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Chapter 1
For two weeks we were in Cofton and still wandering. The town is inland to the west of the Nouvelle Zeum coast, miles from the port where we disembarked.
Soon we will move further into the forests of the Yemeni border. Maybe then we will start feeling safe.
I checked the little map I had made for myself and retraced my steps.
Mel and I used to meet every day after work to go back to the boardinghouse, but today when I went out to buy my dinner I was completely changed.
Calf and collard pies were stuffed into my bag which gave off a very strange smell.
The shopkeeper had claimed they were a Zemeni delicacy but had my doubts. It didn’t much matter. Everything tasted like ashes to me lately.
Mal and I had come to Cofton to find work that would finance our trip west, It was the center of the jurda trade, surrounded by fields of the little orange flowers that people chewed by the bushel.
The stimulant was considered a luxury in Ravka, but some of the sailors aboard the Verrhader had used it to stay awake on long watches.
Yemeni men liked to tuck the dried blooms between lip and gum, and even the women carried them in embroidered pouches that dangled from their wrists.
Each store window I passed advertised different brands: Brightleaf, Shade, Dhoka, and the Burly.
I saw a beautifully dressed girl in petticoats lean over and spit a stream of rust-colored juice right into one of the brass spittoons that sat outside every shop door.
I stifled a gag. That was one Zemeni custom I didn’t think I could get used to.
With a sigh of relief, I turned onto the city’s main thoroughfare. At least now I knew where I was. Cofton still didn’t feel quite real to me.
There was something raw and unfinished about it. Most of the streets were unpaved, and I always felt like the flat-roofed buildings with their flimsy wooden walls might tip over at any minute.
And yet they all had glass windows. The women were dressed in velvet and lace.
The shop displays overflowed with sweets and baubles and all manner of finery instead of rifles, knives, and tin cookpots.
Here, even the beggars wore shoes. This was what a country looked like when it wasn’t under siege.
| Author | Leigh Bardugo |
| Language | English |
| No. of Pages | 336 |
| PDF Size | 1.5 MB |
| Category | Story |
| Source/Credits | archive.org |
Siege And Storm Book PDF Free Download