C H A P T E R T H I R T Y – S I X
Her eyes are opening to the possibility .
C H A P T E R T H I R T Y – S I X
Olwyn
A ltair and I leave the inn and continue walking through Elderglen.
The sounds of life fill the air, and there’s a hum of activity, a rhythm to the village that feels natural, easy.
My mind is still spinning, still trying to reconcile what I’m seeing with the stories I’ve been told as long as I can remember. The tension in my chest refuses to ease, and every step we take feels like I’m walking deeper into a world I don’t fully understand. A world I’ve never understood.
Altair stays close, and we pass a stall near the edge of the square, where something catches my eye. My footsteps slow as I see a gleaming display of weapons laid out on a cloth-covered table. Swords, daggers, axes—all polished to perfection, the steel reflecting the sunlight in sharp flashes.
I step closer, my gaze drawn to one weapon: a silver blade with an elegant white oak handle. It’s beautifully crafted, the metal gleaming like liquid moonlight, and I reach out instinctively, running my fingers over the hilt.
“It’s a fine piece, isn’t it?” the shopkeeper says from behind the table, his voice friendly and warm. He’s a stout ma n? —vampir e? —with dark hair and a thick beard, his eyes crinkling as he smiles at me. “One of my best works. The silver’s hard to work with, but worth the trouble, I say.”
I pick up the blade, feeling its weight in my hand. It’s perfectly balanced, light but deadly. The craftsmanship is impeccable. It feels right in my hand. But as I turn the blade over, my heart skips a beat as I see the sheen. The metal... it’s not just silver.
It’s witchsilver.
I freeze, my fingers tightening around the hilt as the realisation sinks in. Witchsilver is the only thing that can kill a pureblood vampire. And here it is, being sold openly in the middle of the village—just another weapon in a simple marketplace, accessible to anyone with the coin to buy it.
My throat tightens as I set the blade back down on the table, my fingers brushing over the hilt once more before letting go. Why is this here? Why would a village filled with both humans and vampires sell something so dangerous so freely? Does everyone here have access to these weapons?
I glance up at the shopkeeper, but he’s still smiling warmly, as if nothing about this is unusual. And maybe it isn’t—at least not here.
Before I can overthink it further, I feel the brush of Altair’s presence behind me, his warm breath ghosting over my ear as he leans down to whisper. “They’re not sold for rebellion or treachery,” he says, his tone calm, even. “The vampires in this village believe humans should be able to protect themselves. Against rogue vampires or... other dangers.”
I glance at him, my brow furrowing slightly. “Other dangers?”
Altair’s eyes flick briefly to the shopkeeper and then back to me, his voice dropping lower. “In case a skirmish from Casius’s soldiers ever ventures too near the village,” he explains. “It hasn’t happened yet, but they’d rather be prepared than defenceless.”
The words settle over me, and my shoulders relax slightly. It’s not what I’d feared, not some dark, twisted plot or indication of distrust. It’s protection. A sense of balance.
I look back at the blade, its purpose sinking in. Here, in this village, humans and vampires coexist—imperfectly, perhaps, but coexist all the same. And the witchsilver isn’t a symbol of betrayal. It’s a symbol of trust, of shared responsibility.
“They trust humans with this kind of power,” I murmur, more to myself than to Altair.
“They do,” he replies softly, his voice steady. “And the humans trust them not to abuse their strength. That’s what makes this village work.”
I glance at the shopkeeper again, noticing now the way his eyes linger on the humans walking by, his smile faint but genuine. There’s no malice here, no fear. Just a quiet understanding.
Setting the blade down one last time, I step away from the table, the faintest hint of warmth spreading in my chest. This village... it’s not perfect, but it’s trying. And maybe that’s enough.
Altair straightens beside me, his shadow looming as he watches me carefully, gauging my reaction. I look up at him, searching his eyes for something—approval, understanding, maybe even pride. But his expression remains unreadable, though the faintest curve of his lips hints at satisfaction.
And as we step further into the bustling market, the witchsilver lingers in my thoughts, not as a warning, but as a reminder of what’s possible. Trust, even here, can exist.
We continue walking, and I try to shake off the unease that clings to me like a shadow. My thoughts are a mess. If my parents lied about everything, what else did they hide from me?
Lost in thought, I almost don’t notice the small figure that steps in front of me.
“Excuse me, miss?”
I blink, startled out of my thoughts, and look down to see a little girl standing before me. She can’t be more than six or seven years old, her wide eyes shining with curiosity as she looks up at me. Her wild curly hair is dark, and she’s clutching a small bouquet of wildflowers in her hands.
“Are you a princess?” the girl asks, her voice small but filled with wonder.
My heart stutters at the question. I glance at Altair, who’s watching with a soft, amused smile tugging at the corner of his lips. I can feel the warmth of his gaze, but it’s the girl’s innocent question that holds me frozen in place.
“A princess?” I murmur, crouching down to meet her at eye level. “Why would you think that?”
The little girl tilts her head, as if the answer is obvious. “Because you’re so pretty. Like the princesses in the stories.”
I can’t help but smile at her words, though there’s a tightness in my chest that makes it hard to breathe. I’m not a princess. Not the way she means it, at least. But for a moment, in her wide-eyed gaze, I almost wish I could be.
“What’s your name?” I ask gently.
“Lira,” she says, smiling shyly. She holds out the bouquet of flowers, the petals bright and vibrant in the afternoon sun. “These are for you.”
My throat tightens as I take the flowers from her, her simple gesture settling over me like a warm blanket. “Thank you, Lira,” I say softly, touched in a way I can’t quite put into words. “These are beautiful.”
The girl beams, and for a moment, everything else fades away. The village, the witchsilver, the questions swirling in my mind—all of it seems distant and unimportant in the face of this small act of kindness.
Altair steps forward, his hand resting lightly on my shoulder as he crouches down beside me. His presence is solid, grounding, and I can feel the heat of him even through the fabric of my cloak.
“Lira,” he says gently, his voice low and kind. “You’ve made her very happy.”
The girl gasps, her eyes going wide as she looks up at Altair. Recognition flashes across her small face, her mouth opening to speak, but Altair is quicker.
“Shhhh,” he whispers, pressing a finger to his lips with a small, conspiratorial smile.
The little girl’s excitement shifts into something softer, and she nods quickly, her lips pressing together to keep whatever she was about to say trapped inside. Her wide eyes sparkle with a mixture of awe and delight as she clutches the little wooden figurine she had just handed me.
The girl giggles, her cheeks turning pink as she looks between us. “You’re her prince, aren’t you?” she asks, her innocent eyes shining.
Altair chuckles softly, glancing at me with a look that sends warmth rushing through my chest. “Something like that,” he murmurs, his tone teasing but sincere.
I feel my face flush, and I quickly stand, hoping to hide the embarrassment creeping up my neck. “Thank you for the flowers, Lira,” I say, giving her one last smile before she skips off to rejoin her friends.
Altair straightens beside me, his gaze lingering on my face as I clutch the bouquet to my chest. It takes all my willpower to tear my eyes away from him.
We continue walking through the village, the silence between us comfortable now, though everything I’ve seen still lingers in the back of my mind. The truth of this place—the humans and vampires living together, the weapons being sold so easily—has shaken something loose inside me.
As we stroll through the village, I keep sneaking glances at the people around us—humans and vampires, working side by side, laughing, talking, sharing the same space. A vampire woman leans down to help a human child tie her shoe, while a human blacksmith laughs with a vampire customer over the counter. It’s so… ordinary.
It’s overwhelming, and I don’t know how to process it. I want to ask Altair—want to demand answers—but the words won’t come. I find myself wanting to enjoy the peace. The normality.
As we reach the edge of town, something catches my eye—a string of brightly coloured decorations hanging between two buildings, fluttering gently in the breeze. Flowers and ribbons in shades of gold, green, and crimson are woven together, lining the street in a vibrant arch.
Altair notices my distraction and slows his pace. “Ah,” he says, following my gaze. “It looks like they’re preparing for the Litha celebration.”
I glance at him, confused. “Litha?”
“Midsummer,” he explains, a smile tugging at his lips. “The longest day of the year. A celebration of light, warmth, and the abundance of life. Have you never celebrated it before?”
I shake my head. “No, I… I don’t think we ever had anything like that in Avantra.”
Altair’s smile widens, and for a moment, he looks so much younger, the usual sharpness in his features softening into something almost boyish. “Then you’re in for a treat,” he says, his voice warm and full of excitement.
His enthusiasm is contagious, and despite the whirlwind of thoughts still racing through my mind, I feel a small flicker of anticipation.
“Come on,” Altair says, nodding toward the direction of the decorations. “Let’s see what else they’ve got planned.”
As we walk further into the heart of the village, the energy in the air shifts. I can hear laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the faint sound of music drifting from the square ahead. More decorations hang between buildings, flowers and lanterns, and I realise that the entire town is gearing up for the celebration. The air is fragrant with the smell of baked goods and freshly picked herbs, and I can feel the excitement building all around us.
I can’t help but smile.
If this is a taste of what lies beyond the walls of the palace, then maybe—just maybe—there’s more to this life than I ever imagined.