Chapter 9
“It’s fifty gold,” the merchant said.
Blaze slammed his hands on the counter. The board rattled the tiny stall the merchant—which was a generous word to call someone who had exorbitantly raised his prices in the last four days—sat within. The merchant grunted a note of discomfort, and a figure stepped out of the nearby shadows.
He ought to give a damn that the figure was trying to intimidate him into leaving the merchant alone.
There weren’t many others around as the sun raced toward the horizon.
Most were partying. Everyone at Everend Market was either working to exhaustion or engaging in frivolity that Blaze never wanted to see again.
Which meant if the merchant’s bodyguard beat Blaze to a pulp, no one was going to notice. Blaze, who had roughhoused perhaps a half dozen times in his life, wished the other elf would take a swing so he had an excuse to unleash the venom that had been in his veins for the last two days.
One enchanted night and one sunlit dance should not have twisted me out of shape!
But they had. Whenever he had a free moment, his mind traveled back to Durae’s bright smile and warm touch.
To his laugh and his hair. To his fingertips dragging down the length of his body or gripping his arm as they danced.
So Blaze had worked very, very hard not to have a free moment.
He kept his voice steady rather than unleash the shout choking his spirit. “You charged only five gold for the same paint less than a week ago.”
“Market hadn’t started,” the merchant replied. “Good spell paint is harder to come by. Everyone believes one more coat will help them win the Innovation Awards.”
While the work hadn’t ended, Blaze hadn’t earned as much coin as he’d hoped. Food cost more, too. He was so close to finishing he could taste it, but his invention wouldn’t feed him. And if he couldn’t acquire more paint, he was doomed. Desperate, he blurted out, “I know Mackerel.”
The figure off to the side snorted, but the merchant held up a hand.
A more genuine perturbed look crossed his face.
“Mack is terrifying to some, I’ll give you that, but they’re not the only terror of the Glaeflod.
They’re reaching a little too far for one so young.
Someone’s bound to pull them up in a net for a scolding.
Or worse. Now, the best I can do for the quantity you want, which is not insignificant, by the way, is charge you thirty gold instead. ”
The price drop was better, but still hadn’t come down far enough for what Blaze had in his pocket. “Twenty now, fifteen more at the end of market.”
“You want me to give this to you on credit?” the merchant scoffed.
“Knowing Mack goes both ways. I’m certain that not only would they direct you to where I’m staying, but they’d happily sabotage any means of my escape for a few silvers on your part,” Blaze replied.
The merchant grinned. “You certainly do know them! We’ll call it twenty with fifteen owed, then.”
Blaze handed over the last of his hard-earned gold and took the two massive jars of paint. If his calculations were correct, then this would be just enough to see him through to the finish. If they weren’t … he was likely becoming an Everend Market local until his debts were paid.
He did his best not to stomp away like an elfling, but his jaw hurt from how hard he clenched it.
The others were leaving the house as he strode by on his way toward the tiny dock in the back.
Since he’d come back from the opening-day celebrations, they had given him a wide berth, both during their normal hours at the shop and when he turned his attention to his ship.
Even Kidd had given him distance. But his weren’t the only footsteps on the dock.
Blaze refused to turn around and climbed aboard his craft. He went down into the small cabin.
At least Kidd stayed off his ship. Blaze would have pushed him into the Glaesflod if he’d dared to board. Kidd called out, “I thought you were coming to the Emberleigh dance.”
“Changed my mind,” Blaze shouted back. He stowed one of the containers of paint and grabbed his enchanter’s belt. His usual notch was too loose, but there was one tighter. When he made his way back to the deck, he was surprised that Kidd was still standing on the dock. “What?”
“You said you made a promise.”
“Turns out I made it to a liar, so it doesn’t count,” Blaze replied.
“Your mood’s fouler than moths in a wardrobe,” Kidd snapped.
Blaze put his hands on the railing. Keeping his hands busy seemed to be the only way to keep himself from making fists.
He longed to break something, and he was afraid that if he left his hands unoccupied, it’d be something he couldn’t repair, like his ship or his friend’s nose.
“Navisora, Kidd. He’s a Navisora. And not just a Navisora, the heir! ”
“Might be a good reason to lie about one’s name, then. He wanted you to like him for who he is.”
“And he might have wanted to tumble with someone who he couldn’t spend more than a handful of nights with just because he could!
” Blaze shut his mouth, but the words were out, screamed for any in the area to hear.
The pain in his chest burned in his eyes.
He was being ridiculous. One night with someone who had been seeking a brothel.
One dance with someone who had been at the center of attention.
It couldn’t mean so much, and yet … he wished the stars would disappear behind clouds because looking at them made him think of the gems that twinkled in Durae’s hair in the sunlight.
These feelings will pass. They’ll have to.
I wish they’d hurry on their fucking way already!
“Oh,” Kidd said softly. Remorse swept over his features. “Blaze, I—”
Pity would only make the pain tangible, and Blaze had no space for more emotion. He needed to complete his airship. He interrupted Kidd. “Make sure Greyun doesn’t drink too much, or we won’t see any more work at the stall.”
“Good suggestion,” Kidd replied. “You should eat something. Enchanting on an empty stomach is a good way to set your boat on fire.”
Blaze nodded, though all he planned on having for dinner was more of his travel rations.
With only a few silvers and a handful of coppers left, he would need to be careful with his remaining funds.
They’d probably serve food at the dance, but Durae would be at it.
Better to risk a hungry belly than to run into him.
Better to manage his expectations than hope for a future that could never be.