They walked for what seemed like hours to Aito (and probably were). They passed through the market, where stalls displayed fruits and vegetables of every color, fabrics of varied textures, forged iron tools, silver and copper jewelry. Vendors shouted, offering their products; buyers haggled energetically; and children darted between the legs of adults like fish among rocks.
Elara bought him a shiny red apple, and Aito bit into it eagerly. The sweetness burst in his mouth, mingling with a slight tang that made the experience even more pleasant. Never had an apple tasted so good.
As he bit into the fruit, his eyes never stopped moving, absorbing every detail. The houses, so different from the palace. Some were humble, single-story, with whitewashed walls and thatched roofs. Others were larger, two or three stories high, with carved wooden balconies and windows of colored glass.
And the people. Old and young. Fat and thin. Tall and short. Some wore simple wool and linen clothes, others wore colorful tunics and hats adorned with feathers. Some laughed heartily, others argued heatedly, others walked in silence with lost gazes.
—Oh, look, a mage! —suddenly shouted the voice of a nearby child.
Aito turned his head so fast he nearly lost his balance. There, in a small plaza opening before them, a boy of about eight was performing tricks with water magic.
—Wow, that's amazing —said another child, a bit younger, passing by holding his mother's hand.
Aito approached, hypnotized by the spectacle. The boy mage moved his hands gracefully, and small spheres of water floated around him, spinning, changing shape, reflecting the sunlight like tiny liquid diamonds. Then he brought his hands together, and the spheres merged into one, larger sphere floating above his open palm. Then, with a sudden movement, he tossed it into the air and made it burst into hundreds of droplets that fell like rain on the children surrounding him, provoking laughter and shouts of joy.
—You're very good at water magic tricks —said Aito, approaching the boy mage, the apple forgotten in his hand.
The boy mage turned and looked at him. And his clothes, though modest, were clean and well-kept.
—Tha... thanks —he replied, a bit surprised by the compliment from the unknown golden-eyed boy.
But before they could say anything more, a woman quickly approached and took the boy mage by the arm.
—Hey, son, don't talk to that boy —she said in a low but firm voice, pulling him away from Aito.
—Why, Mother? —the boy asked, confused.
The woman looked Aito up and down, and then at Elara, who waited respectfully a few steps behind, and at the two guards watching from a prudent distance.
—Can't you see his clothes? —the woman whispered, but loud enough for Aito to hear—. He even has a maid. We're not on his level.
And without another word, she took her son down the street, disappearing into the crowd.
Aito stood still, the half-eaten apple in his hand, processing what had just happened. He didn't understand. He had only wanted to compliment the boy on his tricks. Why had his mother taken him away? Why had she said "we're not on his level"?
He turned to Elara, a confused expression on his face.
—Elara —he asked—, did I do something wrong to that boy?
Elara looked at him tenderly, and for an instant, a shadow of sadness crossed her eyes. Then she shook her head.
—No, young master —she replied softly—. You didn't do anything wrong. It's just that... sometimes people are afraid of what they don't know. Or of what they consider above them. But it's not your fault. Or the boy's.
Aito frowned, not entirely understanding, but he nodded. He would store this experience in his memory, along with all the other lessons he was learning.
They kept walking. Aito finished his apple, and Elara took the core, promising to throw it away later. They passed a square where musicians played cheerful songs with lutes and flutes, and Aito stayed awhile listening, nodding his head to the rhythm of the music. They passed a fountain where women washed laundry and chatted animatedly, their laughter mingling with the sound of water. They passed a small tavern from which wafted smells of cooking food and the murmur of adult conversations.
Aito was happy. Happier than he remembered being in a long time. The world outside the palace was enormous, complicated, sometimes confusing, but also wonderful.
---
Moments earlier, back at the palace, while Aito walked through the city streets...
—Whaaaat? —shouted Calithia, her voice echoing through the hallways like thunder.
The eight-year-old princess burst into the room where her mother was having tea, her face flushed with indignation.
—Aito went for a stroll through the city? —she asked, though she already knew the answer from the servants she had interrogated—. And why wasn't I told? I wanted to go too!
Cecilia, who had anticipated this reaction, smiled patiently and reached out to stroke her daughter's head.
—Don't be angry, dear —she said in a calm voice—. They'll be back soon. You can play with him when he returns.
—But I wanted to go now! —protested Calithia, crossing her arms with a pout that, despite everything, was adorable.
—I know, sweetheart. But Aito asked to go today, and you have lessons with the etiquette tutor. He couldn't wait for you to finish.
Calithia huffed, but she knew her mother was right. Etiquette lessons were important, even if she found them unspeakably boring.
—Fine —she muttered—. But when he gets back, he won't get rid of me so easily.
Cecilia smiled and stroked her daughter's hair again.
—I'm sure he won't, sweetheart. I'm sure he won't.