Chapter 3
A week passed after the Praetor’s invitation. In that time, Elion grew distant. When he was home, his steps were hurried, his words few. At night, I heard him pacing when he thought I slept. I told myself it was nerves, that he worried over the attention I might draw.
The evening before the gathering was the worst. He didn’t meet my eyes once, remaining at his desk through the night, writing.
At dawn, we moved through the day as though it were ordinary, heading to the market to prepare. In daylight, the square wore a different face. Sunlight exposed fractures in the stone, and the fireflies’ glow was gone.
Elion walked beside me at a brisk pace, his face drawn with weariness, tension etched into his features. His thumb traced the edge of the Bondward insignia clipped to his chest.
We passed the Imperator’s fountain and turned left, stopping before a narrow storefront marked by a carved sign of draped fabric and gilded thread.
“This is the place,” I said.
His face paled further. “I know the owner. I would rather not linger. The sabers didn’t kill me, but this place might yet succeed. It is… excessive.”
A slow smile curved my mouth. “That is precisely the point.”
“The Aediles’ gathering is not a fashion parade.”
“No. It’s a battlefield. They simply fight with smiles instead of swords.”
That earned me a glare, which I met without flinching.
“For a week,” I continued, my voice low, “we’ve braced for tonight. You’ll be recognized. I’ll be seen. And if they mean to measure me, I’ll decide the scale.”
He sighed and motioned for me to step inside ahead of him. The air was perfumed with rosewater and incense. Bolts of fabric lined the walls in hues no common household could justify. Silks draped across tables, shimmering like molten metal.
A man greeted us with a polished smile, his hands conspicuously free of calluses.
“Welcome. How may I assist?”
I barely glanced at him, my focus already moving past him to the open doorway behind the counter, where the truth of the place revealed itself.
Women bent over long tables, fingers moving swiftly through thread and cloth as servants passed between them with shears, pins, and armfuls of fabric.
There was no laughter, no idle chatter—only precise, relentless work.
“I need a dress. For the Aediles’ gathering tonight,” I said.
“Ah! You must be Valentina,” he exclaimed, throwing his hands wide as if unveiling me to a waiting crowd.
“I was told about your first appearance among the elite, and I won’t miss it for anything.
Elion’s niece—how could you be anything but formidable!
I am invited as well, naturally. An evening like tonight deserves an audience, don’t you think? ”
A laugh escaped me before I could stop it. He was extravagant, and oddly charming. Before I could respond, he frowned. I glanced over my shoulder to find Elion standing in the corner.
The boisterous man called out to him. “Elion. What are you doing over there, hiding? Come here! Shame on you. How could you keep this gem hidden from us all this time? Such a beauty. I adore your freckles, dear. How may I help you?”
Elion cleared his throat. “Hello, Sartelis. It has been some time. We don’t have much time, so let’s be quick. I would prefer something modest for my niece. Something unremarkable, if you have it.”
I shot him a glare. “No. Not unremarkable.”
“Valentina—”
“If the Praetor wishes to parade me, I won’t shrink.”
Sartelis’s eyes gleamed. “Perhaps the young lady would care to browse?”
“No, it’s fine, I already know what I want.”
I moved toward the far end of the shop. One gown stood apart—coral-red silk layered and flowing, embroidered with gold thread that caught the light. The neckline dipped low without indecency, a golden sash cinched beneath the bust.
Elion went still.
“That dress will be noticed,” he said.
“Yes.” A smirk curved my mouth.
He searched my face as though looking for the child he once knew, and his expression fell when he failed to find her.
Sartelis clapped his hands, and servants entered. They led me to the far side of the shop, set me on a small podium, and drew the silk curtains closed around me. A tall bronze mirror stood before me.
“You have such long hair,” one of the women murmured, lifting the heavy waves. “And such a lovely color—it looks like spun fire.”
“And your eyes,” another whispered. “They are almost gold. Men must flock to you.” They giggled as they eased me out of my leathers and draped the dress over my head.
I met my reflection and felt nothing.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “None of it does.”
They exchanged glances, unconvinced, then fell silent, offering polite smiles as they finished. I stepped off the podium and slipped between the curtains.
“Well, what do you think?” I twirled once.
“You look—” He swallowed. “So much like your mother.” He cleared his throat and motioned to Sartelis.
I crossed the room and wrapped my arms around him. “I promise I’ll stay by your side. I won’t be reckless. I won’t let my temper rule me. For you.” I kissed his cheek.
His hands trembled where they rested against my back. “See that you do,” he murmured. “Because I don’t think I could survive losing you.”
After we said our goodbyes to Sartelis, I held the bundle of fabric close to my chest. It would serve as my armor tonight. The moment the wooden door shut behind us, Elion’s arm shot out across my shoulders, rigid enough to halt me before I stepped into the street.
“Careful, Tina.”
I barely heard him over the chanting.
“By Lunara’s light, order is mercy—follow the Imperator, his regime is divine!”
A column of faith fanatics surged past, their sandals striking the cobblestones in heavy rhythm, the Imperator’s banners raised high—purple silk snapping in the wind. We pressed against the shop’s stone wall as they streamed by without slowing. No one dared step into their path.
“For Lunara and order—for the Imperator!” They cried again and again.
The merchants fell silent. Parents gripped their children’s shoulders, pulling them back from the street.
The fanatics were dressed entirely in white, golden piercings gleaming against their skin as though devotion demanded ornament.
I watched them pass, unable to understand why they were deemed worthy of it.
“Those damn fanatics,” Elion muttered when we stepped away from the wall. The market resumed around us as if nothing had happened. “If you ask me, it’s a twisted interpretation of Lunara’s will.”
I merely shrugged, and we continued toward home in silence.
We weren’t the most devout of families, though the scriptures rested on our shelves like any other household’s.
Lunara, goddess of sun and moon, was said to embody balance in all things.
As Bondwards, we were bound more closely to the moon’s light, and I’d always preferred it to the relentless heat of Valystria’s sun.
The moon never seemed intent on painting more freckles across my face.
We passed our neighbor’s door. The windows were boarded shut and pieces of furniture were braced against the entrance. He must have left immediately after his daughter was taken—but where could he have gone? Where would I have gone? I pushed the thought aside and followed Elion inside.
As he closed the door, I went straight to my room to study, hoping to distract myself from the evening ahead.
I could hear him pacing beyond the thin wood, the uneven rhythm carrying through the house.
When I opened my door, I found him moving from table to shelf, lifting objects only to set them down again, unable to settle.
When I could no longer endure it, I snapped, “Sit down already. It’s not as if we’re about to be dragged to the Maw.”
He startled as I crossed into the sitting room, poured him a cup of water, and pressed it into his hand.
“Yes… yes, you’re right. I’m sorry.” He took it, drained it, and returned to his desk. He groaned under his breath as he continued, and I could no longer remain in the house.
“I’m going out,” I said, reaching for my things.
He didn’t respond. Pausing for a moment, I watched him, but his focus never shifted from the page. Without another word, I left.
At the bathhouse, I changed quickly and stepped into the hot water. Steam curled thick through the chamber. Women of every shade and build lounged in carved basins, bare shoulders gleaming, hair piled high. The scent of citrus oil wrapped around me like a balm.
I dipped beneath the surface and exhaled, letting the heat loosen the tension in my shoulders. When my lungs burned, I rose again, dragging my hair from my face and smoothing it back.
Laughter drifted across the chamber. Nearby, a group of women lounged across carved chairs, unashamed of their nakedness. They spoke of their children and the price of bread, and the mundane rhythm soothed me—a reminder that not everything in Caelora was cruel. Soon their talk turned to gossip.
“Did you hear what Cassara wore at the last gathering?” one said. “The finest silk from Aurexium. I heard it was dipped in real gold.”
“She has to remind everyone she married well,” another replied. “As if overseeing trade in Caelora and pocketing half the profit makes the Aedile desirable. Have you seen the size of his belly? I wonder how she survives lying beneath him.”
Laughter rippled through them, and another voice joined.
“What about Aelia?” she asked. “She looks poised, but beneath it her words are poison. I once saw her praise a woman’s embroidery, then commission the same pattern and claim it as her own.”
“Which one is she again?”
“The Praetor’s wife. She’s young, but too clever for her own good.”
One of them noticed me listening and murmured to the others. I turned my head, avoiding their gazes, but their attention settled on me.
“Look at her hair—too remarkable for a commoner.”
“Don’t you know anything… She’s Elion’s niece. The most celebrated Bondward in Caelora.”