Chapter 54
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
LYRA
Since I was a small girl, I dreamed of the day I would see Anatolé Kingdom’s legendary Golden City, also known as the City of Golden Wishes.
I lived out stories in my head, imagining the one-of-a-kind comets gliding through the red sky.
I fantasized about them. Romanticized them.
Anticipated the day I would stride through the glittering streets of the festival, free of a gilded cage and a king who suffocated my autonomy with tightened fists.
Yet for all my dreaming—all my many wishes upon the colored stars—I never truly believed the day would come.
Now here it is, unfurling before me, my tedious freedom nothing like what I expected, yet more crisp and rich than I could have ever hoped for it to be.
Children run through the limestone streets, parading flags with trailing ribbons meant to resemble the tails of comets.
Music awakens the air, filled by the sounds of jubilant lutes, flutes, fiddles, and more.
People draped in colorful fabrics crowd every corner of the capital city, congregating mostly in the main market area, circling around a five-tiered golden fountain spitting sparkling water.
In the market square, there are rows and rows of colorful booths, lined by brightly dyed tapestries, colorful trinkets, stained glass artwork, and troves of golden jewelry.
They are accompanied by food stalls boasting the mouth-watering smells of savory meats, seasoned vegetables, fluffy bread, and even fine desserts.
I stop at one such booth, my cheeks sore from wearing a beaming smile for hours on end now. Draven leans forward beside me, his arm maintaining the loose hold it’s kept around my waist while he inspects the table.
“Two coins for two comets,” the older stallman says, his words carrying the melodic long vowels indicative of Anatolian origins.
“What is it?” I ask, not caring I carry the excited tune of a curious child.
Wedged securely into a rectangular tray with small holding spaces, a cone made from what appears to be batter is shaped into a comet’s tail, where scoops of sky-colored ice cream round out the shape. It is topped by glimmers of something sparkly, making the cone glitter like the stars themselves.
“Comet’s Dust,” the man answers.
“We’ll take two,” Draven says, dropping two coins into the palm of the man’s already outstretched hand.
He hands over the cones. “May the Divine guide you this festival. Sahtalla.” He positions his thumb at his forehead and curls his fingers inward, leaving out only his pinky, and makes a short gliding motion forward.
Draven extends his thanks and turns to leave, but I linger, the curiosity paired with my desire to soak everything in overtaking all else. “What does Sahtalla mean?”
The man scratches at his chin, considering.
“It is saying of my people, which makes it hard to translate to common tongue. But it means something like, You are soul, and so you are love; let the soul water the garden, for the eyes only bring thorns. It is word we say to kin and strangers alike. It shows respect to the soul of person above all else.”
“Am I able to show respect by saying it?”
The man smiles. “You are soul, are you not?”
I beam, then form my fingers exactly as the man had, positioning my thumb right at the center of my forehead. “Sahtalla,” I say, mirroring the motion he made.
“Zentati,” he replies. “I see you and your garden.”
I dip my chin at the kind man, still smiling as I offer him a small wave as I turn to go. Draven watches me through tender eyes, a deep curve tugging at his lips.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he says, eyes glittering. He nods toward the cone in my hand. “You try it first.”
I don’t take much convincing, immediately licking the ice cream in a way which probably resembles something more like a horse than anything else. The chilled texture melts on my tongue, and it tastes similar to vanilla, but with a richer, nuttier flavor. It tastes like divinity.
My shoulders slacken, and I tip my head back while an obnoxious moan escapes me. “By the gods, this is delicious. I’ve never tasted anything like it before.”
Draven’s eyes become heavy-lidded, and he reaches his free hand for my waist, tugging me against him.
He drops his voice into a low whisper. “I’ve tasted something better, and hearing you make that noise is making me think of tasting it again.
So unless you want that to happen in the shadows of some alleyway, I’m going to have to ask you to not make such noises in front of me until we’re alone. ”
My body catches fire. Yet before I can say anything, I hear a familiar female voice joke from behind me, “Do you two ever keep your hands off each other?”
I turn to see Marcella and Gray approaching us, Marcella’s festival outfit now completed with arm jewelry, bangles, and a new headpiece featuring a blood-red gemstone hovering just above her brows.
Her copper hair is free and roaring with curls, making her resemble some fierce, warrior goddess.
From beside her, in his own boastful display of fine fabrics and gems, Gray looks like royalty.
Together, they blend into a visual exuding power and elegance.
They stop just a few steps short of Draven and me, and Marcella rests a hand on her popped hip, a sharp smirk tilting her lips.
Draven watches her with his own pointed smirk, a simmering challenge flaring in his eyes as he remains silent, taking a bite out of his own ice cream.
His hand remains pointedly planted on the curve of my waist, as if daring her to ask him to remove it.
I roll my eyes and elbow him playfully before turning my attention onto Gray and Marcella. “What took you two so long? I thought you left us to get jewelry?”
Gray folds his arms, throwing his head toward Marcella. “She wanted to compete in an arm wrestling competition.”
My brows fly up my forehead. “And?”
Marcella shrugs, inspecting her nails. “I won.”
“Of course you did,” Draven deadpans.
She snaps her eyes up to him. “Wanna give it a go sometime?”
He again takes a bite out of his ice cream—seriously, has no one taught him you are supposed to lick the damn thing, not use your teeth? “You don’t actually think you’re capable of beating me, right?”
“Never know if you never try.”
He studies her. “Alright,” he drawls after a moment, eyes crinkling. “How about right now, then?”
She flashes him a wicked grin. “Let’s do it, pretty boy.”
He snorts, passing off his ice cream to me. “Would you mind holding this for me? I’ll only need a moment.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. I accept the cone and watch them wander to an empty barrel, where they prop their elbows up on the flattened top and clasp hands, fire dancing in both their gazes. Gray steps forward to stand at my side.
“It feels like so much has changed while I’ve been away,” I muse tenderly to him, my lips twitching at the sight of Draven and Marcella as her tongue pokes out of her mouth and Draven counts down from three.
“How so?”
I chuckle, bringing Draven’s ice cream to my lips while mindlessly offering my cone to Gray, who surprisingly accepts and immediately goes in for a taste.
“Let me think,” I begin, my tone theatric.
“You’re now known as ‘The People’s Champion.
’ Draven and you have become friends, despite the odds.
He and Marcella also appear to be friends now.
We are traveling with Finlay Fjolla—like that’s normal—and we’ve been spending time with Draven’s sister, who we didn’t even know existed a short while ago, who also happens to be sharper than a blade’s edge.
Not to mention, here you and I are, walking the streets of Anatheima during the Ardoris Comet Festival, just like we always dreamed of as children.
” I pause, shaking my head. “I just…gods, it is so hard to reconcile the past with the present sometimes. To accept the good as it comes without overthinking it.”
Gray wraps his free arm around my shoulders and pulls me into his side. I rest my head on his shoulder, and he presses a kiss to my temple—his silent answer to everything I’ve said.
We watch in silence as Marcella’s face reddens and twists while she grits her teeth, pushing against Draven’s arm with all her might. Draven merely watches her without breaking a sweat, smiling smugly.
It makes me smile in turn. “He seems happier.”
Gray nods, a soft laugh escaping him. “It’s hard to imagine the version of him we met that day in the valley now, isn’t it?”
“Gods,” I say through an amused scoff, “you have no idea.”
A vein bulges in Marcella’s neck as she continues pushing against Draven’s hold. He’s just toying with her now.
My expression softens. “People think him impenetrable and cruel—hard and unfeeling. But that’s not him at all.
Cruel people do not mourn the innocent lives they took.
Unfeeling people do not touch another as he touches me.
” I watch Draven teasingly smirk at Marcella as he holds her at bay, his eyes crinkled.
“Kiran told me once that he was incredibly soft-hearted, and at the time, I found that so hard to believe. But he truly is just that, isn’t he?
Despite the terrifying magic, despite his hardened exterior—he is nothing more than a soft-hearted boy who loves hard. ”
Gray glances down at me. “People have a way of surprising you when you offer them a chance to show you their deepest selves.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, my smile blooming like petals warmed by a pleasant sun.
“I suppose they do.” I lift my head from his shoulder so that I can meet his eyes.
“Speaking of, when are you going to talk to Marcella? I’m back now, and I think it’s safe to say she has grieved how she needed to, so there should be no reason why you haven’t told her how you feel yet. ”
Now it’s his turn to grin like a smitten fool. “You’re right. Which is precisely why I plan to tell her at sunrise tomorrow.”
“Sunrise? Why not tonight, during the comet shower?”
“Because I once told her the sun would shine again for her, and so it only feels right.”
I watch him as he gazes at Marcella, his expression filled with the same honest admiration and loyalty as a puppy. I shake my head, laughing quietly to myself. “You are quite the romantic, Gray Nightenjoy. I have to give you that.”
“No,” he counters, voice soft. “I am simply a man who has decided he can’t think of any greater happiness than the one standing right in front of him.”
Marcella does not beat Draven in arm wrestling. In fact, of the four times she demands a rematch, she does not even come close to winning over him a single time.
I hope she knows how richly she’s still won.