“Here is our princess! Welcome, welcome, Princess!” The song is taken up, drowning out the calls of food sellers, the lowing of cattle, even the drums in the distance. They sing to Weysh too. “Oh praises, our dragon, our dragon has returned—oh! Our dragon has returned!” He is close, just behind and a bit to the left of her, never letting her out of his sight. The roads are wide enough for him to pass, as they are made to accommodate goat and cattle herders, donkey carts, field sphinxes, and fleet cats. The message of the drums mimics the voices in the market. Boom bam boom! “Our princess is here!” Boom bam bam boom! “Our dragon is here!”

The royal market compound rivals the jungles and bao plains for places that own Yenni’s heart. Perhaps it is because she spends so much time here that her family has put so many resources toward it: soldiers to keep the streets safe, servants to keep the streets clean, carpenters and artisans to keep the streets beautiful. It is full of activity, with farmers and herders, fisherwomen and sailors bustling to and fro. They carry urns full of water or baskets of fruit or fish on their heads, though they quickly lower them to prostrate to her and Weysh. She touches the fingers of one hand underneath her chin and gives them a small bow, as is proper.

As much as Yenni enjoys the farmers and fishmongers market, the best is yet to come. High up on the palatial hill, right beneath her home, the artisans converge. Instead of buckets of crabs and bundles of bananas, the stalls and shops are hung with hundreds of reams of colorful fabric, woven in prints that tell the story of their history. Figures with no faces represent the Sha, and above hang masks of imps and elephants and even dragons. The entrance to the artisans quarter is marked as the dusty road turns to deep green tiles. The clucking of chickens recedes to be replaced by the high cries of blue and green peafowls. The shouts of foodmongers fade to murmurs of civilized bargaining—though no one has ever bargained with her. Most artisans push their wares on her free of charge, much like the woman before her.

She has rich, dark skin that shines, and her gown and head wrap are of a matching pattern of green and yellow. She kneels before Yenni, holding out a sculpted figurine. It is a naked woman, carved of heavy wood and painted a deep brown-red, overlaid with a pattern of white flowers, and Yenni knows her instantly as Mother Ya—Mistress of Storms.