>>6159058Frigéia does not know sleep. As slumbering as it may appear, with its streets made of water and its hallways of marble, its towers of gold, its veins of black oil that feed a thousand’s thousand ships, the city is buzzing with activity. If the self-satisfied, calm activities of the Holy Land shift in her memory like the humming of bees, the unceasing buzz surrounding her now is that of wasps.
She allows herself a grin. With its filigree decorations, the hanging gardens of exotic plants and the wealth sprouting from every corner, it always feels good to go back to the nest she had built herself. She and Helias, sitting at the table, would stand out like a torch in the darkest of nights, if the merchants, dignitaries, high-brow whores and their patrons could see them in their true form.
A server reaches their table, filling their crystal chalices with thick crimson wine from the Mar da Candéa, can only see yet another spoiled dame and her husband — she is resting her head on her palm while he’s scratching notes on his ledger.
“This? It’s new.” The Stilladìa asks, raising her ember gaze towards the server. A youngish man, his brown hair complimenting his freckles.
“You have great perception, madama. It’s <span class="mu-i">rosso da Trincera.</span>”
“I have heard is gaining popularity. More than <span class="mu-i">aurina di Vitelio</span>, as it seems.” She raises the chalice to take a sniff. “Not bad,” and takes a sip.
“Not at all,” the server adds, with a bow. “The <span class="mu-i">aurina</span> has been out of fashion for a while.”
“Oh, gold is so out of fashion as well,” she adds with a grin and feels a little bout of satisfaction when Helias raises his eyes from his notes to chuckle at her line. He shakes his head and goes back to writing, but he also gently rubs his ink fingers over her palm.
“A common sentiment, if I may, madama,” the server nods. “I have also heard all gold and all silver finds its way into the hands of a single entity, even here in Frigéia.”
[cont.]
