13 Incense #2
Anhaven. Freya dragging her out of bed when they were still girls, but not too young to have pinched a few bottles of ale from her father the night before.
Freya had claimed the best cure for too much drinking was to go on like normal, wallowing around all miserable never did anyone any good.
Vaelira had questioned how a fourteen-year-old knew such things and Freya had simply said that it was common sense.
A smile tugged at her lips, and her shoulders loosened. “Yes, to the shopping.”
Ressa smirked. “Great. Meet us at the gate in thirty.” As they left, Fang shot her a wink.
Vaelira laughed, shaking her head. Maybe making new friends wouldn’t be such a bad idea.
On her way back to change, and maybe do something about her hair, she stopped at the mailroom.
Her pigeonhole was empty, save for a small pouch of coin for the week.
It wasn’t enough to live on, but with the barracks covering food and board, she supposed she should be grateful to get anything at all.
The coin wasn’t what troubled her. It was the empty pigeonhole. Surely someone would’ve written by now.
Lysander, she could understand. He was a busy man. He’d probably barely thought of her since she’d left, but Freya was still bed-bound with a broken leg. Maybe she was giving Vaelira space to settle in, or maybe she didn’t know what to say.
A knot formed in Vaelira’s throat. It wasn’t like she’d taken the time to write either.
Before heading to her room, she grabbed a pen, a pot of ink, and a sheet of parchment.
She wrote a short letter, asking about Freya’s leg and giving a brief rundown of training, how it compared to drills back in Anhaven, and how different yet similar everything felt here.
She sealed it with wax and the barracks iron stamp, then made a mental note to drop it at the post office in town.
It would probably get sent out quicker that way than if she left it to be picked up in the mailroom.
She still had a headache, her stomach was still a little unsettled, and yet, somehow, the day didn’t seem as bleak as it had when she woke up. She tucked the letter into her pocket and let the rest of it go, for now.
The snow had stopped sometime in the night, leaving the cobblestones slushy beneath her boots.
Shop doors opened and closed, little bells ringing with each.
Boots clacked against stone, and faint trails of breath hung in the air behind cloaked figures going about their business.
A few windows glowed with firelight. It wasn’t as chaotic as New Town, but it still hummed with life.
Fang dragged them into three weapons shops before Ressa pointed out none of them could afford anything inside, and even if they could, it’d be a waste of coin with the barracks armoury at their disposal. Fang had only shrugged, letting Ressa take the lead.
She brought them to a wide glass display window, where silk dresses hung, the fabric shimmering like water. Above the door, swirling gold letters spelled out Miss Selma’s Silks.
“They’re beautiful,” Vaelira said, “but a bit revealing. I’d freeze walking around in one of those.” She nudged a mound of snow with her boot.
“They’re not for wearing outside,” Ressa said, raising a brow.
“Definitely not,” Fang agreed, hands on his hips as he eyed the scandalous fabric. “I like the red one.”
“I bet you do.” Ressa said.
Vaelira glanced between them. “Are you two, you know, a thing?”
They both burst out laughing.
“I tried my luck the first week of training,” Fang said. “Turns out I’m not her type.”
Vaelira found it hard to believe Fang wasn’t everyone’s type. He was beautiful, and strong as an oak. If she hadn’t been so distracted by everything, she’d probably have noticed sooner.
“If you keep staring like that, I’ll start thinking I’m your type,” he said.
Vaelira blinked.
“Don’t get your hopes up,’ Ressa said. “I think this one’s spoken for.”
Vaelira’s mouth twitched, but she didn’t correct her. Instead, she stuck out her lower lip. “Sorry. Not interested.”
“It’s the Prince, isn’t it?” Ressa said, looking at her side-long.
“What?” Vaelira’s face grew hot. “I didn’t even know who he was until the other day.”
“He seemed to know you,” Ressa muttered under her breath.
Fang laughed so loudly that a few people turned to look. “I thought you said no interrogations?”
Ressa waved a hand at him. “Alright, fine. Shall we go in?”
Vaelira looked back at the dresses. She had no use for something like that. “I’ll catch up. I need to post a letter.”
“Sure. Meet us back here?”
She nodded, turning back the way they had come, towards where she’d seen someone salting the steps of the post office earlier.
Spoken for. She scoffed. Her entire relationship with Elijah had started as a lie.
She could never trust him completely after that, and what sort of relationship could they build without trust?
Besides, he was the Crown Prince. Whatever fleeting feelings she may or may not have felt for him, they didn’t matter now.
Ressa could think what she liked. Let her imagine some midnight tryst.
The thought made her cheeks heat and she hated it. Hated that she’d allowed herself to become so distracted. She was here to learn about her magic and what she could do with it. How she could fight what had taken her brother from her. Elijah was her way into the Royal Library, and nothing more.
After slipping her letter into the metal slot outside of the post office, Vaelira headed towards the silk shop, her pace slower now.
She couldn’t help but peer into each window she passed.
The shops were bright and immaculate, their shelves lined with silver jewellery, glossy boots, and plump golden pastries that glistened behind the glass.
She stopped short outside one that was unlike the others. Thick curtains were drawn across the window. The sign above the door was crooked, the name spelt out in red chipping paint. Madame Noctra’s. Light flickered inside.
Before she thought it through, Vaelira pushed open the door. It swung inwards silently, the soft click as it closed behind her making her jump.
The air was thick with sweet smelling smoke that curled its way down her throat and made her head swim.
The walls were crowded with sagging shelves.
Crystals clustered in bowls beside bundles of dried plants bound with twine.
Books lay in crooked stacks, some half crushed beneath carved boxes that leaked curling trails of incense.
At the back of the room, a low table was surrounded by plush floor cushions.
Something rested in the centre beneath a shroud of shimmering black cloth.
Vaelira coughed, waving a hand in front of her face. “Hello?”
Silence.
She eyed the closed door beyond the table and crossed the threadbare rugs, ducking under the tapestries that hung from the ceiling. She knocked.
Nothing.
She turned back, letting curiosity get the better of her, and crouched beside the table, reaching for the cloth.
“No touching,” said a voice.
Vaelira jerked back, her hand flying instinctively to the empty dagger sheath at her waist.
A woman stood in the doorway. Her layered green skirts skimmed the floor, a bodice cinched tight over a loose white blouse.
Thick black hair was twisted up beneath a red velvet band.
Gold glinted from her ears and fingers, her lips and nails lacquered a deep, glossy red.
Dark kohl ringed her eyes, which were blue and rimmed with gold around the pupils.
“I am Madame Noctra,” she said in a raspy voice, sweeping into the room with a rustle of fabric. “Have you come to seek your future?”
She hadn’t, but Vaelira nodded anyway.
They took seats on opposite sides of the table.
Madame Noctra drew back the cloth, revealing a glass orb resting on an ornate golden stand shaped like a feline mid pounce.
The woman raised her hands and began to move them in wide, slow circles over the orb, her eyes closed, head tilted back.
She paused and held out her hand across the table, palm up.
Vaelira reached for her pouch and placed two coppers in Madame Noctra’s palm. The fortune teller opened one eye, sighed, and the coins vanished. Her fingers resumed their motion, slower this time, and more deliberate.
“Ah yes,” she murmured. Her hands stilled atop the orb. “A long life.”
Vaelira leaned closer, but the orb revealed nothing but her warped reflection staring back at her.
“You will live a long life,” Madame Noctra repeated, voice soft. “I see a great love in your future.”
Vaelira studied her, unimpressed. It sounded rehearsed, like something she said to every girl that came looking for answers. She sat back. “What can you tell me of demons?”
The air shifted. Madame Noctra opened her eyes. “Why ask such a thing?” All mystery was gone from her voice.
“My brother was killed by one.”