Chapter Eight
CHAPTER EIGHT
Mira
When I first arrived in Aldara, I thought the buildings on top of the cliffs were snow. The reality of them was less romantic: utilitarian slabs of white-washed stone, each blurring into the next.
Weaving my way downward, I relied on instinct rather than defining landmarks. Aldara was known for its jumble of passageways, originally designed to hinder enemy invaders. Now, those passageways served as a reminder of a harder time, back before the islanders had reaped the benefits of Emperor Kalias’s protection. Back when pirate attacks had been common, and these same streets had run red with blood.
The path I was following suddenly emerged into the bustling main square, the air rich with the sounds of hawkers and the smells of sandalwood and spice. It was always like this when the royal representatives visited: packed with market stalls displaying the best Aldara had to offer, in the hopes of harvesting Ravalian coin. It had been over a decade since Aldara was absorbed into the empire, and while some of the islanders still grumbled – mainly about the appointment of a provincial governor – most welcomed the increased opportunity for trade and commerce.
I passed a stall laden with mangoes and inhaled deeply as I approached tray after tray of aromatic herbs. There was even a wide selection of succulent meats and gourmet breads, far more than I usually saw displayed at markets.
‘Mira!’
My head turned at the sound of the clear, sweet voice, and a smile broke over my face.
Lillian was waving at me from a nearby stall, bolts of fabric draped over her arms and a coronet of wildflowers in her hair. Judging by the lightness in her expression, it seemed like our argument from the other day was forgotten.
As I came closer, I noticed that the stall was surrounded by noble ladies, young and old, inspecting the material with acquisitive eyes. And not just ladies. A handful of boys stood off to one side, looking put out as they lost Lillian’s attention.
‘I knew that dress would be perfect for you,’ Lillian said, her voice thick with satisfaction. Her bright eyes canvassed me from head to toe, and I gave her a twirl, my skirts flaring. ‘You look stunning.’
Lillian was the stunning one, wearing a pastel pink dress that complemented her fair complexion perfectly. The very image of a Ravalian lady.
‘It’s beautiful,’ I replied, hugging her close. ‘You’re a genius.’
Lillian ducked her head bashfully, but we both knew how talented she was. Once she was done with her apprenticeship, she intended to move to Ravalia and open her own dress shop. I’d spent many afternoons imagining our lives together: Aric and I training during the day and visiting Lillian in the evening.
‘Am I interrupting something?’ I asked, glancing over my shoulder. The boys were still watching Lillian, their gazes wistful.
‘I wasn’t actually interested in them,’ Lillian said, lowering her voice conspiratorially. ‘I was just passing the time.’
I laughed. ‘What about Felix?’
‘That’s my mother’s idea, not mine. With Aric leaving, she seems to think marriage is the best way of keeping me here. But Felix is so dull! Did you see him earlier? He didn’t come up to speak to me, not even to say hello. And he had the most unattractive frown on his face.’
‘Well,’ I said, suppressing a smile, ‘you do get a lot of male attention. He might find that intimidating.’
Before I could say anything else, a rail-thin woman with a pinched face and snow-white hair interrupted us. ‘I didn’t leave you in charge so you could gossip with your friend. Well?’ the weaver prompted, when Lillian remained silent. ‘What do you have to say for yourself ?’
Lillian smiled innocently. ‘We were just discussing the dress I made for Mira. She’s thinking of commissioning another. I thought we could take a turn around the market and discuss it further.’
The weaver’s gaze raked over me, none too impressed, but she nodded. ‘Go on, then. But don’t take too long – Lord Nevin is planning to come past with his wife, and we both know how much she likes to spend his coin.’
‘Thank you,’ Lillian called, already taking my hand and backing away. She whispered, ‘Quickly, before she changes her mind!’
We raced through the square, filled with a sense of freedom I rarely experienced. But Lillian was like that. She found joy everywhere – even in the small moments. It was one of the things I most admired about her.
When we were out of view of the weaver’s tent, we slowed to a walk. I smoothed down my long dark hair, which was a windswept mess.
‘Worried about someone seeing you, Mira?’ Lillian paused at a stall, tracing a blue ribbon with her fingertips. ‘My brother, perhaps?’
I avoided her devious glance. I had been wondering whether Aric would be at the market, but he was the last person I wanted to discuss. And I shouldn’t be thinking about him at all.
‘I really need to find a less perceptive friend,’ I retorted.
Lillian grinned. ‘What is happening with you two, anyway?’
I shrugged, pretending to focus on a pair of richly dressed traders. They must have come with the royal representatives; they flaunted the red and gold colours of the Ravalian Court. ‘You’d have to ask him.’
‘Aric is far too talented at keeping his feelings to himself,’ Lillian said, rolling her eyes. ‘But I know he cares about you. He always has.’ She paused, so suddenly that a street vendor barely avoided knocking into her. ‘Actually, there is something you can do for me. Can you talk to him about the apprenticeship?’
I paused, too, staring at my friend. Lillian’s pale blue eyes were locked on mine, curiously beseeching.
‘By talk to him, you mean . . .’
‘Convince him to take it.’ Lillian grasped my hands. ‘Please, Mira,’ she said. ‘I know Aric would listen to you.’
‘I already talked to him about it,’ I said gently, trying to soften the blow. ‘It didn’t make any difference.’
I expected Lillian to nod, her face filled with resignation. I didn’t expect her to drop my hand and step away from me.
‘I’m sure you tried very hard,’ she muttered.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I asked, following her over to a less busy corner of the market, where fishmongers were haggling over prices.
‘My brother died fighting for the empire,’ Lillian said flatly. ‘Do you really think I’d want that for you? For Aric?’
‘I understand, I really do. But—’
‘You’re not thinking clearly.’ Lillian’s hands went to her curvy hips. The pose was a strong one, but her mouth was downturned with worry. ‘Why risk your life? Why risk everything , Mira, when you have—’
‘What?’ I interrupted. ‘What do I have, Lil? I bow and scrape to nobles every day, all so they’ll toss me a few coins. I barely get by on their supposed generosity .’ The bitterness in my voice startled me, but I kept going. ‘You saw what Nikolas and the others think of performers. They don’t respect us, and I don’t want to spend my life pretending I’m less than they are.’ My hands balled into fists at my sides. ‘This is the only way.’
Lillian’s eyes were filled with uncharacteristic gravity. ‘Do you really believe that?’
The seriousness in her face made me think of the years I’d spent on the run. The past that my mother refused to discuss, yet that continued to haunt her. To haunt us both.
But if I became a Warrior, I would no longer have to hide. And neither would my mother.
‘Yes,’ I said decisively. ‘I do.’
Lillian said nothing else as we left the square, following the sloping path up to the governor’s manor house. The crowds grew denser as we approached – no longer just Aldarians hawking their wares, but traders from across the empire, including the neighbouring islands of Salacia and Scallon. I went first, clearing a path for Lillian to follow. But when I turned to check on her, she wasn’t behind me.
Retracing my steps, I found Lillian lingering outside a curious-looking tent. It was inky black, a shock of darkness amongst the bright stalls. The vendor leant against the entrance, his dark skin and crimson vest marking him as a Westerner from across the Azure Sea. He reminded me uncomfortably of the fortune-teller I’d met in Damar, but this young man’s skin was clear of tattoos, and his eyes were the same colour.
‘Do you have a question?’ His voice was low and smooth, cultured.
‘No,’ I said quickly. ‘I was searching for a different stall.’
The vendor seemed amused by my obvious lie. ‘What about you, young mistress?’ His attention shifted to Lillian, who didn’t seem unnerved in the slightest.
‘What are you selling?’ Lillian asked, trying to peek inside the tent. ‘Fabrics? Spices?’
He blocked her gaze, his smile turning lupine. ‘Nothing so common as that. I deal in knowledge and secrets.’
With a prickle of unease, I understood. ‘You’re an Artisan.’
‘Yes.’ He looked at me too shrewdly, like he could uncover my secrets with a single glance.
A chill darted down my spine as I remembered my last, strange interaction with an Artisan. To this day, his words still scared me. The tattooed image I’d seen – the one with my mother’s face, her lips straining to form my name – haunted my nightmares. I inched away from the vendor, unwilling to deal with him.
But his announcement had the opposite effect on Lillian, who regarded him hungrily. Artisans were rare, their gifts renowned. Once they made a prediction, it almost always came true.
‘You mean . . .’ Lillian lowered her voice, ‘you can tell us the future?’
He considered her. ‘Perhaps. The future is not always so clear. But I can answer your questions – for a price.’
‘Lillian,’ I warned, tugging on her arm, ‘ don’t .’
But Lillian didn’t move, her eyes riveted on the fortune-teller. ‘Who will I marry?’
‘No one,’ he said. ‘You will marry no one.’
Lillian stared at him, her vibrant face suddenly pale. ‘But how can that be? Surely I will have suitors?’
The Artisan watched her steadily, but a flicker of something – some emotion I couldn’t read – unsteadied his cool countenance. Then I blinked, and he was perfectly composed once more.
He bent down to murmur in Lillian’s ear, too low for me to hear. When he drew back, there were tears in her eyes. Her face was bone-white.
Lillian’s shaking hand formed a fist, like she might strike him. But she only straightened, turned, and strode away. She didn’t wait for me, and I knew better than to rush after her and try to discover what the fortune-teller had said.
Instead, I asked him, ‘What of her payment?’
‘She can keep her secrets,’ the Artisan said, his piercing eyes following Lillian’s silhouette as she walked too quickly through the market stalls. ‘She will have no need for them much longer.’