Epilogue
“Eric? Are you coming?” a woman’s voice bristles.
Sylvia is the most annoying woman I’ve ever met.
There’s not one specific thing about her that grinds my gears, but rather, a host of combined efforts that make me want to rip out my gorgeous hair.
For starters, my father promised she was a Flavorsmith.
As if to prove his point, at our wedding, she’d prepared various platters of spiced venison, mushroom puffs, cinnamon strudels, and poached eggs.
Which, in hindsight, had set unrealistic expectations going forward.
Because after the moment she’d put on that wedding ring, she stopped cooking for me.
And now I’m stuck escorting her to the market and carrying around her bags.
“Eric!” Sylvia screeches from across the pavilion.
I pretend I don’t hear her, diverting my attention instead toward a table of charmed baubles which vow to ward off evil spirits, per the scribbled sign over them.
It’s not that she isn’t beautiful. Every woman is beautiful in their own right. It’s that she isn’t her.
For starters, Sylvia’s hair is brighter than cornbread, while Shay’s had been dark as night.
Shay made me feel at ease in my own home, whereas Sylvia makes me feel cornered.
I’ve tried explaining the fact thrice over, that if she’d simply cook more often, as was promised in our nuptials, I’d be in a better mood.
After all, the key to a man’s heart is through his stomach.
But Sylvia continues to blame that goddamned ring for her lack of cooking abilities.
Quite the convenient excuse, if you ask me.
I’m beginning to think she’s waiting for me to initiate a divorce, so that she can run away with half of my inheritance.
Considering how my parents both died shortly after the wedding.
“Eric?” Sylvia huffs. I can feel her breathing down my neck like she so often does.
She hikes up her expensive skirt, the one I purchased for her at the market over in Eighrora last week.
Then she prods me on the nose with her finger, like I’m a small child who has stolen a piece of candy. “I thought I lost you,” she says.
“Oh, no. Wouldn’t want that…” I mumble. She stuffs a hemp bag into my arms. “Here, carry this. I found the most gorgeous plates down the road at Mernie’s stall.”
“Plates, yes…” I stutter. “Plates for what, food?”
“Of course, silly! What else would they be for?”
I scratch the back of my neck with my free hand. “Wouldn’t that require you to… cook?”
Sylvia looks me square in the eyes. Then she pinches my arm. “You know how my cooking skills have been lacking since I put this ring on.”
“Yes, so I’ve heard.”
She glances down at her finger as if to prove her point, only to pause.
“Wha…” She staggers backward, her expression drowning in shock. “What happened to my ring? It’s gone!” She holds out her finger and waves it around as evidence. “Someone must’ve stolen it. But who?”
I shake my head, trying to hide my thrill over the cursed thing being gone. To which she responds by stabbing me in the chest with her fingernail. Gods, I need to stop paying for her manicures, because those things are very sharp.
“I’m going to figure out who it was,” she deduces. “That ring was worth a gallon of bloodmagic, maybe even more. I’ll have the guards string them up by their feet and dangle them over the square for this, mark my words.”
Sylvia can be so dramatic. I shift the heavy bag into my opposite arm, suddenly noticing that my ring is also gone. There must be a thief in the market. A Voidbinder, perhaps. Someone who blends in with the shadows and swipes valuable things from unsuspecting passersby, like rings.
I must admit, I’m quite relieved. I’d been growing increasingly worried over my ring’s refusal to budge from my finger.
I even feared that divorcing Sylvia would be an impossible feat, unless I were to saw my entire finger off.
Although considering her behavior as of late, the thought had been quite tempting. Who needs a ring finger, anyway?
“You stole it from me,” Sylvia says, stuffing her finger in the face of a poor old vendor whose wrinkles multiply in shock.
He shakes his head and rushes away, so she grabs the arm of another passing gentleman and instructs him to empty his pockets.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d assume that Sylvia is the thief in this situation.
“My ring is gone too,” the man explains, his voice sounding harried. “And so is my wife’s. They disappeared into thin air just this morning.”
Sylvia’s mouth slips open. “No… someone stole my ring, right here in the market. Why aren’t you listening?”
The man shoves on by, so Sylvia chooses a new victim to intimidate. A female vendor around her age with emerald eyes and an endless curtain of braids. “My ring is gone too,” she says with a sheepish grin. “I think it was the work of the raven.”
“The what now?” Sylvia throws a hand on her hip.
My heart gallops in my chest.
Shadow. What did you do?
“The ring was limiting my powers…” the vendor goes on to explain. “It was making me feel weak.” She holds up her finger to display the indent where the ring used to be. “It was gone when I woke up this morning. My magic is back.”
Her magic is back…
“Sylv, this means you can cook now!” I shout.
“Shut up, you big-headed twat!” Sylvia snaps back.
I swear, if someone didn’t know us, they’d probably assume we were in love. Which is the farthest thing from the truth. Shadow is the only woman I have ever loved.