Chapter 2
Durae had one foot out the window when Uleyri unceremoniously opened his bedroom door. She had the decency to hurry inside, hiding what he was doing from their parents, who were sitting in the common room of their suite.
There ended her politeness. She scowled at him, and before he could commit to easing himself out of the window, she rolled her hand and released a spell. It whipped around his upper torso and yanked him back into the room.
Siblings could be the worst.
“Have you lost your mind?” Uleyri snapped.
“I would have been fine,” Durae replied. The first spell every Navisora elfling learned was one to soften a fall. It was rather handy when one lived in an enormous stone tower with far too many stairs on the top of a sheer cliffside on the third-highest peak of the Drycreaft Mountains.
Uleyri rolled her eyes. Motioning at his clothes, she said, “You’re supposed to be preparing for a private reception with a few of Papa’s old friends and their children, not dressing like a commoner and escaping through a window.”
“Did you hear what happens after that reception? Another one with people who wish to get into business with Father. Then a rendezvous with Mama’s peers to reexamine my star charts to see if there’s any hope of avoiding the disaster she swears is coming.
” Durae twisted and turned, but Uleyri kept her spell going. “It’s going to be torture!”
“You’re not the only one that has to go to them!” Uleyri said, her voice low but urgent. Unlike at home, the walls weren’t spelled for privacy. If they raised their voices, they would be overheard.
Giving up on breaking the spell, Durae spun to face his sister.
They had similar shades of white hair. His skin was the color of the violet flowers that bloomed in the middle of winter, while hers was the hue of the sky just before dawn.
Most thought them twins, though he was older than her by two years.
Their greatest difference was that Uleyri had been born under the right stars for great magics.
Though she was younger, she had more arcane talent than he did.
She deserved to become the head of the family business and the matriarch after their mother.
But he had been born first, and everything would, in theory, pass to him.
Which, according to their mother, would cause a tragedy.
He had been conceived while the wrong comet crossed in front of a distant planet and born under an even worse constellation on the night a falling star struck their mountain.
In Gearwick or Emberleigh, that wouldn’t have mattered, but the elves of Dun Steorra—particularly their mother—took cosmic signs seriously.
Every time he failed, his mother shook her head and said she should have been more mindful of the sky before sleeping with her partners.
And he seemed to fail a lot in her eyes.
Marriage, she had been saying for years, would be the way to save him. If he wed someone who was destined for prosperity, then that would avert whatever chaos was going to rain down on them. As if fixing his supposed fate could happen as easily as righting a fallen telescope.
Still bound, Durae gave his sister his best pleading look. “I know how important my marriage is. And once the market starts tomorrow, every waking moment will be spent spouse hunting. I just want one night to see the world for myself. Please, Riri.”
Uleyri pursed her lips. He knew her every tell better than his own. She was considering running out to the common area to tell their parents about his escape plan.
Durae widened his eyes so they’d water. He wasn’t above crying to get out of social engagements. If he thought it’d work on his parents, he would have cried his way out of marriage.
“I must have something wrong with me,” Uleyri grumbled. But she released the spell. “Fine. I will make excuses for you. But you’re not the only one who has to engage in all these silly rituals.”
He refrained from pointing out that she would be free to leave the market at the end of the two weeks without even a betrothal, while their parents had already set his wedding for the last day of the market. Instead, he kissed her cheek. “Thank you.”
Before she could change her mind, he darted out the window. As he started to fall, he cast the spell to slow his descent. His feet touched the ground as lightly as if he were stepping down from a carriage.
He dashed a few blocks, garnering odd looks from a few kitchen servants at the back of the inn, before pulling a wrinkled note out of his pocket.
Given the nature of the looming doom over his head since birth, his parents had never allowed for adventures outside of their home, so snooping through his tutors’ belongings was one of his favorite pastimes.
Silsby, the geography and cultural tutor who had worked for two generations of Navisoras, had stashed a map of the Everend Market in a journal he kept under his bed.
Should Silsby notice that Durae had taken the scrap of paper, he’d apologize.
But since Silsby was hundreds of miles away at the tower and Durae was standing in the moonlight, attempting to make sense of it in the middle of the cradle of elven civilization, repenting for misdeeds wasn’t on his mind.
He would have mischief and adventure before he wound up trading his life in a tower for a marriage of confinement.
Luckily, he crossed through the market proper without too much trouble.
The locals had taken great pride in making the heart of the festivities beautiful.
Despite the hour growing later, there were a few elves still finishing preparations for the next day.
Near a large stone shrine, a young elf was rehearsing either a poem or a song—he couldn’t tell at a distance.
It sounded like it might be the “Lovers Unite,” which was often sung or recited at weddings.
It’s not a portent. No matter what my parents say, I will only marry if I want to. Durae hurried onward and focused on his map rather than the lurking knowledge in his gut that standing up to his parents in his mind was simple. Doing so in the world would be difficult.
Once he crossed the stone bridge leading to the islands on the Glaesflod River, his map no longer aligned with what he saw.
In theory, he was close to the symbol Silsby had scrawled onto a particular building.
According to some of the more interesting texts Durae had read, the icon indicated a brothel, but he couldn’t find anything with the design on it.
He seemed to be walking among a mix of homes and businesses, though most houses were as busy as the inns and taverns.
Every drinking establishment was lit with flame or magic, and the music of crowds poured out.
Windows were thrown open to the beautiful summer night.
Durae thought he overheard at least one coupling in progress, but the intense swearing might have been about something else.
Not as if I have the experience to know the difference.
Just as he was about to give up hope, he caught sight of another well-lit building ahead of him that had an old sign over the door.
Used to straining his sight against the night sky in an attempt to divine patterns, Durae spotted the faded symbol on the sign that was a match for the one on his map.
He’d found the legendary pleasure house.
His certainty gave way to nerves as he closed the distance to the door.
With the market starting on the morrow, any worthwhile companion would already be hired, wouldn’t they?
Worse, what if his profound lack of experience made him a fool?
It’d have to be bad for business to mock a client’s abilities in bed.
But what if he was never good at sex? What if he never had good sex because he married whoever his parents told him to?
Worries countless as the stars unveiled themselves in the sunset of his confidence.
But what was adventure without risk? So long as Durae kept moving, he would add to his story, and that was the point of living, wasn’t it?
Before Durae reached the door, a man in fine clothing stumbled out, hurried around the corner, and vomited in the alley between buildings. With an exasperated look, a woman leaned out a window and quickly cast a small breeze, which gathered up the sick and dumped it into a nearby sewer grate.
Likely, it wasn’t a brothel, but Durae’s feet were starting to hurt.
Might as well investigate. Durae strode up to the open door.
The room was crowded with elves dressed in a gambit of style and expense.
Every seat seemed taken, and waiters were delivering drinks and plates of food.
The tavern seemed in the midst of heavy celebration.
No one was bound to recognize him tonight, but what if they did later in the week?
His parents had said partying on the Glaesflod River was a good way to ruin one’s reputation.
“’Tis a nice night, but in or out, m’lord. You block the path,” a waiter called.
He’d snuck out to have a night of freedom.
He couldn’t lose his nerve now. However, stepping through the door didn’t make Durae less of an obstacle, as others were moving about or too crowded together for him to slide between.
Judging from the noise, Durae would be surprised to find a single empty seat within the tavern.
“You look lost, m’lord,” the same waiter said. He finished depositing drinks at a nearby table. “Meeting friends?”
“No,” Durae said. He could hardly hear himself speak.
“Find yourself a seat, then,” the waiter told him. “Don’t worry who you sit with. It’s market time. We’re all elves under the same stars, are we not?”
The long lectures Durae had endured most of his life said they weren’t, but the sentiment and warmth the words brought was so endearing he wished he could inscribe it over his heart.