Marked by the Four Beast Lords After Transmigration

Ayari waited until the broad man beside her lowered a replacement support beneath the tilted stall frame.

He crouched with one shoulder under the platform, thick horns curving close to his head while another worker tested the boards above him. The rear corner lifted when the worker shifted his weight.

“Leave the table against the wall,” the horned man told the stall owner. “The second support has to go beneath that corner.”

“The front half is steady.”

“You will forget which half is steady after the first buyers arrive.”

The owner moved the table back without further argument.

Ayari picked up the tied bundle beside her feet. “Bram, I am crossing the row.”

He looked out from beneath the boards. “Keep above the drainage cut. They opened it past the next stall.”

She raised one hand to show she had heard him and followed the clear strip of stone between the pale cords.

Ayari approached Nia smiling, her lower wrap gathered high enough to stay clear of the wet floor. Rounded brown ears showed through the dark hair loosely secured behind her head.

“At last.” She touched Nia’s forearm. “I tried to visit before the second storm. Our storage wall began leaking that morning. The next time, my husband found three roof braces splitting above the sleeping room.”

“Two had split,” Bram called from the platform. “The third was beginning.”

Ayari turned enough to look at him. “Which made three braces that needed work.”

Bram reached farther beneath the frame and resumed fitting the support.

“He is one of my husbands,” Ayari said. “Now you know why I stayed home.”

“Nia.”

“I know.” Ayari tightened her fingers once around Nia’s arm before releasing her. She greeted Shen by name, then glanced toward the passage Nia and Shen had just left. “You have already found Dema.”

“She may make me a finer grain sieve.”

“I saw her hold the tray toward the vent. She only does that when she is deciding whether she dislikes an idea or wants to attempt it.”

“She asked me to bring meal samples.”

“Then she wants to attempt it. She will complain about the river reeds first.”

A repair team entered the row carrying a long beam. Shen guided Nia nearer the inner wall while Ayari stepped beside her. The men passed carefully between the corded platforms, calling to the workers ahead before turning the beam.

Ayari watched the rear end clear them before continuing.

“We should have met before winter closed the lower passages. Instead, I heard everyone else’s account of how Kael brought you home.”

Shen’s hand settled more firmly at Nia’s waist.

Ayari glanced at him but did not pause. “One of Kael’s cousins tells the longest version. He says Kael found you beside the western river holding a branch at him. You refused to climb onto a tiger, ordered him to carry you, and made him bring you straight to his bed.”

Several pieces were recognizable. Their arrangement was not.

“I had a branch because I did not know where I was,” Nia said. “My ankle was injured, and I did not know Kael could shift into a man. I did not order him to carry me or take me to his bed.”

Ayari considered that while a worker dragged a basket of broken pegs toward the repair pile.

“The cousin combined everything he had heard.”

“He also removed the part where Nia kept walking after the injury worsened,” Shen said. “Kael carried her because she would not stop.”

Nia looked back at him. “I had no reason to trust anyone yet.”

“You also had no reason to put weight on that ankle.”

Ayari’s smile returned, softer this time. “I will leave the correction to Kael’s family. They have repeated the other version through most of winter.”

Bram emerged from beneath the platform holding the cracked support. He carried it to the repair pile, then took Ayari’s tied bundle before she could shift it beneath her other arm.

“The open cut starts beside that stall,” he said, pointing past her.

Ayari stepped closer to the wall. Bram caught the lower edge of her wrap before it brushed a wet patch, folded the cloth higher against her calf, and pressed the tuck firmly beneath the outer layer.

“Take the bundle to our inner store table when you finish here,” Ayari told him. “Not the agreement counter.”

Bram nodded and returned to the platform carrying both the bundle and the broken support.

“He handles most of our storage repairs,” Ayari said as they moved along the sound stone. “When he tells us to clear a shelf, we clear it. Once we did not, and he spent half the next day replacing jars that broke with the board.”

Nia looked toward the stall owner still waiting beside the wall. “That man has probably heard the same warning.”

“Twice this morning.”

A red-brown-haired man approached from the agreement counter with a seller slate beneath one arm. Dark markings framed his eyes and continued toward the small rounded ears above his hair.

He opened the slate as soon as he reached Ayari.

“The clay seller changed the pale-jar line,” he said. “The winter agreement says four strips. He copied six onto the spring slate.”

Ayari touched his wrist and drew him nearer. “This is Tovin, another of my husbands. He handles most of our seller agreements.”

Tovin greeted Nia, then angled the slate so Ayari could see the old mark beside the new one.

Across the row, a seller knelt beside two stacks of sealed jars. The larger stack was pale clay, each jar carrying the same dark mark near its base. The smaller red-clay stack contained one jar with a lid that did not match the others.

The seller had begun wiping a pale lid with a cloth, although no mud remained on it.

“He wrote storage loss beside the increase,” Tovin said. “The agreement was made before the jars went into storage.”

Nia looked from the slate to the two stacks. “Which jars were damaged?”

The seller lowered the cloth. “Two red ones.”

“Were the pale jars kept with them?”

“No. The red clay was against the outer wall.”

Tovin tapped the earlier line with one finger. “Then those losses do not alter an agreement already made for the pale stack. You can set a spring price when you bring out stock that was not included here.”

“The household still lost two jars,” the seller said.

“And you can decide what to ask for the remaining red ones,” Tovin replied. “These were promised at four.”

The seller looked toward Ayari.

She was examining the pale maker’s marks rather than offering him another answer.

After a moment, he took the slate from Tovin and scraped away the altered number. Tovin waited until the earlier price had been copied onto the spring line before accepting it back.

Nia and Ayari moved aside when another seller approached with an agreement strip.

“You noticed the different clay,” Ayari said.

“And the lid.”

“He may have explained that the loss belonged to the whole store if Tovin did not have the earlier agreement.”

Tovin joined them again with the corrected slate and a small covered cup from the agreement counter. Ayari drank while he examined the pin securing her wrap above one shoulder.

“It is slipping.”

Ayari lifted her hair out of the way. “How many lower-post agreements remain?”

“Four have not reached the counter. Two are waiting for Kael’s route marks.” Tovin retied the gathered cloth as he spoke, tightening the pin and flattening the edge against her shoulder. “The salt seller has copied his winter weight. The jar line is corrected.”

Ayari returned the cup and rested her palm against his chest before he stepped away.

“Bram has my store bundle.”

“I saw him take it. I will collect it before he finishes the platform.”

Tovin carried the cup and slate back toward the agreement counter.

Ayari led Nia farther along the clear stone. They passed a cloth stall where a female sat sorting folded lengths beside one of her husbands.

A young man carrying a narrow wooden case slowed near the table, continued to the next platform, then turned and came back.

Nia watched his hands tighten around the case before he approached the seated female.

“He passed here before I crossed to you,” Ayari murmured.

The young man offered the case with both hands. The female accepted it but did not open the clean cord. After examining the carved lid, she gave it to the husband beside her. He placed it beneath the table, separate from the folded cloth and seller tools.

The young man bowed before leaving.

“Was that a courtship gift?” Nia asked once he was beyond hearing.

“The third one I have seen him bring.”

“What were the others?”

“Dried fruit for her whole household first. Later, a clasp after one of her husbands complained that theirs had broken.” Ayari glanced beneath the table. “He asked one of our traders which scented wood could lie beside cloth without staining it. That must be what he chose this time.”

The female touched the case lightly with the side of her foot, pushing it farther beneath the table before continuing to fold fabric.

Ayari moved on without saying what the gesture meant.

A dispute had begun near a stack of platform boards. One man wore a clay-household token. The other had a butcher’s cord tied around his upper arm.

“Our household repaired the southern rail before winter,” the clay worker said. “This section was left to you.”

“You used the inner stall through the cold trade days.”

“Because the roof above yours leaked.”

Their voices lowered when a woman came from the clay corridor. She examined the damaged platform, divided the loose boards into two piles, and pointed each man toward a different end.

The butcher’s husband picked up the first pile. The clay worker took the other.

“They exchanged stalls for winter,” Ayari said as the men began carrying boards. “Each household kept track of what the other one was supposed to repair. Their mates will settle the old agreement after the platforms are safe.”

The woman followed the clay worker toward the far end, speaking too quietly for Nia to hear.

A worker carrying a coil of drying cord passed Nia and Shen, looked briefly at Nia, and continued toward the outer row. Several moments later, he came back with the same coil still on his shoulder.

Ayari stopped him before he could begin another circle.

“The drying rooms are through the passage behind you.”

He adjusted the cord against his neck. “I thought Bram might need more for the platform markers.”

Bram was kneeling nearby with a pile of unused cord beside his tools.

“He has enough,” Ayari said. “The outer drying racks still need that coil.”

The man looked toward Bram, then took the inner passage.

Nia followed him with her eyes. “He knew where the drying rooms were.”

“He did.”

Shen watched until the man passed out of sight, then guided Nia around a damp break in the stone.

After that, Nia noticed how often people found reasons to remain near the row.

Some greeted her while carrying tools or seller boards. Others looked up once, then again after she had passed. A man beside an empty table rearranged three bowls while listening to Ayari speak. Two women near the spice turn paused their discussion when Nia glanced toward them and resumed it as soon as she moved on.

No one blocked her path. Work continued around them.

“I thought people might lose interest after winter,” Nia said.

Ayari stepped over the edge of a drainage groove. “Before winter, most of Hearthfang knew only that Kael had brought home an unfamiliar female. Now they have eaten food from the festival tables, heard about the drying rooms, and watched Mari open every storage lid she can reach.”

“She checked stores before I came.”

“She did. Now she asks whether the lid seals tightly enough to keep steam from reaching the meal, whether the jar was fully dry before filling, and who last moved it.”

From somewhere beyond the spice row, a man complained that his storage bins had remained dry through the entire winter. A woman answered that Mari had already found dampness beneath two lids.

Ayari listened for a breath and continued walking.

At the outer end of the market, Kael crossed between two platforms with Tarek. He stopped beside Bram’s repaired frame and placed his weight on the newly supported corner. Bram pointed beneath the boards while Tarek checked the rear stones.

Before Kael moved toward the next stall, he looked across the row.

Warmth passed through the bond when his gaze found Nia.

She shifted the empty basket against her leg. Kael returned to the repair work.

Ayari looked from him to Nia. “He will still be checking platforms when the market opens.”

“He said he would.”

“Then he will not be beside you when sellers begin opening their tables.”

“Shen will.”

Ayari nodded. “Shen will know which roots you should not touch, which scents mean something has spoiled, and whether the boards beneath you are safe. I know which sellers hide their better stock for regular buyers, which ones alter an agreement after a road closes, and which people are walking past because they want to see you.”

Nia looked toward the passage where the cord worker had disappeared.

“That would be useful.”

“I thought so.”

Shen examined the next stretch of stone before moving Nia forward. “When will the market open?”

“Tomorrow, if the rear stones stay firm through the night. Kael will close the row again if they shift.” Ayari touched the rim of Nia’s empty basket. “Bring this with you. Eat before you leave the cave.”

Nia glanced toward the lower turn. Workers were already hanging covers over the repaired stalls, and sellers waited beside tables that could not yet be filled.

“I can meet you near the market entrance.”

Ayari followed her gaze toward the people working along the turn. “By the time you reach it, half the row will know you are coming.”

Bram approached with Ayari’s bundle tucked beneath one arm. Market dust and wet grit darkened his knees.

“The support is set,” he said. “Kael wants the rear stones checked again at first light.”

Ayari took his free hand, leaving the bundle where he carried it. Tovin looked up from the agreement counter, saw Bram beside her, and began gathering his slates into one stack.

Ayari squeezed Bram’s fingers and turned back to Nia.

“On market morning, I will come up after breakfast and collect you.”