Chapter Nineteen
“Where are we headed?” I ask later that afternoon, trying to shield my eyes from the perfectly-in-my-face-no-matter-what-I-do sun.
Cora peers at me over her shoulder. “There’s a market in the South Ward that sells what I need.”
“Maybe a fifteen minute walk,” Eve adds, grinning.
“And we’re not ferrying?” I ask, my tone flat.
A golden laugh rings from Cora. “Enjoy the sun, Ves. We don’t often get days like this.” She lifts her face, letting the sunlight wash over her.
I will admit, the sun on my shoulders, arms, and face is a delicious sensation. But the thought of walking through busy Olloran streets dampens the enjoyment.
What if I run into Lilith or that royal guard again?
Of the three of us, Cora is the only one in her temple robes. I’ve come to favor the mobility pants provide and find myself preferring them over the robes that remind me of my time as a Death Bringer. Between Eve and me, Cora appears to have two female bodyguards escorting her through the city.
As we walk, I half listen to Cora and Eve’s banter while admiring my surroundings. Throngs of ivy snake themselves up stone buildings and drape themselves over the front windows of shops. Everything has a whimsical feel, and nature-inspired look—all by fae design.
Human cities by comparison are more clean lined, not as imbued with nature. There are a few exceptions, one being Lightvale—the city I’ll likely venture to when it comes time to leave Ollora.
Glancing around, I realize I recognize the street we’re on.
It’s the one Ylara and I had raced along the night everything went to the hells. The night I met Celesta and learned all of this was possible.
During the day, it’s not as empty, sidewalks filled with people going about their business, carriages and horse-drawn carts passing through the center of the street. A few children run around, dodging and weaving their way through others, laughing as they chase one another.
A stark contrast compared to the night I came here with Ylara.
Yet as I walk among them, no one gives me a second sideway glance. Aside from a few lingering initial stares—likely due to my silver hair beaming in this sun—I move rather unnoticed.
Following Cora and Eve as they veer right, we emerge onto a broader street congested with even more vendors and shoppers alike.
It’s much larger than the marketplace I’d stumbled across in the Twilight Mire.
Merchants line the street, stretching as far down the lane as I can see.
While the crowd is thicker, the space is wider, allowing for easier traffic flow.
Several guards stand near the close end of the street, directing carriage traffic down an alternate route. They’ve closed the street to foot traffic only. They’re not donning the same silver armor I’d seen before, instead they wear a lighter, leather armor.
“What is the difference in armor on the guards?” I ask and Eve turns, giving me an ear. “I’ve seen some in silver and these others in leather.”
“City guard wear leather, royal silver,” she answers with a small smirk. “City guard are grunts. Easy to get away from. It’s the royal guard you have to watch out for. They’re all hand-picked and trained by the Captain of the Royal Guard and the Sovereign King.”
Cyran, the fae I saw while with Ryc.
My lips work into a fine line.
“Last I knew, there were around six thousand city guard and two thousand royal guard posted in Ollora.” Her eyes narrow as she recalls the detail. “But it’s been near a decade since I left the guild, so those numbers could very easily be different now.”
I have to admit, Eve’s history intrigues me.
What kind of life does a member of a thieving guild lead?
“You don’t live that life anymore, Eve,” Cora says with a soft smile and gives her a quick kiss. “It doesn’t matter how many guard there are.”
Eve huffs a small resigned laugh as she turns her head forward. “You’re right.”
My brows raise slightly. Eve misses it. She misses the life she had then. Service to Celesta isn’t what she would have chosen for herself if given the opportunity. She made that much clear in her lack of reverence for the goddess.
“What is it you need out here, Cora?” I ask, wanting to shift the subject and tone of the conversation.
We walk past several stalls and booths displaying an assortment of herbs, polished stones and gems, woven baskets, and jars of pickled goods.
“Valerian root and snakeroot,” Cora answers. “Artemise has requested them to help with insomnia.”
“Don’t bother stopping at any of the vendors here,” Eve warns with a roll of her eyes. “Cora has a preferred shop a couple blocks over.”
“They carry everything!” Cora laughs, bumping her shoulder into Eve’s playfully. “It makes it easy.”
“It gives me a headache,” Eve shoots back in a grumble.
“You’re welcome to wait outside with Ves,” Cora chides, arching a brow.
A stream of fire jets above the crowd a half a block away, and a congregation of people begin to clap and cheer. A dark-haired, sun-kissed male stands on a small platform. Another bloom of fire takes to the skies from his fingertips.
The flame shifts, becoming the shape of an eagle, and it soars over the heads of the crowd.
My eyes narrow as I watch.
How?
As the eagle moves, blue-silver glimmering runes become apparent in the sunlight.
Old magic.
He’s using old magic to create shaped wards to contain his innate. I’ve never seen such an entwined use of innate and old magic. I stare in awe as the creation flies overhead before vanishing. I’ve only used old magic as a means to create light or defensive wards, never something so beautiful.
“Who is that? And what is he doing?” I ask, peering through the space between Cora and Eve’s shoulders.
They follow my stare.
“Oh, that’s an innate painter,” Cora chimes vibrantly. “You’ll see them all around Ollora putting on shows in popular market places like this.”
“Many do it to earn gold,” Eve adds.
“Mortals are paid to demonstrate their innate?” I ask, confused.
“No,” Cora laughs with a toss of her head. “People in the crowd will give money to innate painters as a way to say thank you for the entertainment.”
“It’s not steady work, but it’s one way to earn a living,” Eve quips with a chuckle.
Wedging myself around Cora and Eve, my feet carry me closer to the sea of heads and raised hoods. Shouldering my way through the crowd without reservation, I find a place to stand among those in the front, eager to witness his next creation.
Focused on his hands, I watch as his fingers crook and bend rapidly, casting the runes to summon the ward. Too many runes cast too quickly for me to fully decipher, and the ones I can read are unfamiliar.
A tug in my chest pulls me toward the innate painter, and I freeze, confused.
Glancing around, nothing appears out of place and the male on the stage isn’t looking in my direction.
Fire springs from his fingers, revealing the shape of the ward he’d created: a stag.
It bounds around the small stage before leaping behind the painter onto the street.
Stopping before a brown-haired fae female, she stares in wonder at the creation, the male beside her wearing a broad smile. It’s the hooded figure behind them staring directly at me that causes my breath to hitch in my chest.
Ryc.
A smirk plays at his lips before he slips to his right, around the couple with the stag, and begins his approach. My ridiculous, foolish little heart begins to race as I openly stare at him.
I cannot lose sight of what I need.
I cannot let him distract me.
If I’m going to offer him a contract, I need to figure him out.
“I see you like your gift well enough,” he says, his voice low as he slides in beside me, the crowd forcing us to stand inches apart. He stands facing me, my shoulder near grazing his chest, his face turned toward the painter.
All I can focus on is the tension consuming the little space between us.
Gods this is going to be a fucking mess.
I’m a fucking mess.
If I somehow manage to pull this off without taking him to my bed, it will be a testament to my ability to dissociate.
Lifting my face to stare up at him, I clamp down on my resolve and say, “Openly admit to staring at my thighs again and you’ll find your gift returned to you. Buried in your throat.”
He laughs, a lighthearted genuinely amused sound. “Not the thank you I expected, but I’ll take it.”
I scoff a laugh. “Tell me stalker, what brings you to me today?”
Ryc chuckles, nodding toward the painter. “I was here long before you, little witch. Lilith is around here somewhere.” He glances about, giving a half-hearted shrug.
I search the crowd for a head of crimson hair or a forest green hood and find nothing.
“So, I ask you the same. What brings you to me?” The teasing in his voice is clear.
Fighting against my now thundering heart, I give a dry laugh. “You flatter yourself, fae. I’m here with a couple of friends.” I peer over my shoulder, finding Eve and Cora standing near the back of the crowd.
Cora watches the painter with glee. Eve watches me with pursed lips and furrowed brows. Ryc follows my gaze.
“I know your one friend. The one with the scowl,” he says quietly with a smirk. “Our paths have crossed before.”
“I am her Lilith.” I muse and he nods slowly, understanding the comparison.
His face swings to me as he offers me an arm. “Walk with me?”
With surprisingly little hesitation, I take the invitation as I attempt to slow the whirling thoughts in my head. My innate coils around itself but remains strangely calm.
He tucks my hand into the crook of his arm, the size of his rendering mine tiny.
Silver embroidered ivy curls around the cuff of his sleeve—a detail he always seems to wear.
I’m all too aware of the feel of him touching me as he leads me through the crowd, away from the innate painter.
He falls in beside me once the crowd thins, and before long we settle into a leisurely pace along the street.
The world seems to rush past us.