Chapter Twenty-Eight
Wynessa
We left the ruined watchtower after dawn, with blood on our boots and smoke still clinging to our cloaks.
No one spoke of the fight, Riven, the light that had erupted from my hands, or the way I’d spared him.
The only sounds were the shuffle of tired feet over brittle grass and the soft groan of leather shifting as wounds tightened.
Wildervale had vanished behind us. The dead trees gave way to rockier hills, then dry golden brush. Every step forward tasted like dust and salt. The wind changed first—no longer cold and heavy, but warmer, lighter, carrying the brine of the sea.
By midday, we found the river. It wasn’t wide, but the water ran clear over polished stones, the current tugging gently at the banks. We all knew we needed to wash away the smoke, the blood, the battle stink, especially with a city on the horizon.
“Boys that way, girls this way,” Jasira said, jerking her thumb upstream. “And no peeking.” Her eyes swept the group, lingering just long enough to make the last part pointed.
Gideon barked a laugh, deep and unexpected.
Alaric clutched his chest in mock horror.
“Gods forbid. The scandal.” Erindor didn’t say a word.
But when Jasira smirked, I caught his gaze across the clearing.
He looked away so fast you’d think something had burned him; the faintest hint of color touched his cheekbones.
We waded into the water until it reached our waists, shivering as the cold bit at our skin.
I ducked under, gasping as the river swept the grit and blood from my hair.
The filth swirled away downstream, carried toward whatever lay ahead.
My bruises throbbed as I scrubbed them gently, every sting feeling like something loosening inside me—like shedding the last pieces of the watchtower.
“You caught him looking,” Jasira murmured, just loud enough for me to hear.
I blinked at her. “What?”
She grinned wickedly. “When I made the peeking joke. He looked. One of those slow ones.”
Heat climbed into my cheeks. “You’re imagining things.”
“Mm. Sure. And I imagine you didn’t notice how his ears went pink either?”
I ducked my head, pretending to focus on scrubbing my arms. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m observant,” she said, wading further out, her voice lilting. “And if you’re smart, you’ll start noticing back.”
By the time we emerged, the wind had dried us off.
We shook out our cloaks, brushed our tunics clean, and combed back our hair.
My cloak was a mess: torn along the hem, the embroidery frayed, and a long rip down one side where Riven had grabbed me.
I ran my fingers over the damage, a knot forming in my chest.
The boys approached from downstream and also cleaned up. And gods help me—with his wet hair slicked back, his tunic clinging to the cut of his shoulders, and a bead of water sliding down the line of his sculptured jaw, Erindor looked like a temptation I lacked the courage to confront.
My gaze lingered too long, tracing the way his belt sat low on his hips, the faint line of muscle disappearing beneath his shirt. When I realized what I was doing, I tore my eyes away so fast it almost hurt.
He noticed the cloak in my hands. “That’s done for.”
“It can be mended,” I said, the words ringing falsely even in my ears. He reached out and, without a request, his fingers brushed against my hand as he took it gently.
“I’ll carry it. No point weighing you down.”
“I can—”
“You’ve carried enough,” he said simply, tucking it into his pack before I could argue again. Something in my chest went warm, like the sun had touched it. I just nodded, falling into step beside him as we headed toward the horizon.
By late afternoon, the city walls rose in the distance.
Below the ridge, the world transformed.
The coast unfolded like a painting: the sea spread of liquid sapphire, the cliffs white and gleaming like sunlit marble.
A town nestled along the shore, hugging the curve of a crescent bay.
Pale stone buildings shone with mosaics and colored glass; rooftops painted in coral pink and sea-foam green.
Lanterns swayed from wooden beams, and fabric banners snapped in the breeze.
A gasp escaped my lips as the scene unfolded.
A brilliant, overwhelming rush that burned at the back of my eyes.
Alaric exhaled a low whistle beside me. “Now this,” he said, hands on his hips, “is more like it.”
He grinned, a grin that meant trouble. I tried to return it, but it didn’t reach my eyes. My body was still holding tension from the night before—my shoulders tight, my heartbeat unsteady.
As we walked down the road into the coastal town, the people emerged, and I felt smaller with every step.
The faces of the locals shone with unrestrained joy.
Their clothes were little more than sheer silks and colorful wraps, gold-painted skin dusted with shimmer.
Some wore nothing on their feet; others had lace-up sandals or ornamented cuffs with seashells and pearls.
Chains looped across collarbones and chests, draped from hair and wrists like woven sunlight.
They were laughing. Singing. Leaning into one another with easy, languid affection. Their skin gleamed. Their eyes were bright. They wore joy as if it were sewn into their flesh.
By contrast, I wore my only good dress left.
A sage green, with pale embroidery at the cuffs and hem.
It was clean now, the fabric still carrying the faint scent of river water and sun, but its seams had grown soft from wear.
My boots were scuffed but free of mud, and my hair, still damp, curled in loose, unruly strands around my face despite my best efforts to smooth it.
I pulled my sleeves closer to my wrists, feeling oddly exposed without my cloak.
A group of dancers passed, half-dressed in swirling veils. One of them, a young woman with beads strung between her eyebrows, reached out to touch my wrist.
“You wear your heart like a shadow,” she observed, the low resonance of her voice making the words feel heavy. “Has it followed you far?”
But then, she disappeared before I could respond.
Alaric, of course, was flourishing. A different woman came up to him and draped a silk scarf around his shoulders. She told him he had the laughter of a sun prince. He kissed her hand and winked.
Gideon muttered, “We’ve lost him.”
“He was never with us,” Jasira said, tugging her own cloak tighter.
I tried to take in deep breaths.
But the noise was rising, music playing from somewhere in the square, market bells chiming, footsteps echoing on worn white stone. The scent of fried citrus and hot spices swirled through the air, thick and cloying. Color flashed in every direction: silks, flags, painted skin.
It was beautiful. Lush. Alive.
And I hated it.
I hated how tight my chest felt, and how every touch from a stranger’s hand made me flinch.
I hated that I could still hear the echo of swords clashing and bones snapping in the back of my mind.
I hated that my hands trembled as I smoothed the skirts of my dress, as if that scrap of fabric could shield me from the crowd’s pressure.
I hated that even here, in the warmth of color and gold, I still felt cold.
I glanced at Erindor behind us, weaving between the crowd, his hand resting near his sword. He was always watching and calculating.
The comfort was a fleeting breath against my cheek.
But then, as I blinked, the space where he stood was empty.
Alaric disappeared somewhere to my left. Jasira and Gideon were talking to a fruit vendor, their voices muffled.
Suddenly, I was alone.
The crowd pressed in, a suffocating embrace of bodies and booming music, yet I felt a profound, chilling solitude.
My throat tightened.
I turned sharply down a narrow path between vendors, my heart pounding.
The primary thoroughfare unfurled in a wild tangle of stalls, canopies, and painted stands. Vendors shouted over each other in multiple tongues, hawking fruit, perfume, spices, beads, and bottles of glittering oil that caught the sun like molten fire.
Incense drifted from stone censers, smoke curling like pale fingers toward the blue sky. Banners snapped. Coins clinked. Laughter rose. Unfamiliar music played on stringed instruments. Color, sound, and touch greeted me at every step.
It was more than I could handle.
I passed a table where gold-flecked shells shimmered like stars. Someone offered me a cube of candied ginger. A hand brushed my back. Another touched my hair. Compliments chased me in every direction.
“So fair! Are all northern girls like snow and roses?”
“Pretty little bones under all that fabric, I bet. Shame to keep ‘em hidden.”
“That mouth looks like it’s used to saying no, but I’d love to hear it say yes.”
I lowered my head, my hands attempting to fend them off.
I was still bleeding, not externally, but internally. I could still hear Riven’s voice. I could still feel Erindor’s blood on my hands. And here, in this place of sunlight and jewels, I was nothing more than an oddity. A pale doll from the mountains.
A woman tried to wrap a gold-dusted scarf around my shoulders. “This shade matches your hair,” she said with a smile.
I backed away. “Oh, no, thank you. I don’t want it.”
She blinked, surprised. “It’s not for want of trying, girl. It’s for being.”
Her words stuck, like something half-prophetic, but I ignored her, walking away as swiftly as I could.
I searched for Erindor’s face, or Jasira’s laugh, or Gideon’s shape, but they were gone, lost in the crowd. I wasn’t far from them, probably. But it felt like an entire world had unfolded between us.
This was something I wasn’t meant for. Not the noise. Not the color. Not the attention. Not the pretending.
My pulse thundered. My feet moved without asking permission. I turned onto a quieter lane where the stalls dwindled, and the voices faded.
There, beyond a curve of white stone, a small awning stood in shadow.