Chapter Twenty
Several blocks away, in a less populated area of the South Ward, Eve and I come to a stop before a bright yellow door. The shop sign hangs over me, forcing me to step back to see it. Craning my neck, I read over the bold yellow painted script.
The Djinn and Tonic.
What in the nine hells does a djinn have to do with tonics?
Perhaps my translated understanding of the sign is inaccurate.
“Cora’s waiting inside. I sent her ahead when I saw you with your fae,” Eve says, reaching for the door.
Her use of your fae sharply reminds me of Vaelyn and his incessant teasing. I open my mouth to argue, but she swings the door open and ushers me inside.
As I enter the shop, my sense of smell is immediately assaulted by the overpowering scent of pungent herbs and spices.
Unlike the calm scent of Ember and Ashes, this scent is sharp and stings my eyes.
It’s a poorly proportioned concoction of every potion, flower, herb, and spice in the shop.
I can see why Eve isn’t fond of this place.
Covering my mouth and nose with a hand, my eyes begin to water. Eve strides past me, sporting a cloth mask over her face. Despite hiding the lower half of her face, her eyes gleam with amusement. She would be grinning right now.
“Where did you get that? How do I get one? And why didn’t you warn me?” I hiss at her and she laughs.
“I did warn you!” she counters, laughing. “The first time I came here with Cora I learned I needed something to block the scents. I picked this up from a shop down the street.” She juts a thumb in what I assume is the direction of the shop she’s referring to.
“I thought we were friends, Eve,” I mutter flatly and she cackles.
“Oh, hey!” Cora greets merrily from across the shop. “You’re okay! Eve and I were worried when we saw you with that male. Who is he?” her eyes glimmer with mischievous interest.
My nervous laughter causes her stare to intensify. “Someone I met while out with Eve the other night.”
Eve folds her arms over her chest, scoffing a quiet laugh as we cross the shop. “He’s taken an interest in Ves.”
Cora’s eyes widen, a sparkle of dreamy admiration in the deep blue of her eyes. “Someone’s taken interest in you?” She places a gentle hand on my arm. “Oh, Ves, I’m so excited for you! Fae courting is incredibly romantic.”
“Courting?” I forcibly laugh the question, doing my best not to grimace.
Contextually, I understand the idea of courting.
But I highly doubt whatever is going on between Ryc and myself is courting. It’s nothing more than superficial desires of a body I’ve yet to fully adjust to. And if I’m not careful, this damned body is going to ruin everything.
“It starts with a gift.” She smiles and I tense, all of my muscles growing tight.
My mind races to the dagger on my thigh.
“An interested prospective partner will send a gift. Eve gifted me a basket of herbs and teas and wrote me the most adorable letter expressing her interest.”
The note.
What?
No.
Panic rips open my stomach and I fall face first into the bottomless abyss, once again struggling to breathe.
“I worried you weren’t going to accept me,” Eve admits with a reminiscing smile.
“How could I not?” Cora laughs brightly, shifting the basket hooked over her arm to the other. “I adored it, and I adore you. If you hadn’t, we wouldn’t be here. I would have never been brave enough to say something.”
“Is there any way out?” I blurt the question, and both Cora and Eve turn to me, their faces concerned.
“Out of courtship?” Cora asks, her face pinched with equal parts confusion and worry. “I mean, if a fae presents you with a courting gift, they’re confident you’ll make an ideal partner. Fae don’t just offer courting gifts to anyone.”
Only this one did.
“Is there a way out?” I ask again and Eve begins to laugh.
“Why are you so stressed?” she teases. “Just don’t accept anything from Ryc and you’re fine.”
Too little, too late.
Heaving a sigh, I close my eyes and pinch my brow as I gesture to my thigh. Cora nearly squeals in delight, prompting my eyes open, and Eve folds her arms across her chest.
“You can’t be serious,” Eve levels in flat tones.
“Is there a way out?” I repeat the question a third time, exasperated.
Eve shrugs, shaking her head. “You can try returning it. But there’s no guarantee the refusal will be accepted. Not now that he’s seen you with it.”
“How am I supposed to know these convoluted customs of mortals?” I whisper fiercely, my hands balling into fists.
“We’re a lot like demons, Ves. No gift is without strings,” Eve counters coolly.
Eve throwing the nature of demons in my face stings more than it should. I should have known better. I do know better. I purse my lips, bristling in defensiveness.
“I never received gifts. Netharis made sure of that,” I snap back, my voice a hushed whisper.
Fuck me and fuck Ryc.
And fuck not reading that book on fae customs and traditions when I had the chance. If I’d bothered to learn more about all this, I wouldn’t find myself in this situation. I wouldn’t have accepted the gift, let alone be seen wearing it. I’ve clearly sent a sign I didn’t realize I was sending.
And it’s set expectations between us I’m not sure I agree to.
I heave another sigh, fighting the urge to find Ryc and do exactly what I’d threatened earlier. The absolute last thing I need is romantic entanglement.
“Honestly, it’s incredibly romantic,” Cora croons with such an honest warmth and admiration it pains me. Her eyes grow dreamy as she continues, “After everything you’ve gone through to get here, you should enjoy this. He could be your ma—”
“No,” I interject with a firm shake of my head, uninterested in letting her finish.
I’m not going to entertain Cora’s romantic notions, they’re too based in the books she’s read. And to be fair, while I’ve read some of them too and they pull at my heart, demons and romance don’t exist. Everything is an exchange, a transaction.
I sigh. “He’s asked to meet with me tonight. I’ll return it then.”
Eve gives me a look, one that bids me good luck.
Or that I’ve messed up beyond repair.
I can’t tell.
Probably both.
The shopkeeper calls Cora and as she and Eve approach the counter, I half consider waiting outside.
But the thought of standing out in the blazing sun is enough to keep me indoors for the time being.
A breeze pulls through the shop, and tracking the source of the much desired fresh air, I notice it streams down from the second floor.
I need to distract myself from thoughts of the dagger, of Ryc, or I’m going to meltdown in the middle of this room. Forcing myself to move, I wander around the shop, trying to focus on the details around me. Grounding myself.
Rough wooden crates line the walls, angled to display the herbs stored inside.
A muted array of greens, pinks, reds, blues, browns, and yellows.
It appears they’re grouped by herb type: flowering herbs along one row, leaf derivatives in another, and root types along the bottom.
I’ve never seen such an accumulation of herbs all in one place.
It’s impressive, despite the violent onslaught on my nose.
After a time, I climb the narrow stairs to the second floor, seeking the source of the breeze. The second floor is a smaller space than below, and floor-to-ceiling open shelves divide the room into several aisles. Each shelf jam-packed with glass bottles.
With the afternoon sun pouring through the open windows and balcony doors, the shelves host a glittering rainbow of colors. Splashes of blues, pinks, reds, and oranges wash against the shelves and floor, leaving me mesmerized.
An abundance of potions designed for all nature of ailments, rituals, and celebrations. Hanging around the neck of each bottle lies a tag, providing the name and description of the item.
Is there anything for resisting a fae’s charm?
Or an inexplicable draw?
Something, anything to make it so I cannot feel?
Aside from myself, the second floor lies empty as I wander and weave between the shelves. The chaotic organization of the bottles reminds me of the library in the hells, the glowing light reminiscent of the glow from soul crystals.
A small pang of sadness strikes my heart.
All those souls left forgotten once again.
I doubt Vaelyn visits them.
And Ylara… she’s likely locked in obsidian.
The breeze sweeps through again, carrying the sound of excited voices and draws my attention to the open balcony doors at the end of the aisle. As I approach, the voices grow louder, and I step out onto the balcony half expecting to see a massive crowd before the shop.
Instead, the street is lined with people, its center clear.
As if they’re waiting.
Approaching the edge of the balcony and peering over the railing, people chatter, many holding some sort of black fabric. A few handkerchiefs, a flag with a silver embroidered emblem—it’s hard to make out as most of the flag is bunched in their hands.
Ivy, perhaps?
Whatever it is they’re waiting for, I no longer care.
The fresh air is helping my scent-induced budding headache and I breathe deep. I’m ready for today to be over, to return this dagger and never see Ryc again. It’s the safer option. The one that will keep distractions at bay and me inevitably alive and out of the hells.
Glancing south, down the street, my eyes narrow against the late afternoon sun. A pair of—my eyes narrow further, struggling to see through the blinding light—fae, it seems, travel in my direction on horseback.
No.
Not a pair, I realize.
But a small troupe of four, no six, come into view. Four flanked by two guard, all upon horseback. The silver of the guards’ armor catches the sunlight and my eyes widen.
Royal guard.
Cheering, whistling, shouts, and clapping escalate from that end of the street as panic seats itself around my heart and floods me.
I can’t be here.