CHAPTER THIRTY #2
Aran scoffed. “Didn’t say anything? Please.” He rolled his eyes. ”Probably thought he was doing you some noble favor. Maybe he had a thing for stowaways. Didn’t think to share, though?”
I lifted my eyes. “I didn’t even know where you were. I couldn’t see a thing down there.”
Will crouched beside me. “It’s okay. Just… maybe hold off lighting people on fire for now? I’d really love if we could go, like, one day without guards chasing us.”
“I didn’t mean to,” I tried to explain. “It just… happened.”
“I know, I know. I just thought maybe you’d learned to control it a—”
Aran had already wandered off, but reappeared before Will could finish. “You need to see this.”
We stepped out of the shade and walked down the street.
The city looked softer the further we got from the harbor.
Vines climbed everything, wrapping around stone walls and balconies like the whole place had grown from the ground up.
Bougainvillea spilled from windows in coral and pink, bright against the pale buildings.
Even the air felt different. Warmer. Cleaner.
It carried a trace of citrus and something floral—probably the flowers blooming on every ledge and rooftop. It almost masked our stench.
We passed under a row of striped awnings stretched across a terraced road.
Beneath them, people lounged in silk and chiffon, drinking from tall glasses that caught the sun and shattered it across the stone.
There were children sitting on steps, eating sticky fruit from carved bowls.
It seemed like people moved slower in Alevé.
Gracefully, not hurried. I saw women dressed like I’d only ever seen in paintings.
Shimmering fabrics wrapped around their bodies like they were artwork themselves.
Deep greens and golds. Coral pinks. Pearl whites.
Every step made the cloth ripple like water.
Their skin, in every shade of rosewood, honey, amber, and bronze, glistened in the sun.
I didn’t even notice the men. The women were so breathtaking I had to remind myself to close my mouth.
The boys definitely noticed too, especially when one of the women passed us, her back bare, her dress tied only at the throat with a sheer sash of chiffon.
At the far end of the street, a building rose above it all.
Taller than anything I’d ever seen. It looked like it had been built for the gods.
Balconies spiraled upward like a staircase into the clouds, and gold framed every window.
The woman drifted up the steps ahead of us and slipped through the glass doors.
“What is that?” I murmured.
Aran followed my gaze, a grin tugging at his mouth. “That,” he said, nodding toward the oversized gilded sign above the entrance, “is a hotel.”
I gave him a look. The word meant nothing to me, and he seemed delighted by that.
“It’s like an inn,” he said, “but for people who think they’re too good for inns. Private rooms, soft beds, real soap. If you’ve got coin, they’ll let you pretend to be royalty for a night.”
Will muttered beside me, “It looks expensive.”
It wasn’t just the size of the building, or the gold, or the glass.
It was the way the silk drapes moved in the wind like they were performing.
The way the windows caught the sun and turned it into shards of light.
And the way everyone around us looked polished, spotless clothes, smooth skin, not a trace of salt or sweat on any of them.
I looked down at myself. “We can’t go in there,” I said. “Not like this.”
Aran smiled. That same infuriating, unbothered smile he always wore when he knew something I didn’t.
“You only need to know one thing about fancy people and fancy places, Kera,” he said, reaching into his coat and pulling out his little leather pouch. He gave it a shake, and it clinked softly in his hand.
“They never turn down money.”
I wasn’t up for a debate, so I let him convince me.
Just leave it to me, he’d said. Fine. If he wanted to take the lead, be my guest. But the moment we stepped inside, I knew we didn’t belong.
It felt like crossing a line we weren’t meant to see, let alone step over.
The marble floor gleamed beneath my boots, polished so clean I could see my reflection in it.
The walls shimmered with veins of gold, lit by sconces shaped like wings.
Somewhere deeper inside, a piano played something slow and unfamiliar.
Will brushed his fingers against mine, and I hadn’t realized I was trembling until then.
“Have you ever seen anything like this?” Will whispered.
I shook my head. I hadn’t. Not even close.
Aran didn’t hesitate. He walked straight to the counter like he belonged there, like he was one of the fancy men in polished suits and shiny shoes. He leaned casually against the dark wood and gave the man behind the counter his most charming smile.
“We’d like your most expensive suite,” Aran said, clear and confident. “One night.”
I wasn’t even sure how he knew what a hotel was, or how to act in one. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he just pretended to know everything. Bluffed his way through life.
The man behind the counter responded in formal Alévi, in words I didn’t quite understand, but the tone was enough. Polite. Detached. Unimpressed. Aran’s smile didn’t drop, but it dimmed.
“Big room,” he said again, slower this time. “Three guests. One night.”
Still nothing.
The man raised one hand, gestured slightly toward us, and spoke a single word. One I did understand.
“Documentation?”
Documentation. Of course. That’s how it worked. You needed papers to prove who you were, permits to cross borders. Seals and signatures, names.
I thought of the father we’d seen at The Wall, desperate, red-faced, waving a crumpled paper at the guards while his child wept beside him. That man had proof. A reason. A name.
We didn’t have that.
I didn’t have anything.
How could they not see that? In their polished uniforms and starched collars, their perfume and their pinned-up hair, didn’t they know that people like us… didn’t have anything?
The heat started to rise behind my eyes, not from tears, just pressure.
Shame. Rage. Panic. Then, by the grace of the gods, or maybe just luck, a woman slid into view.
She wore a lilac cross-shoulder dress, and her dark hair was pinned back with something iridescent that caught the light when she tilted her head.
She didn’t rush. Didn’t raise her voice.
“Vestoni?” she asked.
My breath caught. Of course she knew. It was probably written all over us—our clothes, our accents, the dirt under our fingernails. I didn’t even know if the border was closed because Alevé wanted to keep us out… Or because the king wanted to keep us in. I wasn’t sure which was worse.
I suppose what we’d done was a crime. And criminals deserved prison.
But I didn’t feel like a criminal. I hadn’t killed for power or gold.
I hadn’t crossed the sea to conquer. Everything I’d done, I’d done to survive.
Because there was no other choice. Because if I hadn’t done it, I wouldn’t still be standing. That had to count for something, right?
My mind raced ahead of her words, already seeing it unfold, guards bursting through the door, cold metal at my wrists, the sea pulling me back across to Vestance. Delivered into King Devore’s hands like a traitor, then torn apart by his Vultures.
I didn’t want to kill anyone else. I didn’t want more blood on my hands. But would I, if I had to?
Could I?
The woman continued, taking our silence as confirmation. “No papers, I assume?”
I didn’t answer. Didn’t even lift my head. My eyes stayed on the polished floor, on my own reflection, pale and ruined and out of place. I couldn’t even bring myself to nod.
“No worries,” the woman said, her accent bending the words slightly. “We make exception.”
She nodded to the man beside her and gestured for him to fetch the key.
“Room for three. Suite?”
Aran didn’t miss a beat. He stepped forward like it was all part of his plan. “Yes. Luxury.”
The woman smiled, but her eyes didn’t match it. “Of course, sir. Come with me.”
She turned on her heel before any of us could think to thank her—if any of us were even thinking at all—and led us through the lobby, her heels clicking softly against the marble. Without a word, she began up a sweeping spiral staircase, one hand resting on the golden rail.
“Breakfast is served in the dining hall between seven and nine each morning. Dinner is served in the evening, between six and eight,” she said. ”If you like more privacy, we have room service available all hours. Just ring the bell. Someone will come and take your request.”
Aran's interest sparked instantly. “Wait, anything we want? Brought to the room?”
She looked at him with patience. “Yes, sir. Meals, drinks, fresh towels, bathwater if you need. We also bring desserts. Many sweets from Thérise arrive each week—pastry, fruit, candies. It is very popular.”
“What about wine?”
“We have good selection. A few bottles waiting already in the suite. More if you ask.”
“Gods,” Aran breathed, his grin spreading. “I’m never leaving this place.”
“You may stay as long as you please, sir,” the woman replied without missing a step.
“Yeah,” Will muttered, “as long as you can pay for it.”
Aran snorted. “I’ll find a way.”
I stayed a step behind them, just watching.
Just trying to breathe. The higher we climbed, the quieter it became.
My boots barely made a sound on the thick carpet.
Gold sconces lined the walls like stars set in stone, casting soft light over everything, as if we were walking through some kind of temple.
“You’ll be in the upper vicinity,” the woman said after a brief glance back at us. “It’s one of our more private wings. No shared walls. Each suite has its own balcony facing the harbor. You’ll also have access to the garden terrace and hot springs.”
Aran gave an exaggerated nod, completely at ease. “Exactly what we need.”
She offered a faint smile before turning forward again. “Your suite is just ahead.”
“Excellent,” Aran muttered, like he’d just accepted this new lifestyle.
“There’s a bath waiting for you in the suite,” she added, turning her head just enough to glance at me. “Heated and prepared for our… special guests.”
Her eyes moved slowly across us: Aran, Will, me. Not cruel. Just observant. And fair. Because yeah. We reeked.
Aran cleared his throat, a little too fast. “We, uh… had long travels.”
The doors we passed were carved with impossible detail. Birds. Leaves. Waves. Each one looked like it belonged in a temple, not an inn.
No—not an inn. A hotel. That’s what this was. Definitely not like any inn I’d ever seen.
Then the woman stopped and opened the door to our suite.
The room beyond was enormous. Bigger than the house I grew up in.
Velvet chairs were arranged neatly around a marble table, its surface glowing beneath a bowl of fruit so polished it looked painted.
Oranges. Grapes. Something soft-skinned and pink I didn’t recognize.
Along the far wall, a dark wood bar gleamed under the golden light, lined with glass bottles that looked too expensive to even breathe near.
Two doors branched off into separate bedrooms. A bath made of actual porcelain.
And beyond it all—tall glass doors, leading out to a balcony overlooking the harbor, where the gold-blue air of evening spilled in like a breath.
Outside, the rooftops of Alevé stretched into the distance like a sea of stone and glass.
Domes glowed beneath the fading light, and the sky softened around them.
Golden buildings.
I walked to the railing and let my fingertips rest on it.
Smooth. Cold. Solid. But it didn’t feel real.
None of it did. It was too much. Too soft.
Too far from where we’d come from. From the ruins still burned into my mind.
It felt like if I blinked too hard it would vanish, and I’d be back in the dark again.
Back in Novil.
Back in the ashes.