Chapter 7
The market is known across the entire continent for its ability to provide whatever one desires, legal or not.
If you know where to look and are ready to pay the price.
Today, the streets are louder than usual, a cacophony of voices, clattering carts, and haggling merchants spilling into every corner.
Locals set up the stalls with pompous decorations, flying balloons, and confetti. In the further alleys, ostentatious temples of Gorok and his twin, Chaos, draw both travellers and locals alike, creating a maze of marchers and petty peddlers, the air thick with the scent of herbs and spices.
Enchanting decorations ensure the Trading Festival brings the Temples plenty of profit.
A fat percentage of every sale goes straight into their purses.
No wonder the priesthood is the second-richest class in Rhodria.
If someone tells me it’s not a business, I’ll laugh my face off.
No one dares deny the Gods what they’re ‘rightfully due,’ even as more and more people start questioning why the divine would need gold in the first place.
My Gram was turning grey from all the headaches the dispute brought her. “It is never smart to antagonise the Temples,” I remember her repeating it over and over again, like her personal mantra. Grandpa used to massage her head after the meetings.
Power may be abused, but the Gods are still handling blessings today. The celebration happens only once a year, during the week of the Summer Solstice. Blessings are being laid upon unions, truces, and agreements, sealing them in good faith. No better time for a little shopping than right now.
My eyes sparkle. The excitement nudges me to make a list of stuff I want to acquire. I fall into the trap while being perfectly aware of it. I don’t know if it makes me smarter or plain stupid.
I need new armour, leather gloves, and some kind of dagger; I lost the last one at a Curse Dice betting shops. That game is savage and cost me a fortune, especially since my luck ran dry long ago.
I have no idea who invented it, but some whisper that Sindral is infiltrating Rhodria with it, to destroy us. Bullshit, of course. Ghouls don’t care about anything except themselves and the next sweet they can cram down their throats.
The crowd parts for me like I was ill. I’ll never get used to being a pariah, even if the hostility makes it easier to navigate the bustling streets.
I take a deep breath, pushing this trail of thoughts where they belong, sealed into my mental box. I want to celebrate and enjoy life, but I know I don’t deserve it. Sometimes I think the guilt is punishment enough, then I want to be beaten for daring to think that.
I stumble on the uneven ground.
Stop thinking, you oaf!
I force myself to get moving and focus on the list, even though my excitement has been dulled by guilt.
With a hand on my satchel, warding off any pickpockets, I weave through the alley. Two males stand by the curb with their children, voices raised as they argue the price of a Convenient Mating. A few harsh words, a handshake, and it’s done—their offspring traded off like goods for the ceremony.
Some call the custom barbaric, but it is not that simple.
Fae did not originally come in pairs, not the way Vikans do. The Third High Queen, ever the romantic, asked Gorok to divide Fae souls into pieces. And because it was Gorok’s intervention, anyone can visit a temple and learn who their match is.
The Fifth Queen was betrayed by her mate and demanded a special knot added after the ceremony—one that makes sex outside the mating bond bring no satisfaction, while sex within the pair, triad, or whatever number becomes utterly mind-blowing.
Another queen decided the Fae were becoming too meek and set a limit: you must reach two hundred fifty before you are allowed to discover your mate, so that in your youth, you are free to experiment.
But some cannot wait that long. They want the coin that comes with a union, the dowry that can change a family’s fortunes.
I once tried to cheat the system to find out who my mate was.
I’m only one hundred and two, after all.. It didn’t end well. My Grams sprinkled iron into my food for months, punishing me for the shame I’d brought her. It was a hard time.
I push the memory of that pain aside and send a silent prayer for Gorok to bless the union I’ve just witnessed with love.
Especially now, in these uncertain times, when his descendant has abdicated and openly defied him.
I feel Gorok’s displeasure like a blade pressed against me, sharp and unrelenting.
Aidon appears at my side, dressed in a dark, well-fitted doublet. “You are very self-absorbed, aren’t you?”
“What do you mean?” I ask carefully, weaving through the market street towards the charm shop I’m sure is somewhere nearby.
“Let’s just say it’s obvious,” he answers. “I have a feeling that if a star-stone fell two oceans away, you’d still find a way to blame yourself for it.”
I level my eyes at him, already irritated, and his infuriating smirk only doubles the annoyance.
I stop walking. “You don’t know me. Maybe you have access to my thoughts, to my utter despair. But you don’t know shit about me!” My voice rises, sharp enough to draw a few curious glances from passers-by.
Fae slow in their steps, pretending to browse stalls while openly listening.
“I know why you aren’t in the Capital,” Aidon says aloud, levelling a judgmental glare at me.
I freeze, though I lift my chin, bracing for the blow even as my heart threatens to escape my ribcage. Does he have to do this here, on a crowded street full of busybodies eager for scandal?
“Why?” I ask sweetly, almost succeeding in masking the tremor in my voice. I am upset, but my power doesn’t threaten to annihilate the world.
Weird.
“Because you are a coward,” he delivers the line so matter-of-factly, one could think he was reciting from the Gorok scripture.
“I am doing what’s best for Rhodria!” I snap, my voice cutting through the murmurs.
The crowd’s stares burn into my skin, hot and suffocating.
I push through the crush of bodies, silk brushing against my arms, the air thick with perfume and sweat.
My pulse hammers in my ears as I search for a quiet corner to breathe and pull myself together.
◆◆◆
Gasping from the exertion, I stumble upon a mulled wine shop tucked beneath the shade of a wide-branched tree. Perfect. I sink onto one of the empty benches outside, and when an ancient-looking Fae approaches, I give her my order. She nods briskly and hurries inside to fetch my wine.
The chill beneath the tree’s shade cools my skin, a brief relief.
Hoping, but not believing I lost him, I stiffen when muscular arms entwine around my throat. I don’t strike back, only because I know that scent.
The Fae deal between us prohibits me from harming him. The ancient binding prevents any dishonourable participant from simply killing the master; the magic itself would strike me down if I even tried. One never knows how the magic chooses to punish dishonour. It is unpredictable.
I once heard of a mated pair who vowed never to hurt one another. One day, the female struck her mate in a moment of anger, and the magic killed him instantly. For her, losing her mate because of her own loss of control was deemed the greatest possible punishment.
Still, I will not let his insult stand.
“Take your hands off me,” I warn, my voice low and menacing.
Aidon obeys, but leans, combing my hair behind my bully-worthy ear. “Do you honestly believe that the Berigander’s army, marching on Sindral, have the Fae’s best interests at heart?” His tone is soft, though the words are anything but.
What?
War?
Why?
Ridiculous.
“Wow, you don’t care. That’s the way the cookie crumbles for you,” he states, tone full of accusation and walks around to the bench in front of me.
The implication stings like a whip on my heart.
My fingers tremble. He weaponises every word. Is he enjoying my despair? Or is he generally disappointed in what kind of Fae I am and can’t force himself to be decent for a heartbeat?
You know what, I am freaking disappointed too.
I need to find a way out of this deal. Sooner, rather than later.
Maybe Jestin will help me grant a favour from Gorok. It’s the Trading Festival after all. Even the terrible old me can beg for a little aid.
“For once, you could also be honest with yourself,” he suggests, dismissing my inner monologue as nothing more than the bullshit it is.
“I am being fucking honest,” I lie, and the approaching Fae fumbles with the vase of mulled wine, spilling it on the table.
“I am so sorry, My Lady. I will get it cleaned right away,” she says, wobbling to the shop.
“So why aren’t you in the Capital?” He returns to the subject again, and my power snaps on its own. The tall stone wall rises from the ground, cracking the table in half. The vase explodes, scattering pieces of glass, and the hot liquid hits us, burning skin.
My temper got the better of me once again.
The female hides in her shop, closing the door. The terrible guilt adds to my rage, and I spin to Aidon.
“Why?” he asks, unmoved by the damage.
“Because I am not a good choice.” I hear myself say it before I can rethink the words.
“You are better than theatre. Cheaper at least.” He muses, walking around the magical stone wall and leaning on it, indifferent.
“Listen, mutt,” I hiss, watching his sharp jaw tick. I swallow the lump in my throat, letting my anger drown out any hint of regret.
“What do you want from me? I can provide anything.” I whine, not beneath begging anymore. I need him to stop criticising me.
“I have everything I want right here,” he says and flicks my nose. How dare he even have the audacity to touch me?!
I take a deep breath. He will be the death of me. I will detonate us all, as Jestin unhelpfully suggested, if Aidon won’t stop irritating me.
“I have no part in your weak self-control,” he berates me, crossing his arms.
“I need to apologise to the owner,” I say, measuring the wall.
“Spare her, she is horrified enough. I will go.” Aidon disappears in the shop. I wait for him outside. After a few heartbeats, he leaves with plenty of bags and a grinning female waving him goodbye. Fucking silver tongue male, but only for others.
“Are you planning on tagging along forever?” I ask, taking a look inside the bag. Donuts, oh my, my.
“We will see after your moon cycle.” He smiles, and I jerk my head back, losing my footing and finally getting the full grip of my situation.
I mercifully have forgotten that part. He needs blood for his skills, and the most appetising is the one from the moon cycle. The freshest, or something. Additionally, the more powerful the blood, the more powerful his abilities become.
With blood like mine, he will be invincible. He will never break the deal. He won’t find a better one.
I flinch, thinking my Gram rolls in her grave at the insult. I don’t think anyone from our family has ever been tricked into a deal, and definitely not a blood deal. I am an embarrassment to my kin.
What a pathetic joke. How could I end up like that?
“My Lady…” Aidon bows mockingly, flashing the most arrogant smile. “…don’t be so hard on yourself. You’ve done far more embarrassing things than bonding a mutt.” His scarlet eyes burn with such contempt that it feels as though it could take physical form.
“Could you at least stay away from my thoughts?” I plead, folding my arms.
“And get back to paying for theatre? I’d rather not.” He smiles, tilting his head to the side, like the animal he is. His perfectly pointed ears stand at attention, probably hearing something from a distance.
“We have company,” he says before handing me the bags of donuts, then shifting and hanging around my neck as an Onyx Viper.
“At least I look cool.” I sigh and I wait for said company to arrive. Momentarily, a Navatian messenger approaches me. The female has a freckled face, blonde waves and lots of earrings.
“My Lady.” She bows and hands me a letter.
I smile and slip a coin into her hand for the service. Her neck flushes red and she pulls away.
My Gram always said to treat folks with respect. They are the easiest way for an assassin to get close. Loyal service is the first line of defence. Not your guards, not the army, and not Dragthralls.
Ouch! The freaking viper bit my neck.
“What the fuck are you doing? Have you poisoned me?” I hiss.
Relax, he sasses mentally. No venom. You sounded like a pretentious prick. I wanted to interrupt it before your inflated ego burst.
I toss him angrily from my neck, but he doesn’t hit the ground as I expect. In an instant, a majestic desert tiger materialises before me — a ghostly predator with molten-gold fur and dark brown stripes, baring its massive teeth.
“We are even now.” I smile, not at all afraid of his size.
The cat tilts his head left, looking amused.
I look at the Sun, which is inexorably approaching its resting place. I think there are still a few hours to kill. I groan at the phrase I’ve just used.
Some proposed we adapt to the humans’ clock system with their strange names, but why the hell should we put more restrictions on ourselves?
Dawn, morning, late afternoon, midnight - that’s enough.
Why would we need to split time into small segments?
Hours, the humans call them. Twenty-five hours, or twenty-four. I don’t remember.
I love lazy mornings and long nights. I know if it’s still today or not by the movement of the Sun. I suppose those creatures are so afraid their flesh is rotting that they stop living.
But still, some Fae want to be innovative and the terms start to creep into our lands. Progress, they call it.
Progress, my ass.
Shaking my head, I read the letter, which states that Aidon and I are invited to celebrate the Trading Festival in the Palace’s Hanging Gardens.
Grateful for the distraction, I decide to spend the rest of the day searching for the perfect dress.
But who do I truly want to impress?