Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
T hora turned to find a teenage girl with fox ears poking through her auburn hair, offering a tray of pastry samples.
“Is it that obvious?” Thora asked.
“You’ve got that ‘trying not to look impressed’ expression,” the girl replied with a knowing smile. “Everyone has it their first day. Care for a moon cake? Mom infuses them with calming magic—helps with the adjustment to our town’s energy field.”
Thora hesitated, then took one of the small, crescent-shaped pastries. “Thanks.”
“I’m Melody Foxworthy,” the girl offered. “If you need directions or anything, most folks around here are happy to help.”
Before Thora could respond, a voice called from one of the nearby stalls. “Melody! Stop bothering the newcomer and help with these display cases!”
“Coming, Mom!” Melody rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Enjoy your stay!” She darted off, fox tail swishing beneath her skirt.
Thora bit into the moon cake, surprised by the burst of flavor—honey and something else, something that sent a gentle wave of warmth through her limbs. The subtle magic didn’t attempt to manipulate her emotions, merely soothed the edge of her travel fatigue.
Not bad.
She continued her circuit of the square, taking in details that might prove useful later. The locals moved with the ease of those secure in their territory, their conversations peppered with references to clan gatherings, council decisions, and market preparations.
“We’ll need extra protection runes this time,” a bearded man said to his companion as they unloaded boxes from a cart. “After what happened at the last market...”
“Hush, Orrin,” the other man replied, casting a meaningful glance at Thora. “Ancient history now.”
She pretended not to notice, filing away the exchange for future consideration. Every community had its secrets, its tensions. Finding those pressure points often helped in locating targets who might exploit them.
As she neared a booth displaying intricate jewelry—pieces that subtly shifted form when viewed from different angles—she became aware of eyes upon her. Not the casual glances of curious locals, but the focused intensity of recognition.
Thora pivoted smoothly, hand instinctively drifting toward the concealed knife at her hip. Ten feet away stood an elderly woman, motionless amid the flowing crowd. The woman’s silvery hair, pulled into a severe bun, contrasted sharply with amber eyes that matched Thora’s own. The tiger shifter’s posture—straight-backed despite her apparent age—spoke of dignity and contained power.
For several heartbeats, they simply stared at one another. Then, with deliberate steps, the older woman approached. Her movements possessed the fluid grace common to all feline shifters, though tempered by age.
She stopped an arm’s length away, her gaze methodically scanning Thora’s features as though memorizing them—or perhaps comparing them to a remembered image. A complex blend of emotions crossed her lined face: recognition, wonder, and something that might have been grief.
“You have Karina’s eyes,” the woman whispered, her voice catching on the name.
Thora’s spine stiffened. “Excuse me?”
The older tiger shifter reached up as if to touch Thora’s face, then seemed to think better of it. Her hand fell back to her side.
“The shape, the color... exactly like hers.” A smile flickered briefly across her weathered face. “I’m Louisa. Forgive an old woman’s presumption.” Without further explanation, she turned and disappeared into the crowd with surprising agility.
“Karina?” Thora murmured, the unfamiliar name echoing strangely in her mind. Something about the woman’s tone—reverent, pained, familiar—left her unsettled.
She mentally filed away the encounter for later investigation. The physical characteristics of shifter bloodlines often repeated across generations, creating false recognition. Yet the specificity of the comparison—and the emotion behind it—suggested something more personal than a casual observation.