The morning after the festival, Marron stood by the fountain in the town center, sipping a cup of pine tea. It had a bite like mint, followed by a slow woodsy warmth that lingered on the tongue.
Around her, Whisperwind moved with a gentle hum—beastkin merchants setting up their wares, children chasing each other with bundles of colored ribbon, a bard tuning their mosswood flute beneath the arching trellis.
Lucy floated nearby, her surface rippling with mellow yellow streaks. She emitted a tiny hum whenever Marron paused too long, like a helpful nudge to keep her moving.
I wonder what Maya was going to say about cooking bloodlines.
But her worry was momentary, especially during such a calm morning. If Maya wanted to explain more, she could always visit her stall.
There were a few snakekin allowed to sell their goods in the wolfkin camp. In return, the wolfkin could visit Snake Cove and set up shop. It wasn't a sudden healing of bitter rivalry, but it was a great start.
+
Today, Marron was finally going to browse the merchant stalls. Not for ingredients—though she'd never say no to a new spice—but to learn more about the road ahead.
Mokko had mentioned Lumeria, and the idea had taken root in her mind like a persistent sprout.
She wandered past booths filled with preserved fruits, handspun fabrics, and bark-ink calligraphy until she found a stall that didn't quite match the others.
The canopy above it was dyed with ochre and cobalt in jagged geometric patterns, and hanging charms clinked in the breeze—scrap metal, polished glass, feathers from distant biomes.
Behind the counter sat a merchant with sleek fur, long ears, and mismatched jewelry. His nameplate simply read: Rocco.
Marron offered a polite smile. "You're from Lumeria, right?"
He looked her up and down, tail flicking lazily. "That obvious?"
"Well, you're the only one selling fermented cheese in glass jars."
He barked a laugh. "Fair enough. And you're the human chef everyone's whispering about. The sausage rolls, the rice balls, the garden diplomacy—impressive."
Marron flushed. "It wasn't just me."
"No, but it was mostly you. Don't be shy about credit."
He handed her a jar filled with something that looked like ruby-colored pepper slices floating in oil.
"Sweetfire relish. From the southern cliffs," he said. "Try it."
She dipped a finger and tasted.
The zing of heat immediately followed. And soon after, sweetness crept in. It made the relish deep, rich, and slightly tangy, like sun-warmed fruit with a hidden kick.
"I need like three of these."
"I know."
They both chuckled, and Rocco swapped three jars of sweetfire relish for two of Marron's chicken teriyaki riceballs and an apple dumpling.
Rocco bit into his first rice ball and his tail thwapped noisily onto the floor. He was incredibly pleased. "Delicious. I can see why people went crazy for these."
Marron's flush deepened. "O-oh, you're way too kind."
"I only tell the truth." Rocco grinned and leaned closer over the counter.
"So, you planning to visit Lumeria? You've got the face of someone itching for change."
Marron hesitated. "Maybe. I've heard it's… flashier than most places."
"Oh, it is. Especially now that Emily Spritz is back."
Marron blinked. "Emily Spritz?"
"Idol chef. A culinary performer. Commands a whole kitchen like it's a concert stage."
Marron felt a sudden pulse from her silver spoon, tucked away in her apron pocket.
It had reacted to the name. Marron tried to keep her face perfectly neutral, but she was just as eager to get on the road. Lumeria was already sounding like an absolutely fantastic place.
"She's that good?" Marron asked casually.
"She's… complicated," Rocco replied. "Good, yes. Technically flawless. But there's something you should know about Emily Spritz…"
He leaned in, lowering his voice.
"She--"
And at that exact moment, a goatkin customer barged in between them, holding up a bundle of woven silks.
"Excuse me! Rocco, I told you I'd be back for the indigo dyes!"
The merchant gave a long-suffering sigh. "Of course you did."
Marron stepped back, lips parted.
"Wait—what were you going to say about Emily?"
But Rocco was already bartering, the moment lost in a storm of wool colors and price negotiations.
Lucy hovered closer, her glow dimming thoughtfully.
"It's okay," Marron said softly, petting her gelatinous form. "these things happe--"
"Oh! Do you have tickets for Emily's Concerto?" A pair of sheepkin girls were also browsing the market stalls, eating snacks.
Marron's ears pricked up and she subtly decided to follow them.
"Ugh, no. Couldn't snag one the last time I was there. Her tasting concerts sell out in 5 minutes, I don't know how she does it."
"Probably newbies. Her regulars get the VIP experience, whatever that means. I had to line up for 4 hours, but I finally got mine."
"How long does it last?"
One of the sheep girls threw away a paper cup before she continued talking. "Four hours! She cooks and feeds everyone at the same time. She's got insane skills."
They were about to leave the market stalls and Marron didn't want to risk being spotted by a friend.
I don't want to explain why I've been following these girls around, for sure...
Marron turned away from the pair and walked back into the bustling market stalls.
She was here as a vendor every day, but experiencing the market as a customer was a different thrill.
The taste of Sweetfire still on her tongue, even as she drank some farm-fresh milk. The moment had passed, but her curiosity had only deepened.
She wandered the rest of the market in a quiet haze, picking up ingredients for dinner—wild yam, flowering chive bulbs, a small satchel of taro powder. But her thoughts kept circling back to Rocco's unfinished sentence.
Back at the inn, Marron spread the ingredients across the kitchen counter, staring at them blankly.
"You okay?" Mokko asked, sharpening his blade.
"I think I met someone who knows about Emily Spritz."
"The idol chef?"
Marron nodded. "But he got cut off before he could say anything important."
"Maybe that's for the best."
She looked up at him, her pink eyes wide with surprise.
He shrugged. "Sometimes rumors are just like junk food. Tasty, but doesn't mean they're good for you."
"I don't want gossip," Marron said quietly. "I want to know why she makes my spoon react. Why her name feels like an echo."
Mokko didn't answer.
Lucy pulsed faintly.
Marron's thoughts drifted back to the firelit vision she'd felt during the festival—and the strange pulse of connection in her chest.
Whatever the truth was about Emily Spritz…
She had a feeling she'd find it in Lumeria.