Chapter 13 #2
A knowing smile tugged at the woman’s lips. “The Reindeer knows when to fight and when to walk away. It carries its antlers with grace but sheds them when the season calls for change.”
Reiya let out a soft laugh, hand patting the top of her head. “Mine must not have grown in yet.”
Su Lian chuckled and continued working the salve into her skin. “Maybe not yet. But the Reindeer rarely knows its own strength until the moment it’s tested.”
The words lingered, stirring doubt inside her, but also something dangerously close to hope. She glanced down at her palm and wrists, watching how her fingers and welts did seem better now.
Wouldn’t it be nice, she thought with a small smile, if she could prove she was as strong as the Reindeer when the time came?
T he wagon rumbled along the Great Salt Road—a ribbon of earth worn smooth by centuries of trade.
Sometimes it hugged the ocean’s edge, close enough for spray to mist the air, the rhythmic crash of waves thrumming through the soles of her feet.
Salt clung to her skin, and the breeze teased her hair, curling it with the scent of kelp and distant shores.
But the road didn’t stay gentle for long.
It twisted inland, climbing through sun-scorched plains where the cracked earth gaped open, thirsty and brittle. Dry winds, sharp from the Numeria Desert, rattled across the rocks, lifting grit into the air, scouring every breath raw. The dust stung her eyes, dried the inside of her mouth .
Just when the dryness grew unbearable, the land softened again—olive trees casting cool shadows across the road, streams threading their way through wildflowers and whispering grasses.
The air turned lush with the smell of damp earth and herbs.
Travellers clustered under date palms and fig trees, their laughter curling through the golden afternoon light.
Reiya shifted on the bench inside the wagon, the half-finished belt resting in her lap. Her fingers ached from the work, the repetitive weave of thread and cord, but she welcomed the rhythm.
The Great Salt Road demanded resilience. She could feel it in every jolt of the wagon, every passing breeze. For families like the Xians, it wasn’t just a path—it was a way of life, shifting and unpredictable, yet rewarding to those who learned to navigate its rhythms.
And if she wanted to find her place at the end of it, she would have to learn them—step by step, knot by knot.
Vhalis Thorn, she was learning, was a modest outpost, one of many dotting the Great Salt Road, named for the spiky vhalis shrubs clinging stubbornly to the dry earth in the area.
The hardy plant flourished where little else could, much like the traders and travellers who passed through, pausing only long enough to barter, rest, and move on.
Reiya helped the Xians set up their stall, once again learning by doing. The market came to life around her: wagons painted in bright hues rolled in, the air buzzing with hearty greetings, laughter, and the clamour of bartering voices, the sounds so lively they brought a smile to her lips.
For a moment, she lost herself in the rhythm—the simple pleasure of blending into the crowd. Here, she was neither princess nor Omega, just another traveller in a modest dress, bright hair tucked beneath a scarf. Dust clung to her skin, sweat trickled down her back, but it didn’t matter.
It felt like freedom—but was it truly? It was still only an idea, fragile and half-formed, yet more real than anything she’d ever been allowed to claim.
Freedom had seemed simple when she first fled. Now, it raised more questions than answers. Yet, among the faceless crowd, it felt closer—almost within reach .
Then, the shift came—sharp and immediate.
She froze in front of the stall, a handful of pouches in her hands, when a prickling awareness cut through the calm. Her pulse quickened. The air around her thickened, charged with something unseen, like threads tightening against her skin.
Low masculine voices drifted to her ears, growing closer. Alphas . Their presence coiled through the noise, distinct and heavy, pressing against her senses.
A knot twisted low in her belly—not an unpleasant feeling but unwelcome all the same. Sweat slid between her breasts, heart hammering against her ribs. Her hands moved faster—not with purpose, but with desperation to disguise the tremor in her fingers.
Don’t look. Don’t react. Just work. Stay invisible.
The pull persisted, the thread coiling tighter with every second. It urged her to turn, to seek them out. The warmth curling low in her belly frightened her even more than the Alphas themselves.
They were close now. Too close. She’d heard seasoned Alphas could pick an Omega out of a crowd with little more than a breath of shared air. Instinct sharpened their senses, and no amount of willpower could hide the scent of an unclaimed Omega once it began to rise.
Any moment, one of them might brush against her back as they passed.
She snatched a bundle of dried herbs Ru Rong had prepared for sale, clutching it tight to her chest—a flimsy shield, but better than nothing. If she could mask her scent, even for a moment, maybe she’d disappear before they noticed her.
The Alphas passed behind her, their footsteps heavy against the packed earth. Reiya kept her gaze down, every instinct taut, counting her heartbeat until the market’s steady hum swallowed the echoes of their boots.
The tension unravelled slowly, leaving her with a tight chest and shaky limbs. She sighed, shoulders slumping, but awareness lingered, humming beneath her skin.
She clenched her fists. How many Alphas would join the caravan tomorrow? Seasoned ones? How many could she avoid?
The sun began to set, twilight softening into night. Torches flared to life, illuminating the vibrant market. The moon climbed higher, but business showed no signs of slowing.
The Xians’ goods sold briskly. Su Lian’s crafts, with their intricate patterns, drew steady interest, and Ru Rong’s potions and salves were equally sought after.
To Reiya’s quiet relief, two of her pouches sold.
A young girl lingered over the belt she’d made, fingers brushing the embroidery.
For a moment, Reiya thought she’d buy it, but the girl walked away before the sale.
She tucked the belt back into place with a small, resigned sigh. No matter, she told herself. Perhaps tomorrow—or the day after—it would find a new home.
As the crowd thinned, the lively hum softened into a quiet rhythm. Xian Jun counted a handful of coins from the day’s trade and tucked them into a leather pouch.
He held it out to Reiya. “Your share.”
Reiya’s brow furrowed. “That’s more than?—”
“You’ve earned it,” he said, his tone leaving little room for argument. “Take it. You’ll find a use for it sooner than you think.”
She nodded and accepted without further argument, tucking it carefully into her pocket.
“Thank you.” The coins grounded her in a way she hadn’t expected. Gratitude stirred, twining with something quieter—pride.
They were the first coins she’d ever earned.
Xian Jun nodded. “Eat and rest. Tomorrow will be just as busy.”
Reiya glanced toward the market’s edge, hesitating. “I need a moment to send a message.”
He raised a brow, but with his usual silence, he nodded and turned back to the stall.
She moved through Vhalis Thorn’s winding paths, following painted signs leading to the Wingmaster’s stall.
She found it nestled along the perimeter, standing beneath a sagging roof crowded with perches.
A dozen Sparos stirred restlessly in the dimming light, preening feathers and casting curious glances at those passing below.
An elderly man sat at the counter, scratching notes into a ledger. Behind wire spectacles, his eyes sharpened as he looked up .
“Message, miss?” he rasped, voice roughened, probably from years spent shouting orders at unruly birds.
Reiya inclined her head. “To Aethonia, please.”
He cocked a brow. “A far flight. That’ll cost extra.”
Reiya loosened the drawstring on her pouch, pinching out a few coins to show the Wingmaster. “Does this cover it?”
The man’s eyes flicked over the coins before nodding. He gave her a small piece of parchment and dipped a quill into a shallow inkwell. “Write your message.”
Reiya bent over the paper, the quill hovering just above the surface. The urge to write everything—about Castiel’s betrayal, the unknown dangers, her regret for leaving—pressed at her. But the words felt tangled, too big to fit onto this small, fragile sheet.
In the end, she kept it brief:
I’m safe. Slowly making my way home. Castiel isn’t who he seems.
She folded the note, marking the outside with a series of numbers known only to couriers and palace officials. It’d get her message sent straight to the palace.
The Wingmaster deftly secured the message to a Sparo’s leg, the small bronze ring on its other talon bearing symbols marking its assigned route. He gave a low whistle, and the bird took off into the night, wings flashing in the moonlight before vanishing into the dark.
Relief hit her first, sharp and fleeting—then unease rose to drown it.
Now, all that remained was the waiting—caught in the hollow space between hope and fear.
As she made her way back through the thinning crowd, a breeze carried the scent of herbs and dried flowers. Her gaze caught on an herbalist’s stall tucked between two flower shops, glass jars and bundles of leaves hanging from twine, their earthy colours muted in the torchlight .
A sign painted in Isseric stood at the stall’s front: Suppression Remedies Available.
She slowed, fingers twitching at her sides. Suppression remedies. She’d heard of herbs that could mask an Omega’s scent, dulling her instincts and muting her nature, making it easier to lose herself in the crowd.
The idea of a temporary relief tugged at her—a way to quell the pull and keep herself hidden until she reached safe shores.
But before she made a decision, a chill prickled at her nape, the weight of unseen eyes pressing down. Her pulse quickened, her hands trembling as she scanned the crowd.
Someone was watching. She felt it as surely as a shadow at her back.
Then, she saw him .
At the market’s edge, a towering Alpha loomed in the shadow.
Dust-streaked leather armour clung to his broad shoulders, scuffed by long, brutal roads.
His bronze hair hung in rough waves, with careless braids tucked behind his ear.
He looked carved from the very earth he walked, as worn and relentless as the path itself.
But it was his face that lodged a stone in her throat. A jagged scar cut down his cheek, framing eyes that stripped the market bare with cold, predatory precision. When his gaze caught hers, the ground seemed to shift beneath her feet.
Reiya froze. His glare held her in place—sharp, focused. He inhaled deeply, the leather cuirass inflating over his chest. She felt his attention as if he were peeling back her layers from across the way. His eyes narrowed, darkening.
Did he know? Could he sense what she was?
His gaze lingered a beat longer before sliding away, leaving her in the icy shadow of his attention. She forced herself to move, quickening her steps toward the Xians’ wagon, her pulse hammering relentlessly.
Just another traveller, she told herself. A chance glance.
But even as she stepped into the glow of the Xians’ fire, her heartbeat refused to steady—each thud a quiet warning, echoing with a meaning she couldn’t understand.