“And you, my good folk! Even in the deepest of Frozen Air, the Abyss has wonders to delight the eye and the soul. Surely you don’t want to miss the once-in-a-lifetime trip to the Heated Pools on Kiune just to look at necklaces!”

Shiobe dragged her eyes away from the frosted, pale azure dragon swinging from her fingertips, and to the impatient crowd clustered around the tour guide. A not-to-miss experience, he said? She preferred dozens over tromping up a mountain slope in freezing air to visit a hot spring or two, then tromping back down in freezing air, her nose running and her wet black hair turning into icicles.

“We’ve plenty of space available for the trip! Would you not wish to soak in the revitalizing waters of the pools? During Frozen Air, they reinvigorate souls!”

Good thing he wore a thick sky-blue fur coat, as it protected him from the jewelry merchant’s fiery glare. The woman’s annoyance at the interruption of a sale did not bother him, and he grinned wider. Shiobe shook her head and lifted the dragon so he could not miss the sparkle.

“While I’m certain the hot springs revitalize those who wallow in their heat, climbing up Kiune in Frozen Air seems a bit too chilly. I’d rather stay in Likeda.”

“Ah!” He wagged his finger, and her heart sank; she wished to purchase knickknacks, not play with desperate guides searching for customers. “There’s no climbing on your part!” He slapped his blue badge with a white mountain and crescent moon. “The Guardian Guides have heated wagons pulled by noxyen that plow through snow as if it were grass! You’ll reach the springs in style, and swim in the healing waters without worry about walking back to town!”

The merchant’s mouth wrinkled, and her nose twitched; the guide continued to disregard her. Hoping to prevent a clash, Shiobe smiled at the woman and cupped the necklace in her palm. “I’ll take this.”

The woman reverted to cheerful salesperson and retrieved a velvet-lined box as white and sparkly as the jewels. She handed the dragon back, an awed prickle running through her chest that she could afford the pretty thing. She glanced over the other items, pondering whether to add a second one to her purchase or find another seller for gifts. Did the market have bookish things? Her father would love to hold a volume bought at the base of the Abyss!

“We still have room in the wagons!” the tour guide called.

The merchant hmphed under her breath. “Overpriced, and you only get a toe-dip before he says it’s time to go,” she intimated as she lifted the velvet, situated the chain beneath, then settled the dragon on top. “It takes a long time to get to the pools, and it’s already mid-morning.” She nodded with knowing aplomb. “If you want guides, go with the Majari Trekkers. They’re smart enough not to set out late.”

“Thank you,” Shiobe said. She had no plans to hire a tour guide; a pleasantly warm Flame Dragon and her scintillating lover would give her the grand show-around of historic ruins if she wanted.

And she wanted, badly—but not badly enough that she refused to wait until Strong Heat. No reason to freeze solid in the stiff winds and biting cold native to the Re a tari Rendari peaks when a warmer season would be the better choice, especially since snowdrifts now hid so many sites.

She unhooked the straps that held her black woolen coat closed, pulled out her purse, and slid a podiak across the ice-slick counter. Waving for the woman to keep the change, she settled the dark leather pouch and her new necklace inside the interior pocket and bundled back up with a shudder. The skittery wind played through the stalls, and despite two sweaters over her long-sleeved shirt, layered pants, and the knee-length, puffy outerwear, she still felt the bite. Sikode, upon beholding her outfit, asked if she planned to waddle about the market. Too bad her fiery annoyance had not seared his humor into ash, because he chuckled the entire way to town.

“Lefeya, lefeya!” the guide called, waving hard enough his hand smacked the bell jutting over the top of the company flag, producing a low, sad clang. “The Pools are—”

His abrupt silence coincided with an arm slipping around her waist. Shiobe looked up at Sikode, whose glower so narrowed his turquoise eyes, only glints of color peeked from the shadows. Ceten chuckled and shifted the pack he carried. It bulged in odd places, so they must have found enough edibles in the food aisles for the three of them and her lover’s family.

“Some things never change,” Sikode said with cool contempt. The guide’s cheek twitched with nerves, then he smiled in relief as two more tourists joined the crowd he had already collected. With a nervous glance at them, a fellow wearing the same sky-blue uniform and a fuzzy hat called for the group to follow him.

“Guides are guides,” Ceten said, tucking his sandy blond bangs behind his ears in a vain attempt to keep them from dancing in the wind. “And I bet it’s a nice ride when the weather’s warmer.”

The low rumble of disgust from Sikode only elicited the climber’s laughter, though the jewelry merchant hunkered down and busily swatted at the thin icicles coating the bottom edges of her tables, refusing to look at them.

The fighter slid his warm hand into her icy appendage and tugged her to a wooden walkway that radiated from the circular center of the market. Behind them, calls from other guides standing at variegated flags rose above the general noise, with the loudest promising a rousing Ceaque’s Night celebration at altars on either Kiune or Majari. No one was daft enough to weather the deep cold of the tall Guardians for that privilege, were they? And Frozen Air mountain trails failed in the safe roads category. Why did so many ignore that?

“This market is bigger than the tourist one at Hillside,” Ceten commented as he looked back at the three-story, round building that filled the center. Its wooden awnings spanned to the first tier of stalls, giving the guide companies plenty of sheltered space to collect large groups before leaving for their wagons. The double doors at the entrance had dragons carved on the panels, and while crude, they, along with expensive glass windows and tiled roof, proved the place made so much money, the owners could purchase nice building materials.

“It’s based on the outdoor trade centers in Dodi on,” Sikode said. “Likeda leaders liked the idea of concentric, stall-lined walkways around a central building because they thought the layout would keep pilgrims and tourists among the stalls longer. It’s worked well enough that to make a living, shopkeeps must sell here, even if their custom is local. Only specialized artisans, like the blacksmiths, have their primary stores elsewhere. Even then, all trade-related business, like seller permits and taxes, goes through the third floor.”

“Is that why they all know you?” the climber asked. “You had to shop here?”

His sour snort answered the question.

They entered the second tier’s wider wooden walkway, kicking a shower of sawdust in front of them. The gritty stuff kept the tourists from sliding into stalls and jangling various bright flags hanging from the tops, or skidding into hexagon-shaped tents that lined the edges and taking out their poles. Those looked to have more custom, as their black noxyen-hide or linen walls provided people with a warmer environment to purchase tourist-centric goods, so knocking one over could prove a hassle.

“Sikode Sikode!”

A keep had pulled down her scarf and waved a hand wildly over her head. She stood within a three-walled stall constructed of yellow-stained wood that appeared far stouter than the greying ones of her neighbors. Brighter yellow, mended flags hung from the awning, waving happily in the brisk breeze and attracting the casual passersby. Tea-related items sat in honey-colored baskets on the counter and lined the shelves behind her.

The nearby shopkeeps, eyes bulging and lips pursed, glared at her to shush, and Shiobe wondered if that was not why her lover answered the summons.

The woman had bundled up in an ice-blue kumkati, a long Rakan wool coat with a cloak attached to the shoulders, and wore a matching su gi ar hat that had long, fuzzy flaps covering her ears and running to her breast. Nice and toasty; Shiobe appreciated the outfit and the heat it conveyed. Maybe she should purchase something similar if they ended up staying in the alpine town for more than an eight-day. Likeda was as chilly as her hometown, and she disliked the reminder of frigid days and frozen nights.

“Tanji didn’t say you were coming!” she said, puffing clouds of hot air from her ruby-stained lips. She, like most of the other merchants, had a spell warming her stall, but it did not completely cancel the blustery wind.

“It’s a surprise,” Sikode intimated quietly as he halted at the counter.

Her soft brown eyes widened. “It will be that,” she agreed. Her gaze flicked to their held hands, and her cheeks brightened from a rosy red to a flaming scarlet. “You must be Shiobe!” she declared.

Her mouth fell open. How did a stranger know that?

“Let me guess,” Sikode said, annoyed ice freezing his words. “Lekedi wrote a letter?”

The shopkeep rolled her eyes, her lips squirming to the side. “He did,” she admitted. “But, Sikode, how worried your mother was!” She held up a gloved finger and eyed him askance. “And don’t give me that look. A mother worries about her children. It’s why Lekedi writes to me about Chikiri.”

Shiobe grinned. “You’re Chikiri’s mother?”

She beamed. “Yes! But getting him to send a letter is like tearing a juicy steak away from a hungry dog—it isn’t going to happen.” She cast Sikode a disgruntled look. “Sons,” she said, shaking her head.

He did not reply to her sarcasm. “Shiobe, Ceten, this is Kalan’di, a friend of my mother’s. Kalan’di, please meet Shiobe and Ceten.”

“It is a pleasure,” she thrummed, bowing her head. “Tanji and Iko will be happy to meet you.”

“Do you have any embet?” he asked, as if to stave off further nosiness.

“Dry leaves, not the powder. And I have spiced muem. You should buy some as a present for your mother.”

“Sikode!”

The surprise in the friendly voice echoed Kalan’di’s. A slender young man hustled through the crowd, a wide smile for them, his hazel eyes twinkling, cheeks rosy. He only wore a thinner, charcoal coat against the elements, and without a hat, the wind played happily with his long raven strands. Since his skin looked a warm light brown rather than red with cold, Shiobe guessed he was a wielder; stronger mystery artists wore inappropriate clothing during cold seasons and kept themselves toasty through spells. The Condi, especially, believed that remaining comfortable in skimpy attire emphasized the might of mystery artist, but she thought it a presumptuous expression of disdain to hide the fact that even the most magickally gifted from the prestigious lightarts schools would wear a coat when they needed to.

After all, they always had the excuse of fashion to back up their failed boasts.

“Tanji didn’t say you were coming!” he said, sliding to a halt next to them. Despite the sawdust in the center of the walkway, the edges were nothing but slick ice.

“She doesn’t know!” Kalan’di told him, leaning across the counter.

His eyes widened, and he laughed. “A surprise?” He shook his head, amused.

“Is my sister with you?”

Icy crust on lakes did not cut as sharp as his words. Ceten glanced at Shiobe, concerned, but the two locals did not take his tone as sinister.

“No, it’s just me and Adari,” he said, then licked his lips and leaned closer. “Twisted luck, but Takari’s here. There was a Flame demonstration in the Center earlier, and quite a few from the kido are still around.”

“Any chance to hassle the tourists,” Kalan’di grumbled, but her uneasy expression belied her lighter words.

“Demonstration, or disaster?” Sikode asked.

“They aren’t the most skilled,” he admitted. “But they get enough attention to fill the exhibition room, so that doesn’t matter.”

“Shiobe, Ceten, this is Jinaya,” Sikode said, motioning to him.

He nodded. “Lekedi sent Tanji a letter about Shiobe.”

“Glad it was so glowing,” she muttered. What exactly had the tavern owner told them? Jinaya laughed.

“Lekedi has quite the way with words,” he said, his grin returning. “Or so Iko says. They grew up together, so I assume he’d know. Tanji’s more skeptical about what he writes, but this time, she was happy to read it.” His humor dwindled. “Your parents have been very worried.”

“I contacted them with the glass.”

“Not often enough.”

“And how often do you speak with your parents?” Kalan’di asked, eyebrows raised, lips pursed. He half-smiled and did not respond. “Hmm-hmm.”

“Sikode!”

The shocked call came from another local. He also dressed in a light coat, his dark sunset brown locks playing in the brisk wind that tore through the walkway. As with Jinaya, his face remained a healthy golden brown rather than bright pink in cold, so she assumed he was another wielder.

“Tanji doesn’t know,” Jinaya told him as he huffed to his friend’s side. His golden eyes widened, then he laughed.

“A surprise? You’re quite the brave one. Too bad Kalevi isn’t with us, but she’s watching the spell.”

“The mastery enchantment?” Sikode asked. The new arrival nodded, unbothered by the icy tone. “Which one did Nikori assign?”

“The Gi’din dro vakdi. It’s not been easy to get the ingredients, but we managed.”

Despite her cursory knowledge of wielding, Shiobe had read about the spell because historians loved to expound about its influence on everything from healing potions to talisman and amulet construction. Legendary shadowartists Okune and Ledge created the original based on an obscure Iojaodi dragonpriest text. It took several eight-days to prepare, but once properly simmered, the ingredients fused, and no matter the distance placed between items coated from the same pot, the magickal link remained. They used it to infuse a series of poles with protective shields to guard their hideaway from the furious Co in datana king, who wanted nothing more than his queen back and to kill the two men who aided her escape from the capital.

Sikode’s sternness deepened. “That’s not a spell for students. The components are too expensive.”

“And you think he cares?” Jinaya asked with a lifted lip. “It’s that, or pay for another year.”

“Is he so lacking in apprentices? He brags I an’dero is the most elite shadowarts school in the Ovade region.”

“We’re not the only ones he targeted,” Adari admitted as he crossed his arms and leaned against the corner of the stall. “Some dropped out because they couldn’t pay for the ingredients and couldn’t afford another year after he raised the tuition. Our class lost over sixty students.”

Did the rise in tuition cover the lost income? Shiobe had doubts. Even for a large school, losing so many would hurt.

Jinaya smiled at them. “Adari, these are Sikode’s companions,” he began as the wind picked up and blew merrily down the way. The gusts rocked the baskets, and they all rescued tea-related merchandise before the products careened off the counter and landed in the snow piled against the stall’s base.

“It’s not normally this windy,” Kalan’di complained, setting a basket of leaf packets on the back shelf and replacing it with metal tins before sticking her hands under her armpits. Shiobe hunched against the cold; warm layers did not keep the bite from her skin. She dug out her gloves and shoved her fingers into them, hoping they warmed quickly.

Sikode eyed her, then tossed two podiak’an onto the counter—far more silver than necessary to purchase tea leaves. “The embet and muem, please.”

Kalan’di regarded the boon in surprise but packaged up the purchases. Adari and Jinaya eyes widened, but neither commented on the money. Shiobe could have told them, the Illenan king lavished them with gold before their departure from Merren, certain that they needed a hundred seneks to pay for expenses. A few half-silvers would not dent the pile sitting in Sikode’s pack, safely stowed with the Flame Dragon in a snowy meadow on Majari.

A slicing wind tore through the walkways, ripping the colorful flags off merchant stalls and flapping the tents. Sawdust swirled up and pelted everything within reach. A roar that vibrated her chest followed, overwhelming in its depth and ferocity.

Kalan’di’s stall shuddered, and she snagged cups and saucers to prevent them from dancing off and onto the wooden boards. Shiobe instinctively caught as many baskets as possible as the air stilled, and everyone else grabbed as much as they could hold. Another roar echoed through the market, and a scathing cold came in its wake; ice crusted the counters, the awnings, the tents, and frost coated shoppers and keeps alike. The walkway boards froze blue and cracked, the spindly lines striking the mounds of snow lining the path, blowing the hardened white stuff into fingernail-sized chunks.

Hissing through chattering teeth and with body shivering, she noticed with envy that her lover stood tall, unaffected, his attention on the peaks of the distant Guardians.

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This is an excerpt from Abyss of Dreams, the Wellspring Dragons Book 4. Abyss of Dreams is available for purchase from your fav ebook retailer (Amazon ebook is not available at this time).