house. One for… you."
Ryenne's cheeks colored faintly. "I didn't ask for—"
"It's not a date gift," he teased. "Call it… festival protocol."
"Fine," she muttered, but she held the lantern carefully.
---
They paused at a sweet-maker's cart where gula-melaka toffee cooled on granite slabs. Audrey insisted everyone try a piece. Ryenne pretended she didn't like sweets—yet finished hers fastest. Chu-Chu received a crumb, returning scandalized squeaks when Kite tried to wipe syrup from his whiskers.
Harley darted off to watch a puppet show; Audrey followed, leaving Kite and Ryenne by a low stone fountain. For a moment the noise of the bazaar faded to background hum.
Ryenne traced a finger across the fountain's rim. "About the book… thank me later by staying out of trouble."
Kite nodded. "I will. And… thank you."
She shrugged as if it were nothing, but her small smile said otherwise.
---
As the afternoon waned, they reached a jeweler who specialized in frangipani-shaped hairpins. Ryenne paused, pretending to adjust her scarf.
The vendor, seeing an opening, lifted a gold-filigree pin set with tiny opals. Kite caught the way Ryenne's eyes lingered a fraction too long.
He bought it while she helped Harley pick bracelets. At first, Ryenne refused the gift. "It's too much."
"Call it field compensation," he joked. "For saving my life."
She rolled her eyes—but accepted, tucking the pin into her basket.
---
Evening Glow
When they finally left the Crimson Bazaar, the sky was the color of peach-tea and the first lanterns were already winking to life overhead. Their arms were full—songket bundles, lanterns, sweets for Audrey's lab assistants, a bright blue batik sash twirling in Harley's hand.
Ryenne walked a step ahead, humming under her breath. Kite fell in beside her.
"Not a date," she reminded him quietly.
"Of course," he agreed, and for the first time she didn't sound entirely convinced herself.
Behind them, the bazaar buzzed on—crimson cloth waving like distant flames, as though promising the festival would burn brighter yet.