Chapter 11 #2
“Abram. This is exactly why you come to me first. I would have told you to assess it further before raising it here.”
Abram mutters something under his breath.
Elysand summons the map to himself and studies it carefully. He looks at the same indicators I did, then shakes his head. He raises the map so everyone can see.
“What color is the dot now?” he asks sharply.
The dot has moved away from the armory. The red flicker fades until it turns entirely blue.
Abram stares at it, speechless. “But—it was red.”
“It was not fully red,” Elysand says calmly. “Nykander is correct. Tell me, did you read the manual I required everyone to read?”
Abram blinks. “Yes,” he mutters.
“I don’t think you did,” Elysand replies. “If you had, you would know that proximity to powerful artifacts can skew an individual’s energy signature. This has happened before, and it will happen again. That is why we follow a hierarchy when addressing such matters.”
“I understand,” Abram says quietly, staring at the floor as he sinks back into his chair.
“For tomorrow,” Elysand adds, “I want a full report on the manual—handwritten. You are not permitted to copy it. Read it, memorize it, and then write it.”
He straightens. “This conference is concluded.”
Elysand is the first to leave, followed by the more senior males. As I stand to go, Abram shoots me a venomous look.
“Keep your mouth shut,” he mutters as he shoves past me.
The other rookies stare at me as though I’ve betrayed them.
I would have thought that would be the end of today’s rather unfortunate chain of events. But no. It isn’t enough that all the rookies now look at me as if I’ve committed treason—by the end of the day, I also find myself sporting a brand-new shiner on my right eye and a few cracked ribs.
I’d barely healed from the last beating, and now there’s another.
Lesson learned. Next time, I’ll keep my mouth shut.
By the time I’m on my way home, I’m dejected by everything that’s happened. Still, I decide to take my chances once more and venture into the mortal district. A bad idea by any measure, but at this point, I can only hope I’ve exhausted my daily quota of bad luck.
Normally, after Elysand’s warning and everything I’ve learned about Zantrax, I would avoid the mortal district entirely. But today is different. Today, my favorite book is being released in bookshops all across the mortal sector.
And for once, I have the money to buy it.
It’s a frivolity—hardly necessary for survival—but I can’t bring myself to resist. It’s the one small joy I have left in this otherwise pathetic life.
Luck, surprisingly, seems to be on my side. I don’t encounter any Zantrax addicts on my way to the bookstore. And as if that weren’t enough, I find exactly what I’m looking for.
The Adventures of Hippo, Volume 9.
I buy it without hesitation, even as I wince at the sight of my coins leaving my hand.
I can’t wait to get home and start reading, but as my stomach rumbles with hunger, I realize I still need sustenance.
Even though I’d like nothing more than to leave the mortal district right now, food is undeniably cheaper here than in the rest of the city.
Keeping my head down, my book tucked securely inside my coat, I walk down a busy alley in search of a restaurant—somewhere I won’t stand out too much.
The last thing I need is another incident.
I choose a place at random and step inside.
The moment I enter, every patron turns to look at me. I mutter something under my breath and, with my eyes fixed on the floor, find an empty seat far from everyone else and sit down. The stares follow me, and I can’t help but wonder—do they know what I am?
Do they see how pathetic and weak I am?
The wounds scattered across my body should be proof enough that I’m not an immortal. Immortals heal at will. I have to endure the pain.
After a while, they seem to decide I’m not interesting enough, and their attention returns to their meals. A male approaches me, looking me up and down. I’m ready to order, but before I can speak, he cuts me off.
He sneers. “We don’t serve vagrants here. You need to leave.”
I blink, staring at him as understanding dawns. That’s why everyone had been watching me so closely.
Do I look that bad? So bad that even in the mortal district, I’m considered bottom of the barrel?
In another life, I might have argued. I might have told him I wasn’t a vagrant, that my money was as good as anyone else’s. But with so many eyes on me, I look away and stand.
It isn’t worth fighting over. I can grab some bread on the way home. That will have to do.
I swallow and nod to the server, stepping past him toward the exit. I take only a few steps before another pair of feet plants itself firmly in my path, blocking my way.
“Dorian, what are you doing?” a woman asks sharply. “Are you chasing away customers? Do you want me to tell our parents?”
I slowly look up.
She stands with her hands on her hips, tapping her foot impatiently at the male servant.
“Come on, Mo,” he says defensively. “Look at him.”
“I am looking,” she replies. “And I don’t see anything wrong with him. Go serve the other tables. I’ll take care of this.”
She doesn’t wait for a response. Instead, she steps closer and places a hand on my shoulder. I freeze, stunned. I don’t even dare lift my gaze.
“It’s alright,” she says gently. “I’m sorry about my brother. He can be quite a pain.”
Her voice softens further. “Please, let’s go back to the table, and you can tell me what you’d like to order.”
One moment she was fierce; now she’s kind. Kind to me.
Biting my lip, I finally raise my eyes.
She’s shorter than I am, her slim frame dressed in a long brown dress with a yellow apron tied around her waist. When she catches me looking, she smiles.
“Come on,” she urges again.
I remain frozen, but this time it isn’t shock holding me still. It’s the warmth in her eyes, the gentle curve of her smile—one she seems to be giving just to me.
Her black hair is tied at her nape in a low bun. Her eyes are large and expressive, her features soft, just like her demeanor. Eventually, I manage to nod and let her lead me back to the table. People still stare, but I don’t care anymore.
All I can do is look at her.
“So, what would you like to order?” she asks.
“I… I’m not sure,” I say quietly. “Do you have anything you’d recommend?”
She smiles and leans in, pointing out the dishes she thinks are best. As she draws closer, I catch the faint, sweet scent of her. A shiver runs through me, heat rushing to my cheeks, and I instinctively shift back. She looks puzzled but says nothing.
“I think the stew would be very good for you,” she says. “It’s warm and hearty—perfect for the weather.”
Mesmerized by her voice, I can only nod. “Alright. I’ll have that.”
She smiles again. I don’t think anyone has ever smiled at me this much in my entire life.
And as if that weren’t enough, what she does next leaves me stunned.
“If you don’t have enough coins,” she whispers near my ear, “don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.”
She gives me one last smile and walks away.
I watch her go, embarrassed that she might think I’m broke, yet deeply shaken by her kindness. Even if I had no money, she would have served me. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like that.
My hunger fades into the background as my eyes follow her through the restaurant. She moves from table to table, smiling at everyone. There’s a strange disappointment in realizing she smiles at all the patrons—not just me.
I’m not special at all.
I rein in the thought and let out a dry laugh. At least she’s fair.