17. Lucy
Lucy
When a candle gutters with no draft, name aloud the last person who lied to you. If the flame steadies, you named them rightly.
The light was still on.
Still, I told myself not to hope. Hope made you stupid. It made you walk into a stranger’s shop and want him to be exactly what he seemed and I couldn’t trust kindness.
I knew better than that.
Baylor looked up from his workbench when the bell chimed, and his handsome face warmed, opening, like he was genuinely glad to see me. “Lucette. I was hoping you’d come back.”
“You remembered.” I let the door fall shut behind me and gave him a small smile, the easy kind, the kind he probably expected. “I wasn’t sure you would. You must see a great many faces in here.”
“Not so many worth remembering.” He set down whatever he’d been working on. “How are you settling in?”
“Slowly.” I drifted toward the counter, taking in the room, the tools laid out in neat rows, the single door, the man who smiled like he had nothing to hide. People with nothing to hide were rare enough that I never quite believed them. “Tavian’s been kind. The cook keeps trying to fatten me up.”
“As cooks do.” His eyes moved to my throat, to the Ossira, then back to my face. “And the necklace? Still giving you trouble?”
There it was. I hadn’t had to bring it up.
Either he was being thoughtful, or he’d been waiting for it.
I couldn’t tell which and I knew it was because I was on edge.
I had no idea who I could trust and who I couldn’t.
Though even I had to admit, not trusting a random jeweler who’d offered nothing but help was probably a little too dramatic.
“Still stuck,” I admitted, and let a little of the real frustration show. A person who never showed anything was its own kind of suspicious. “I was hoping you’d had time to look into it.”
“Some.” He reached for a notepad and a piece of charcoal.
“I’ve had plenty of these through my shop over the years.
Folks asking after the authenticity, where the stone might’ve come from.
Never once asking how to take one off.” He said it gently, like the asking itself was a little sad.
“Yours carries more markings than most I’ve seen.
That’s what got me curious. Would you turn around for me?
Let me trace them, see what they tell me. ”
I turned. Gathered my braids in both hands and lifted them off my neck, giving him the back of it. Trusting him with a vulnerability I didn’t feel and watching his shadow on the wall instead, because a shadow couldn’t smile at you.
The charcoal began to scratch as I thought about what he’d said.
If I knew anything about women, no one wanted to wear the same necklace for the rest of their lives, no matter how beautiful it was, especially when covered in questionable runes.
Which made me wonder if there was something in them that was supposed to make the wearer desire the Ossira. And if so, why?
“Can you remind me where these necklaces come from? I can’t seem to remember.”
He chuckled. “No one knows. That’s what makes them special.”
His charcoal scratched against paper as he moved around me, circling slowly to capture each rune woven along the metal.
“Might I ask you a question, Miss Lucette? What happened to you? You know, some quietly believe you’ve fallen from the heavens like a blessing. Or a curse, depending on who you ask.”
“It’s nothing like that,” I whispered, truly unsure of what I should give away.
What reality I’d shatter by giving this kind stranger the truth of our world.
But I needed him to help me and that would only come from a compromise.
Maybe he’d see knowledge as currency. The question wasn’t whether to pay it, but how much.
“There’s a great big world beyond Luneth Hollow. ”
Baylor’s laugh was warm and indulgent as he continued sketching. “Did you hit your head when you fell, dear? This is the world. All of it.”
I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it again. What was the point? Everyone here believed the fog wall marked the edges of existence, that nothing lay beyond the boundary. Trying to convince them otherwise would only make them look at me even more strangely.
“Maybe I’m only remembering my dreams. But now I’m having nightmares,” I said instead, pivoting to something easier. “At least I think they’re nightmares. I can’t remember things. There are gaps in my memory, and I wake up exhausted like I’ve been running all night.”
“Well, that won’t do, will it?” he asked, stretching his head to the side to get a better look at one of the runes before he began sketching again.
“It’s probably nothing. I’m sure my memories will come back if we can figure out how to remove this thing,” I said, feeling like Baylor might be a dead end after all.
“There.” He stepped back, surveying his work with satisfaction before sliding the notepad across the counter.
The runes were drawn in careful detail. “I’ll look into these, see what I can find in the old texts.
About these markings...” He trailed off, frowning slightly.
“They’re new runes, I think. But I’ll need time to be certain. ”
I tucked my hair behind my ear and tried to steady myself. “I’m a patient person. Whatever you can find for me, I’d be so grateful. I know everyone embraces the blessing, and I’m sure I will too. I just happen to be curious, and a little lost.”
He tucked his notes away. “Give it time. Most likely, you’ve come from the farmlands north of the city and something in your Ossira is simply affecting your memories. We’ll get it sorted. But I’m afraid I’m a busy man. We’ve a festival to prepare for.”
I deflated. “Please, if there’s anything at all you can tell me, if any of them look slightly familiar…”
“I promise I’ll look into it. And I never break a promise.
But it seems to me like you oughta find some joy here in the city.
We’re not so bad once you get to know us.
” He moved a hand through his thick hair with a hesitant smile.
“I suppose you know that already, taking residence in Tavian’s Keep. ”
I bristled. “How did you know?”
“Folks around here know everything there is to know about each other. Even things they ought not bother with. Best keep that in mind.”
I tried to hide the wheels turning in my mind. I hadn’t seen another blessed person aside from Tavian, but I’d barely left the Keep. Maybe that’s why Tavian wanted me to get out. Maybe he was trying to help without giving away that he knew about my own investigation. Clever old man.
Baylor reached into his suit pocket, producing a handful of coins.
“Now, about that fun you should be having, take these and head down to Maren’s bakery.
You’ll go over the bridge to the west side of the city, turn left at the glass factory and keep going until your nose prickles.
That’ll be Maren’s. Get some honey cakes.
They’re the best in Luneth Hollow, but don’t tell your cook I said that.
” His smile was warm and quite charming.
“Listen to the music in the square. See if relaxing will help you remember what’s hiding in those gaps, Lucette Varrow. ”
I stared at the coins etched with small dragons. “I can’t take your money.”
“Of course you can.” He pressed them into my palm before I could protest further. “Thirteen is my lucky number anyway. Consider it good fortune that I had exactly that much in my pocket. Hey! There’s a bit of that luck the Ossira brought you.”
The warmth of the gesture sat uncomfortably in my chest as I left the shop, the coins heavy in my hand.
I considered it, but still chose to skip Maren’s bakery.
Honey cakes, no matter how good, wouldn’t fix whatever was broken in me.
They wouldn’t fill the gaps in my memory or explain why I woke each morning feeling like I’d lived a lifetime I couldn’t recall.
They wouldn’t tell me why the thought of amber eyes made my heart race, or why I kept searching for a moment of silence I couldn’t quite remember but desperately needed to find again.
I wandered instead, letting my tired feet carry me through streets I only knew from my view in the Keep.
I went deeper into the city than I’d ventured before, following narrow streets that twisted as if Luneth Hollow had been designed by someone who understood that mystery was its own kind of magic.
I scanned the people I passed but most were so bundled against the cold, I couldn’t have spotted an Ossira if they wore one.
The cobblestones grew slick with ice, catching light from lanterns floating overhead like captured stars.
Shop windows glowed with warm invitation, displaying wares that ranged from practical to impossible; clockwork birds that sang without winding, bottles of what seemed like preserved moonlight, books bound in furs.
Dark and whimsical in equal measure, it seemed the city couldn’t decide whether it wanted to be dangerous or delightful and had settled for both.
It reminded me of a chilly Grimora, minus the heaps of magic and runestones embedded into everything.
Somewhere above me a wind chime rang out, low and strange, and the woman hanging laundry beneath it didn’t look up.
As if beauty here was simply something you stopped noticing, because in its own way, everything was beautiful, if not snow dusted.
A man in a fine coat was feeding scraps to a cinderkitten with all white fur and beautiful white wings. He cooed at it like it was precious.
The people moved through it all with easy familiarity, bundled in thick hats and scarves that billowed behind them like wings.
They didn’t seem like prisoners. No one looked over their shoulders or hurried with urgency or fear.
They laughed. They argued over prices in the market stalls.
They lived here like it was home, not captivity.
Like it was winter magic and not haunted at all.