Chapter 20 #2
As Evelyne stepped inside, the bell above the door chimed softly, its sound swallowed almost instantly by the warmth of the space. The air carried the scent of jasmine, rich and heady, curling around her like an unseen welcome.
The shop was small but overflowing, every inch crammed with relics, trinkets, and objects that seemed to hum. Wooden shelves lined the room, cluttered with glass vials, intricately carved boxes, and aged tomes. It was crowded, yet everything seemed precisely where it was meant to be.
A woman emerged behind the counter when the bell rang, like she had expected Evelyne.
She appeared to be around Evelyne’s mother’s age, her soft brunette curls laced with silver.
She had the kind of beauty that didn’t fade with time—gentle yet commanding, with a quiet strength behind her kind expression.
She met Evelyne’s stare, assessing without intimidation, fearless without arrogance.
“Welcome,” she said smoothly.
Evelyne slowly closed the door behind her, her eyes trailing over the strange and wonderful things that filled the shop.
“I’m glad we’ve finally met.” The woman smiled, her gaze flicking toward the door. “I’m glad we’ve all finally met.”
The bell above the entrance chimed. Evelyne turned—and there stood Alaric, stepping into the shop.
***
Alaric had been sent by his father to meet Lord Corvin and Lady Mireya Shaw of Velenshire, tasked with uncovering the true extent of the darkness that had begun swallowing the trade routes.
Judging by the grim expressions of the noble couple seated before him, he already knew the news wouldn’t be good.
Lord Corvin exhaled slowly, his weathered hands clasped together as he met Alaric’s gaze. “We are losing men.” His voice was heavy. “Most don’t return. They seem to… vanish.”
Alaric’s brow furrowed. “How do you mean?”
Sitting at her husband’s side, Lady Mireya traced the rim of her goblet, her delicate fingers trembling; a flicker of emotion she quickly hid.
“As you know,” Lord Corvin began, “we’ve expanded our trade routes to the eastern lands of Centaro, exchanging meats and spices for coal and fur.
The cold is unpredictable in the south, and our people rely on these exchanges to survive the bitter months of late autumn.
But the carriages never make it through.
We find them abandoned, broken down in the middle of the road, cargo scattered…
but no bodies. No signs of struggle. Just… emptiness.”
Alaric tightened his jaw. He needed answers, not more warnings.
“Who can I speak to?” He pressed.
“Someone must know more about what’s happening.”
Lady Mireya rose from her chair, her golden hair cascading over her petite frame, and stepped toward him. She was striking, young and poised, but as she leaned in, her voice fell to a whisper, both playful and edged with warning.
“Find Charise Hallowell, and you will get your answers.”
Alaric studied her carefully. “And where, exactly, would I find this Charise?”
Lady Mireya’s lips curled into the faintest smirk as her fingers traced the table’s edge. Instead of returning to her seat, she leaned back against the table near Alaric, her hands resting on either side to steady herself.
“Go to the market,” she murmured. “She will find you.”
Alaric exhaled sharply. Cryptic. Great.
Lord Corvin reached for something beside him, unfolding a piece of parchment before handing it to Alaric—a map.
Another map. As if he didn’t have enough of those back home.
Lord Corvin must have caught the flicker of frustration in Alaric’s face, because his voice took on a graver tone. “This is not a map you’ve seen before.” His expression darkened as he tapped a finger against the aged parchment. “This will help you avoid the shadows.”
Alaric narrowed his gaze, unfolding the map entirely. At first glance, it looked no different from any other map of the trade routes—but as his fingers brushed the inked surface, something throbbed beneath his skin, a low pulse of energy that prickled up his arm.
Magic.
He clenched his jaw, tucking the map into his pocket before looking back at the noble couple. “Thank you. I will, uh… do my best to solve this problem.”
Lady Mireya tilted her head, watching him with something unreadable in her eyes before she finally smiled. “Do be careful, Alaric,” she said, her voice a velvety warning wrapped in amusement. “We’d hate to lose another handsome face from the south.”
Lady Mireya was a woman who delighted in her position, draped in the elegance of nobility like a second skin.
Lord Corvin, much older than her and seemingly indifferent to her playful flirtations with Alaric, made no effort to curb her boldness.
Why would he? He was the one who held the power, the one who could summon her to his bed whenever he pleased.
Yet beneath her teasing smirk was something else—a guarded edge, a glint of unease carefully concealed behind charm and sharp wit. She played the role of the confident lady well, but Alaric suspected it was merely a mask, shielding whatever fears she refused to voice.
He gulped, but forced a chuckle. This was ridiculous. Whispers of vanishing men. Maps that sensed magic. A woman in the market who would “find” him.
And yet… something deep within him whispered that was precisely where he needed to go.
Without hesitation, he set off for the market. As he navigated the bustling streets, a quiet pull—neither forceful nor gentle, but insistent—steered him toward a small shop between the rows of vendors. He stepped inside, and his breath caught in his chest.
Evelyne.
She stood before him, her eyes locking onto his with a fire that burned hotter than any words she could have spoken. Confusion. Hatred. Pain. It seared through him, leaving him hollowed out from the inside.
And he deserved it. Every bit of it.