CHAPTER NINE
ALYSSUM
Iwasn’t sure I would ever forgive myself for not arriving at the depot earlier.
Not only had there been no time to explore Anise’s beckoning, still-parted lips when she bid me farewell, but I also no longer had the option to scale the skyway, as Lunamor was already bathed in morning light.
The cloud cover that swallowed the stars before dawn had spit them back out, revealing a glassy blue sky that boded well for the Feast of Comets’ observatories.
Except the festivities were the last thing on my mind. Even the risk of returning to my chambers from the commons barely registered, but I had little choice given the circumstances. With cloak and hood secured, it was time to beat the bustling, pre-celebratory crowds.
After heaving the ironbark door closed behind me, I stepped onto the cobblestone path bisecting the rough-hewn stone buildings on either side.
I sucked in the crisp morning air hungrily, the heat from my arousal dissipating at an agonizing pace.
There was a small part of me that had hoped Anise’s admission would lead to a release of the overwhelming tension that had plagued me in her presence, but with Sentinels making their way to the depot, and my future husband likely hours away from Lunamor, the timing couldn’t have been worse.
With a frustrated sigh, I lifted my head just enough to assess my surroundings.
Passage to the castle was not quite as crowded as it would be in the hours to follow, so why not enjoy an unchaperoned stroll?
Careful to tuck my chin, I began making my way down the road.
Anise’s dark, hungry eyes and flushed cheeks would have plenty of time to torment me, so I bid them from my mind and brought my attention to the streets I almost never frequented.
I sidestepped other pedestrians, surprised at the small smile that tugged at my lips each time I muttered an, “Excuse me, pardon me.” At the sight of my grey cloak and tunic, they offered their own reverent apologies, bowing their heads as they moseyed down the path.
Oddly enough, I felt rather content; there wasn’t much to be happy about, but I doubted my future would be filled with independent walks through the streets—Lunamor or otherwise—and since Tilda wouldn’t be expecting me for another hour, I strolled with the momentum of a respected Sentinel who had nowhere to be but precisely where they were.
It was then that I decided there was something rather picturesque about the commons.
I so rarely walked them myself, and although the sprawling castle and its elevated walkways perched up against the base of Mount Sor offered quite the vantage point, it just wasn’t the same as feeling the cobblestone beneath your boots, or observing the various shops and dwellings from the people’s view.
Unpolished stone buildings multiple stories tall housed businesses on the ground floor and homes up above.
They huddled together, cramped and weathered, though distinctly charming in their own right.
The shops had large windows, with elaborate exhibits to entice passersby.
I spotted the cooper, whom I recognized from his visits to the castle.
He appeared to have need of an assistant, for the barrels he balanced atop one another for display looked as though they might topple over any moment.
A few buildings down, I passed the wheeler. Her entire redheaded family sat arguing in front of a large wooden wagon, debating the best way to get it into the shop without having to tear it down and build it back up again.
Across the way, I narrowly avoided locking eyes with the florist. His display of wreaths was awe-inspiring, and I’d spotted more than a few peppering doors and windows during my stroll.
The branches of his wreaths were skinned and dried, appearing almost silver, and were woven together intricately with vibrant silks.
Various leaves and flowers decorated each wreath, however the largest and most expensive must have been the ones showcasing massive marigolds.
I would have to ask Nora to obtain one for my bedchamber.
Suddenly, the smell of freshly baked bread wafted my way.
I inhaled deeply, swallowing the saliva that pooled in my mouth.
The combination of fleeing supper the night before and skipping breakfast this morning was an unfortunate one, so I leaned against a pillar outside the blacksmith’s forge to see what I might send Nora out for later.
Beneath the roofed exterior of the smithy, the sun’s rays cast a thick shadow that further obscured my features. Triple-checking that my braid was securely tucked into my cloak, I slowly lifted my chin until the bakery was in view.
The door was shut, the shutters drawn, and I couldn’t make out light or movement beyond the panels.
But then what was that mouthwatering smell taunting the streets?
I chanced a glance above the roof where smoke billowed, likely from an outdoor oven.
I assessed the nearby shops, all of which were now serving the kingdom.
A strange feeling lodged itself in my stomach.
Some bit of knowledge I should have recalled but couldn’t was slowly gnawing away at me.
Why was the baker baking, yet closed for business?
Considering the Feast of Comets began at sundown, shops that performed feast-related services should have opened earlier than the rest, not later.
When the arch-top door of the bakery slowly opened, my gaze snapped to attention.
A tall, burly figure backed out of the building with a cursory glance in both directions, and my throat tightened.
A stunning streak of white-blonde hair flowed down his dark purple cloak.
There were only two other people in Lunamor who shared the pale locks exclusive to Sorans, but Linus was neither burly nor in possession of Scholar’s robes.
I knew then that I was observing the King’s Scholar, Bjorn Elvadir.
The words sounded in my head as if I were that frightened girl in the dungeons from all those years ago: “I’ll go tell Bjorn we’ve got another Vacant.”
My pulse grew urgent, and nervous energy weaved through my extremities.
Had he been the Bjorn those men answered to?
It made sense, now that I thought about it.
A conspiracy to withhold truth from the Lunamorians would undoubtedly include the kingdom’s highest-ranking officials, and although Scholar Bjorn was decidedly an outsider, there wasn’t much in the way of higher rank.
I was disappointed in myself for not having solved that piece of the puzzle earlier.
Bjorn, under the eaves of the baker’s roof, secured his hair and woven beard beneath his cloak; he must have been in a hurry not to do so inside.
As he lifted his head, undoubtedly to assess the streets as I had done moments before, I lowered mine and began innocently fiddling with my gloves as if they needed immediate adjusting—no one would see the shaking of my hands but me.
Perhaps Bjorn sought early morning sustenance, but his odd behavior and empty hands suggested otherwise.
Then again, perhaps I was a starving princess desperately in need of baked goods, who happened to see the King’s Scholar exiting the premises suspiciously.
And what self-respecting daughter wouldn’t inquire after a man sworn to the king?
Don't be stupid.
I was already playing a game of chance by walking the streets—I didn’t need to exacerbate the risk by exposing myself.
I stood there for too long, assessing the threads of my cloak with what I hoped was a casual demeanor, before I felt confident enough to glance back up.
When I did, I caught only Bjorn’s dusky purple cloak in the distance as he maneuvered around an oncoming carriage, probably on his way back to the castle.
I returned my focus to the bakery, weighing my options.
Although Nora must have been aware of my absence by now, she would wait until the absolute last moment to cause a fuss—with her uncanny intuition, I’m sure she knew where I’d gone.
I had enough time to investigate my suspicions and return without further notice, but secrecy was of the utmost importance; if Father were to find out I’d disobeyed his command, today of all days…
The courage that had compelled me post-nightmare seemed to wane.
Was I really foolish enough to believe I’d be spared his wrath because of the feast?
Father wasn’t known for his creativity, but when it came time to unleash his discipline?
There were ways to harm a person without leaving a mark. What if he—
I bit the inside of my cheek. The taste of copper, stifling the petrifying thought before it could finish. Yes, the risk was great. Perhaps greater now than ever before. Then again, if I were carted off to Hollowmire, hopeless to learn the truth of the Threshold, I might go mad alongside Rowland.
That’s not funny, I thought, despite the humored snort that betrayed me.
The number of citizens out and about was increasing by the minute.
If I were going to do something particularly idiotic during my remaining time in Lunamor, this was the hour, and so I pushed off the smithy’s pillar and crossed the street.
Without allowing myself to debate any longer, I pressed my palms against the wood, creating just enough of a gap that I might fit, and slipped inside.
As quietly as possible, I leaned my shoulder back into the door until I could secure the iron bolt.
My body tingled with nerves as I once again defied the constraints that had been placed upon me.