Chapter 5
The sickly scent of sweat and spice assaults my nostrils while we move through Port City, aggravating my already churning stomach.
My lips part, and I inhale through my mouth to suppress the nausea as my mind betrays me, throwing my memories to Verdanthia—to the coastline where men and boys hack at the cliffs, choking on dust, their skin gray with astlerium residue.
I exhale and push the heart-wrenching injustice to the back of my mind. I can’t let guilt overwhelm me. There’s nothing I can do for those men.
Not while I’m beholden to the Fae.
Clouds block out the sun’s harsh rays. A breeze rolls in from the ocean, cool and briny, ruffling the strands of hair that have escaped my braid as I take in the beauty surrounding me.
Bronze door handles gleam on every shopfront. Clear glass panes catch light and scatter it across cobblestone. Dozens of voices mingle in the air, foreign tongues with strange lilts and rhythms. I can’t name half the accents. It’s dizzying: the energy, the noise, the color.
Even with their glamour, the Fae draw eyes.
How could they not?
Jaxon and Darius tower over nearly everyone, their shoulders broad, their movements too fluid, too graceful to be human. Even muted, they radiate a dangerous sort of beauty.
A trio of women stand beneath a wood archway, their flowing skirts catching the breeze. They giggle behind jeweled hands as they eye my companions. But when their attention slides to me, curiosity sours into judgment.
I look away, heat pricking my neck. My hair’s a tangled braid at best, and my dress is rumpled from sleep. Even cleaned up, I look like a traveler who’s been dragged through the forest.
I look…wrong beside the Fae.
No wonder they stare.
Laughter bursts from a nearby building, rough and raucous.
Half-dressed women stand in the doorway and lean out of windows.
Their tanned, toned stomachs are slick with sweat.
Jewels dangle from their throats and wrists.
Cosmetics paint their faces. Their thick, luxurious hair shines.
They are the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.
“Mother save me,” Jaxon murmurs, his admiring eyes roving over the women.
“I’m afraid there’s no time for that.” Darius chuckles, slapping his friend’s shoulder. “Come. I see a tavern up ahead.”
With my arm still wrapped around his, Jaxon leads me down a sloping street and through the small crowd gathered outside the pleasure house.
Ahead, a weathered sign swings above a timber building. Old Port Tavern. The paint is chipped, but the door looks sturdy, and the windows are clean.
The scent of ale hits me before we even reach the entrance, and something inside my chest twists.
Odden’s Tavern.
Memories flash, filled with laughter, drink, and the warmth of firelight reflecting off my friends’ faces. Lev’s voice teasing me. Ferria grinning and swaying to the music.
My heart cracks.
Darius ducks inside first, vanishing into the noise. I stop at the threshold, my feet refusing to move.
“Elara?” Jaxon turns, his expression softening. “Are you all right?”
No.
“I’m fine.” My voice is thin, unconvincing. “I just… I don’t want to go inside.”
“Okay. What would you like to do instead?”
“I’ll just wait out here.” I motion to the wrought-iron bench tucked under the tavern window.
It’s currently unoccupied, but I imagine it’s only a matter of time before drunken patrons settle on the public seat.
He shakes his head. “That won’t do.”
“It’s fine, truly.” I force a smile. “Have a drink with Darius. I suspect he will be unbearable if you don’t.”
Jaxon huffs a laugh, raking a hand through his hair. “You’re not wrong about that.”
A woman sweeping the stoop next door slows, her eyes lingering on Jaxon with open admiration. He doesn’t notice. Or at least he pretends not to.
“I have an idea.” Jaxon digs into his trouser pocket.
A moment later, a dark object flashes through the air.
I jolt but catch the black coin purse before it hits the ground.
“Go buy some clothes.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
What is with these Fae and insulting my appearance?
“I meant no offense,” he says with a grimace. “It’s just… Our journey will be long. And you might enjoy having more than one dress to wear.”
I pinch my lips. “I can’t take your money.”
“It’s Rian’s.” His eyes glitter. “Does that help?”
Hm…
Maybe.
My fingers tighten around the purse. The ache in my chest lingers, but the opportunity to explore Port City dulls its edges.
“I don’t even know where to go.” I glance around the busy streets.
I’ve never been in a city so big.
“There’s a seamstress right there.” Jaxon points a finger across the street. Sure enough, a wide window displays lovely gowns pinned to mannequins, the delicate lace and rich colors lovely to behold. “Why don’t you go see what they have?”
I shift my feet. “I don’t know…”
“Aw, come on, Elara. Where is the spitfire healer who doesn’t back down from a challenge?”
My forehead furrows.
Is that really how he sees me?
When I don’t respond, Jaxon slips his arm free, grabs my hand, and tugs me into motion, weaving us through the bustling street. I stumble after him.
When we reach the shop, he knocks on the glass door.
A hunched woman with sharp eyes and three gold teeth appears. She studies us for a moment before opening the door. A bell jingles overhead.
“Yes?” Her voice is rough.
The discoloration of her non-golden teeth suggests a longtime smoking habit.
“Good day, ma’am,” Jaxon greets with a charming grin. “My friend here is in need of gowns for our travels. Would you be able to assist her?”
The woman’s eyes sweep over me, head to toe. “Aye.”
Then she turns and vanishes into the shop.
“Excellent!” Jaxon beams and gives me a gentle shove.
I whirl on him, wide-eyed. “What—”
“Relax,” he says. “Buy something pretty.”
And before I can protest again, he strides back toward the tavern, disappearing into the crowd.
The bell chimes as the door closes behind me.
“Come, girl,” the woman snaps. “I don’t have all day.”
I spin around.
The old woman hobbles across the shop, pulling premade dresses from rods hanging along the edge of the room. She looks back at me a couple times with sharp eyes.
“I assume you will not have time for a proper fitting?”
I clear my throat. “No, ma’am.”
“Hmph.” Her wrinkles deepen with her frown. “A belt will have to do, then. Come, stand there.”
I follow the direction of her hand and step onto the carpeted rising in front of a trio of mirrors. The reflections catch me from every angle, revealing just how disheveled I am. I lower my satchel and bag to the floor.
The woman hobbles over with a measuring tape and takes the length of my arms, then measures from my hips to my ankles. Mumbling under her breath, she moves to the dresses she laid out and selects a stunning navy-blue one with white embroidery on the bodice.
“Here.” She thrusts it into my chest. “Try this on.”
My fingers grip the luxurious fabric, and I hesitate. “Oh no… This is too fine.”
“That coin purse looks full enough.” Her eyes dart to the black bag still clutched in my hand.
I swallow. “I don’t know—”
“Well, I do. Go change.” She pushes me toward a velvet curtain to my left with impressive strength.
I stumble behind the fabric, clutching the coin purse and dress. The woman snaps the curtain shut behind me.
I stare at the swaying material. Then, with a resigned sigh, I place the purse on the wooden stool tucked in the corner and shimmy out of my wrinkled gown.
The new dress glides over my skin. It’s as smooth as silk, but light and breathable like cotton.
I trace the lovely embroidery, marveling at the craftsmanship.
I’ve only seen one dress more lovely, and it was my mother’s.
The same one I wore to the Late King’s Festival.
The same night I was torn from my bed and ultimately ripped from my childhood home.
“Girl?” the woman snaps from the other side of the curtain. “Are you done? I already told you, I don’t have all day.”
I lift the sleeves higher on my shoulders, then step out from behind the curtain.
Her sharp eyes take me in, and she clicks her tongue. “Good length.”
She wraps a bony hand over my wrist and pulls me back onto the platform.
Then she snatches a belt from the low table at her side and tightens it around my waist. “There. That’s better, don’t you think?”
I stare at my reflection, admiring the beautiful gown. “Yes, ma’am.”
She snorts. “Enough with the ma’am. My name is Cynthia.”
“Nice to meet you, Cynthia. I’m Elara.”
She huffs an acknowledging sound.
Then she tugs on my sleeve before shoving a different dress against my chest. “Try this one.”
I do as she says.
In minutes, I’m back on the platform.
This time, Cynthia’s critical eye zeroes in on the end of the long sleeve. “Ah, too short. But perhaps three-quarter sleeves shall work.”
She shoves up the fabric before I can stop her.
Her focus lands on the dark marks marring my flesh. “And what are these?”
My pulse spikes, and I lie on instinct. “Tattoos.”
“Those are”—her gaze lingers—“very unique.”
“Indeed,” I choke out around the lump in my throat.
For a terrifying moment, I worry she recognizes Rian’s marks. That she knows I’m tied to a Shadow Fae.
I brace myself to run—to race to the tavern and warn Jaxon and Darius that we’ve been discovered.
But just as soon as a calculating gleam sparks in Cynthia’s gaze, it dissipates.
Her expression shutters. “No short sleeves, then. I won’t have those marks detracting from the beauty of one of my dresses.”
Relief loosens the vise around my lungs. “Very well.”
She turns, shuffles back to the rack of dresses, and retrieves two more. One is a rich crimson that is much too bold for my liking, but after I try it on, I have to admit it complements my light hair and fair skin well.
The second is a pale-blue gown that Cynthia says brings out the blue in my eyes. Both have long sleeves that should feel stifling, but the magical fabric is so breathable that I barely notice them.
“These are lovely,” I tell her with a smile. “Thank you.”
I step off the platform, already lamenting the fact that I’ll be changing back into my crumpled dress, when Cynthia’s wrinkled hand lands on my arm.
“Wear this gown.” She thrusts the navy-blue dress into my hands. “It’ll be good for my business.”
With a small grin, I oblige.
After I change, I step out from behind the curtain with my old dress in my arms. Cynthia wraps the other two gowns in light-brown paper.
She looks up and hums. “That will do.”
I tuck my chin and smile.
“That will be ten silvers.”
Blood drains from my face. “Pardon?”
“Don’t fret, girl.” She smirks. “Your man’s purse has plenty of coin, I’m sure.”
Uncertain what to say, I dip my head and open the black purse. My jaw drops.
Cynthia is right. There are plenty of coins inside. But none of them are silver.
I withdraw a single gold coin. It’s the most wealth I’ve ever held in my hands, and there are over two dozen more inside the bag.
I extend my arm. “Will this do?”
Gold teeth gleam in the sunlight shining through the window with her wide smile. “Aye, girl. It will. Be sure to thank the Fae lord for me, will you?”
My hand freezes in midair. “What…what did you say?”
A sly expression crosses her aged face. “Relax, dear. There aren’t many of us left who can see through your man’s glamour. Your secret is safe with me.”
My heart begins to race, but I school my face into a calm mask, the same I wore when tending to patients. “Of course… Thank you.”
I hand her the money, willing my fingers not to shake.
Cynthia plucks the shiny coin from my grasp and bites the metal before dropping it into her apron pocket. “Pleasure doing business with you, Elara.”
A chill races down my spine.
I never should have told her my name.
“Thank you,” I say again, voice tight. “Have a nice day.”
“You, too, dear.” She shuffles into the back of the shop to do Gods know what.
I don’t stick around to find out.
I gather my belongings from the side of the platform, shove my old clothes into the bag, and grab the wrapped dresses from the counter.
Clutching the coin purse tightly, I practically run to the door. The bell chimes with my exit.
The street is even busier now. Bodies crowd the walkways. I weave through them fast, bumping shoulders and muttering apologies when angry words are thrown my way, some of which I don’t understand.
All the while, my pulse roars in my ears.
Cynthia knows about the Fae.
The tavern door is open. Jaxon and Darius sit at the bar, tankards in hand, grinning at the barmaid who flutters her lashes.
I push toward them, intent on warning them that their secret is out, only for a shadow to fall across my path.
But not their kind of shadow.
A tall, broad-shouldered, bare-chested man blocks my view of the tavern.
My fingers tighten on the coin purse, and I take a wary step back.
The man tracks my movement, and his lips curl in a slow, wolfish grin. “Well, hello there, pretty thing.”