Chapter 53
Fifty-Three
Aureum Obsidian
The morning sun begins to lighten the sky as we break through the trodden path in the woods. It stops just ahead, intersecting with a new road.
A chill snakes down my spine as the familiarity begins to sink in.
I know this path—walked it week after week, with a guard Reichardt assigned to me in tow. This place… I’d know it anywhere.
It’s the trail that connects the royal training camp to the heart of Runnswick. The one I took on my weekly market runs, Reichardt’s list clenched in my hand or shoved into my pocket.
As much as I wish I could ignore the gnawing in my stomach at being here again, I can’t. How could I when I’ve tasted what it feels like to be free? Felt what it’s like to be truly loved.
I see a decaying tree up on our right, one that I’d walked by a hundred times. Without any markers along the path to let me know how close I was to the market, I’d use the fixtures nature had left for me.
The tree either brought increasing dread and longing for being so trapped in a place I could never leave, knowing I’d have to go back, or a rush of exhilaration at the thought of getting to see Linnick. And, for a short time, getting to see Adrian, too.
It won’t be long before we get to the market now, and all I feel is unease.
Graylen, Adrian, and I walk side by side—both of them quiet. Dog—Soren—hasn’t strayed more than a few paces away from me. He’s been trotting so close that my hand keeps brushing the top of his fuzzy neck, and that at least settles the pit in my stomach.
“It’s hard being back here,” I send into Graylen’s mind, admitting the one thing I was fighting to avoid.
My head is quiet—too quiet—my words met with a buzzing silence.
I glance at Graylen out of the corner of my eye, and his gaze slides to mine instantly. His brows knit together, mouth pursed as if he’s trying to figure me out.
That’s when it hits me. He can’t hear me anymore. Not with this collar around my neck blocking not only my magic, but my connection to him. It’s like when he was in the Vale, when there was a Graylen-sized gap in my heart.
Adrian walks between us, oblivious to the fear and frustration rising in my chest.
My heart begins to beat faster. Images of Graylen bound in chains of ice, his shirt tattered and eyes hollow, barrel into the forefront of my mind.
Graylen’s eyes narrow slightly, our gazes still holding as we walk only paces apart—but it might as well be oceans. His jaw flexes, as if sensing the turmoil rolling through me.
But there’s nothing he can do, not right now.
Not when the story we’re spinning is that I came back to Crea for Adrian.
I tear my eyes away from him and palm the dagger at my thigh to keep my hand from reaching out to him.
“Are you ready for this?” Graylen asks Adrian in a low rumble, the soldiers in front and behind us dispersed enough that they can’t hear. “We don’t know what we’re walking into here.”
My spine straightens, preparing to face my old life head-on. There will be a flurry of marketgoers we’ll have to wade through. We’ll pass the ships I used to look longingly at, dreaming of a way to hop on one and never return.
I found a way to leave, and never did I think I’d come back if given the chance. Yet here I am. Back in this place Reichardt sent me to, where I rebelled in small ways, using his coin to buy flowers and food.
Visiting Linnick.
Who will have replaced his stand by now? Someone would’ve claimed it within days of realizing it was empty. Probably some fake gold and cheap jewels, or maybe freshly baked bread. My chest tightens.
“You don’t think I can do it,” Adrian challenges, drawing my attention back to the present. He shoots Graylen a brief look, a brow raised.
Graylen sighs, his hands slipping into his pockets as he stares down the path ahead. “I wouldn’t be putting her life in danger if I didn’t at least have some confidence in you,” he answers, his tone almost…nice.
Adrian huffs a hollow laugh and mutters a barely audible, “Thanks.”
The brief interaction is a far cry from friends, but at least they aren’t at each other’s throats.
A cool breeze brushes against my face with a shift in the air. Even as the sun is rising, it’s as if it forgot to bring the warmth along with it. It’s the promise of a brisk day—the promise that even with the sun shining, there will be no reprieve from the chilly nights.
My eyes are fixed on the ground, thoughts restless, when Adrian stutters to a halt. It takes me a second to realize he’s not walking anymore, so I pause a few paces ahead of him, turning to see what he’s doing.
His face is twisted into a grimace, his brows knitted and mouth pinched—skin drained of color.
Adrian’s gaze is frozen on a spot behind me, just over my shoulder. I spin back around, muscles tensing. I reach for my dagger.
But my breath catches—fingers loosening around the leather hilt—as I take in the view before me. As I realize what made Adrian stop.
The Runnswick Market.
A place that I could count on to always be bustling with tradesmen and travelers. The scent of fresh fruit mingling with the floral stands in one area, while salted aromas wafted off of chilled fish and dried meats.
I used to get lost in this market—could trick my guard into leaving me unattended so I could spend time with Linnick or buy flowers with what was left over after acquiring everything off Reichardt’s list.
Even this early in the morning, there would already be ships offloading travelers or loading visitors setting sail for home. The tradesmen would’ve been set up since before first light, already haggling with the newcomers.
As we stand on the edge of the market, I struggle to mesh my memory of this place with what lies before me.
There are no market sellers set up with overflowing stands. No one exiting a ship or lining up to board another. Children aren’t racing through the streets being yelled at as they haphazardly knock things over.
A memory surfaces of a boy with a toothless grin stealing an apple, his wide eyes terrified that I was going to rat him out. I didn’t, of course. But that boy, wherever he might be, isn’t here.
In fact, there’s no one here. Not a single soul.
It’s deathly silent. So quiet that I hadn’t noticed we’d arrived.
I have to see more—have to understand why the once-overflowing market town now looks like a tornado came through and swept everything and everyone away.
My feet are moving before I can stop them, ignoring my name being called out behind me as I dash into the rows of empty stalls. I’m faintly aware of Soren quick on my heels, his fur brushing against my hands.
Feet patter behind me, but all other noises fall away—muted beneath the sound of my heavy breaths.
Carts with broken wheels lay stranded near the docks as if people couldn’t take the time to come back for them, rotted fruit smashed around their base as if trampled.
I spin around, half-sprinting as my stupid dress starts to get wrapped around my ankles. I grab fistfuls of the fabric and yank it up, my jog turning into a full run.
The tavern that always saw at least one fight a day in front of it had its shutters closed, thick strips of wood nailed in an X over them. The door of the madam’s house, where my guard would often disappear, hung off its hinges, glass scattered beneath its windows.
All of the shops are boarded up.
This isn’t the market I grew up in.
I take a sharp right, going deeper into the heart of the city. My pace doesn’t lessen, my feet carrying me in a light jog past stall after abandoned stall. Soren stays at my hip, matching every step.
Movement catches my attention from the corner of my eye, crates teetering atop what looks like an old bread stand—spoiled leftovers scattered around its base. I skitter to a stop, Graylen’s footsteps close behind me as he catches up.
I slowly peer around the table. Soren sniffs the air as he creeps past me.
The moment his giant snout crosses to the back side of the crate-filled stall, a scream pierces the air, followed by a plea.
“Get back!” a panicked feminine voice squeals. “I’ve got nothing for you here.”
My muscles tense, hand reaching for my dagger—but then Soren jumps back, giving a wide berth. Graylen is at my side in an instant, heat rippling off him as his magic seeps from his pores.
“Lu—”
The wail of an infant fills the air.
Graylen and I freeze.
Soren looks back at me—and I swear I can see the message in his gaze: they aren’t a threat. He bounces away, pacing behind Graylen and me.
Slowly, I walk around the crates, my lips parting when I see what Soren found.
“Fucking Divine,” Graylen murmurs beneath his breath as he closes in behind me. Then, louder, to the approaching soldiers—who likely heard the scream—he shouts, “We’re good here!”
The words barely reach my ears.
My body numbs—lungs seizing and breath caught.
A sickly, thin woman in a tattered gown crouches against the ground, a baby wrapped in dirty cloth clutched to her chest. She shushes its cries. Her face is smeared with dirt, but her eyes blaze with the fierceness of a mother prepared to protect her child.
My hands fly up in surrender, and I rush out, “I won’t hurt you.”
Her eyes dart to the dagger on my thigh, then back up to my face.
With my eyes on her, I reach for the dagger, slowly unsheathing it and setting it on the ground. Her shoulders relax slightly, but her gaze is still hard. I turn to Graylen to ask him to give her what remains of our food, but he’s already pulling it out of our bag.
His jaw is set—teeth clamped tightly together—as he hands it to me wordlessly.
When I face the woman again, her child has settled, now sleeping in its swaddle.
I offer the food, holding it out toward her. She flinches back, holding her baby away from me. Pain shoots through my heart.
“Here,” I rasp, throat hoarse as I set the food on the table beside me. “This is a gift. No strings attached.”