Frankly, Trelisti was surprised they made it to port.
Time had started to blend together, separated mostly by the occurrence of a storm. Trelisti didn't know how many days passed when they finally drifted to the docks, hindered by the flimsily-fixed back sail, but the last was miserable. If the murderous heat wasn't enough, the waves tossed by the storm contaminated their water supply. They barely spoke because they were so parched.
Tellik was quick to tie the boat to a post before taking them to a nearby stand, where a man was scratching notes into a record. He was tan, with warm red undertones to his skin and a bald head with pointed ears. He sent a cursory glance up to Tellik, mumbling something, before doing a double take.
"Tellik? Is that you?" he said suddenly, adjusting his glasses with wide eyes. "Surely, Jael's playing a trick on me."
"No tricks today, ano," Tellik answered with a grin. His tongue switched fully after that, and while Trelisti understood names and a few simple words, everything beyond that was lost to him until the man handed him a canteen. Tellik took a swig, then passed it off to Trelisti.
Trelisti drank and handed it back, surprised by how quickly his throat felt a difference. He'd felt the burn this whole time, but as soon as the water hit, he realized how dry it really was, like his mouth was made out of sand. The idea of being so dehydrated again was unfathomable.
The man took it back as he spoke more, then laughed more, with Tellik. Trelisti scoured the docks in the meantime.
Rosvanii Port was bustling. It spread as far as the eye could see, with dozens—maybe even more than a hundred—ships in sight. Merchants and travelers alike crowded the boardwalks, most heading into bridgelike sections that led further inland. Many wore loose, robelike clothing, some using veils to protect their heads and shoulders from the sun. Unlike the other ports, there were boats of all shapes and sizes, and the land was more sand than rock. Signs crowded the city entryways. A mixture of languages stirred the air. Trelisti couldn't help but hear the conversations of a few passersby, though he couldn't tell all the meanings.
"...an audience with the Golmund Company, then work towards..."
"Agne? Sekans torr ohlo din..."
"...heard she'll be performing at Tah'lo here soon..."
"And who've you brought with you here, Tellik? He looks lost."
It took Trelisti a moment to realize that the last one was referring to him.
"Uh. Trelisti," he said, refocusing on the conversation. He'd gotten swept up in the crowd's gossip too easily.
"And a family name? It's for registration purposes," the man continued, holding up his paper log. "Main city of residence, as well, or whichever's closest to where you live."
Trelisti sent him a suspicious glare, but Tellik nudged him to respond. His gaze seemed to imply to trust him.
Trelisti didn't, but he also didn't think he had a choice.
"Anduvel," he murmured, side-eyeing the docks. "And Everhold."
"Everhold, huh?" the man asked as he scrawled down more notes. "The name's local—are you or your parents from Te Fehr, originally?"
Trelisti glanced at Tellik. "Is this really necessary?"
"Ah...don't worry about making small talk with him, Forno. He's not one for conversation," Tellik interjected in his place. "I'll answer the rest."
Forno nodded, clearly a bit bewildered, but swift to move on. He and Tellik went back and forth again, though this time, much faster.
After a minute or two of more waiting, Tellik said a friendly goodbye before returning next to Trelisti. He motioned to one of the bridges ahead, which turned from wood to a pale yellow stone.
"All that's left is to follow this into the city," Tellik said as they walked. "Do you have a plan from there?"
"Figured we'd just find some supplies and head to Khae. Finding the feather for Quinn takes priority," Trelisti answered. Despite his fluid answer, he was distracted by the sights and sounds surrounding them, and even the scent of the air threw him off. What started as salt and sand was now a conflicted mixture of sweat, exotic perfumes, strange herbs, and several other smells he couldn't identify.
"Right." Tellik's response was flat, well expecting the answer, but it still held a bit of repressed hope. Obviously, he wasn't in any rush to get home. "It might be worth the time to rest in the city before we head out. The lands beyond it are rough, and besides—after so much effort to get here, you may as well enjoy a few of the luxuries it has to offer."
"If you need to stall that badly, we can spare time for one thing. But only one." Trelisti's generosity was less of kindness and more of an opportunity. Wherever Tellik chose, he was sure he could find something—connections and information were easier to gather in the city. "The only way we can risk losing more time is if it's for something really relevant, like a lead for the pulse industry or the prophec—"
Before Trelisti could finish his sentence, Tellik jammed an elbow into his ribcage. Trelisti was close to tearing his arm off on the spot, but managed to restrain himself.
"Don't say that out loud," Tellik shushed him, eyeing his sides warily. "You don't want to draw attention. Even in Rosvanii, their presence is strong. Use a codeword if you must mention them."
"That's stupid. If they want to come after me, let them."
"But they'll come after me, too!"
"Oh well."
Trelisti hid his amusement as Tellik stared back in horror, jaw dropping nearly as low as his shoulders. His expressions were always so animated.
As they crossed the stone bridge over flats of sand and small water pools, Trelisti realized it widened ahead, with stalls lining each end of the walkway. Shopkeepers shouted their wares in both Common and other languages, and brightly painted signs advertised food, colorful drinks, boating and fishing supplies, and nearly everything else under the sun. He smelled a semi-familiar spice, the pepper-hot one Iryn had used in the sedative stew. He watched the stalls suspiciously.
"The spice trade," Tellik said decisively, earning a confused look. He rolled his eyes and continued explaining. "As a codename. It's a big industry here, so it won't draw attention."
"You're still on that?" Trelisti asked, wiping the sweat off his forehead. "Whatever you want. I really couldn't care less."
"For someone with such a large stake in it, you really should," Tellik murmured. He lit up when he saw a cart ahead, one advertising some sort of skewered meat. "Ah! Mulpo! C'mon—you must be hungry. This stuff's delicious. And it'll be my treat."
"Uh, no thanks. I've made up my mind about accepting food from strangers," Trelisti said, though Tellik was already trotting over. He reminded him of an excited child.
"Oh, calm down. I know the owner, and besides—it's a shop. They won't make money off of putting their customers to sleep." Tellik slowed as they made it to the stand's shaded front, a welcome barrier against the sun. The interior, a sort of wooden box with a curtain in the back, looked empty. "Ay! Muali, you there?"
In response, a curtain swayed, and a girl slid out from behind it. She was pretty small, maybe a few years younger than Quinn, wearing a flowy skirt and a scarf to keep her hair out of her face. She seemed pleasantly surprised to see Tellik.
"Ah, Karmon! How've you been?" Tellik chimed. "You've grown so much since the last time I saw you!"
"That's because it's been so long since you've stopped by, Mr. Qor—"
She was interrupted by a loud cough from Tellik. He waved an apology, catching his breath, then motioned for her to continue. She said a quiet Fehr be with you, which Trelisti assumed was some sort of regional blessing.
"So where've you been?" she asked after he recovered, pushing a hand against the counter inside. Her accent wasn't as thick as the last man's, and she seemed to be sticking to Common more than the other language. "We were starting to wonder if something happened!"
"It's just business, mi anja. I don't make profits here like I used to." Tellik's smile was innocent, but behind it, Trelisti could see a hint of irritation. He remembered him saying something similar before—something about how his branch of legal trade was dying off with so many smugglers taking its place. "But that's nothing for a kid to worry about. Would you mind grabbing your father for me? And tell him to bring two mulpo. Better if he adds the honey sauce, as well."
Karmon nodded before heading back behind the curtain. He could hear her muffled voice through the fabric before a larger man came out, also wearing a head tie. He shouted something, probably a greeting, though Trelisti wasn't sure.
It took a few minutes before Tellik and the man finished their conversation, and Karmon brought out two sticks of meat. Both were glazed in a rich brown sauce, and admittedly, smelled and looked better than any of the food served in Greyhaven. Tellik dropped some coins onto the counter, then grabbed the skewers and said a quick goodbye to his friend.
"You're gonna have to teach me whatever language you've been speaking," Trelisti said as they walked away. Despite his refusal, Tellik handed him a skewer, so he muttered a quiet thanks.
"Alla-Fehri?" Tellik asked, taking a bite of the mulpo. "Or Old Fehri?"
Trelisti stared blankly. "There's a difference?"
"Old's primarily used by elves. It's what I was speaking to Forno," Tellik explained. Walking now, Trelisti noticed the crowd had thinned, most people further ahead on the bridge. "Alla's very similar, basically a version of Old Fehri adapted to be closer to Common. It's easier and more widely spoken, especially among merchants and the lower class. That's what Muali was using."
"So which one's going to be more helpful?" Trelisti asked. "Alla?"
"Most likely. Plenty of people here speak Common as a second language, but Alla-Fehri's usually the first one. The only ones who tend to know Old Fehri are nobles and elves—but only the latter use it frequently."
Trelisti was quiet for a moment, letting his words settle, but a question still lingered at the back of his mind. He waited for the crowd to lessen more before asking.
"Ne'syra." The word felt strange on his tongue. "Which language is that?"
"New moon?" translated Tellik, questions written on his face. "Old Fehri. Why?"
Trelisti walked ahead, stretching his arms over his head.
"No reason."