CHAPTER 2
THE STRANGER IN THE CITY
– Caldris Historical Record, Vol. I
A few days. That was all the time Kara had to prepare since the conversation in her father’s study.
Far sooner than she’d been ready, she was atop her golden valmare Whisper – the swiftest mount in Hale’s stables – riding south to Vallenna City with the rest of the Hale Arcalon delegation.
They’d had two nights on the road already and were getting close.
Whisper thundered across the open roads, the wind tearing through Kara’s hair. She loved it. The speed. The freedom.
“Kara! Don’t make me chase you!” Alys’s voice sounded from behind.
She slowed Whisper to a canter. “I’m stretching her legs,” she called back.
Alys, her cousin and closest friend, caught up moments later, eyebrows raised. “You racing to get to your betrothed?”
“Please don’t remind me,” Kara muttered.
“So, tell me about him,” she demanded.
Kara sighed. She would have to talk about him soon enough. “He’s...” she hesitated, “nice.”
“Ooooft,” Alys groaned, her smile fading. “That bad?”
“No, not bad exactly,” Kara said slowly. “I don’t really know him yet. He doesn’t talk much.”
Alys studied her. “I’ve heard he’s good-looking at least.”
At this, Kara smiled. “He is quite handsome, yes.”
“Then all is not lost, dear cousin. Hale will need an heir eventually.” She said it lightly, but there was understanding beneath – this is your duty, and we both know it.
Children. With Henry. Gods.
As they rode through the final Durent mountain pass that afternoon, Vallenna City came into view, with its sprawling tiers and spires topped with domes of burnished copper. The eight white marble towers reached high above them, the House banners streaming from their heights.
Alys wrinkled her nose. “They’ve put our banner next to Thorne.”
She was right. Their emerald-green banner fell proudly from the tower in between Thorne crimson and Caldris white.
“The herald doesn’t know his Houses very well,” Kara said.
“Or he does and thinks it’s funny,” Alys mused.
They joined the flow of travellers towards the city gates and Alys nudged her, pointing at the crimson-clad delegation far ahead of them.
“Speaking of Thorne,” she said. “They’re sending their heir this year too. I’m guessing he’s the tall one riding at the front.”
Kara glanced up the column of riders, curious after all the stories, and caught a glimpse of the back of a dark-haired man in black armour and a crimson cloak. He sat straight as a blade in the saddle, the other riders closing ranks around him without a word.
“Sebastian Thorne, the war hero himself.” Alys’s tone made it clear what she thought of that particular title. “I suppose he’d be useful on a team though, they say he’s brilliant with a sword–”
Kara snorted. “They also say he’s arrogant, ruthless, and thinks he won the Isles War single-handedly.”
Alys laughed. “Of course he does. He’s a Thorne. I’m sure you and he will get on great.”
“Oh yeah, best friends.”
“Just imagine if you’re on the same team. That would be hilarious.” Alys laughed. “For me.”
“It would be a disaster,” Kara said grumpily. “Hopefully neither of us have to put up with him.”
As they passed under the gates, they were swallowed by the roar of city life within – cobbled streets lined with traders, queues of riders on valmares headed towards the market square, music filling the air.
White stone buildings surrounded them, their balconies draped with coloured banners of the seven competing houses.
All of Vallenna had come together for the Arcalon, and in two days, she would be at the heart of it.
Tomorrow, though, she had one last day of freedom, with no mapped-out future, no expectations.
Tomorrow, she would just be Kara.
Kara woke early the next day. She’d been given chambers in the barracks near the High Council’s Hall.
They were modest but comfortable. Sunlight streamed through the windows as she dressed in a healer’s-green day gown and a dark travelling cloak.
She pinned her Hale Creststone to her chest: a serpent coiled protectively around a lavender flower, the emerald at its centre pulsing softly.
Every Vallennan bore one, each shaped to their house’s sigil.
Magically bound to its wearer, Creststones were identity, lineage, and currency.
Alys was already waiting when she reached the main gate, auburn curls bouncing as she bobbed up and down impatiently. “Come on,” she urged, grabbing Kara’s hand, tugging her excitedly into the market square.
The City streets were bustling with dozens of multi-coloured stalls, already crowded with people, chatter and music.
Every stand was more fascinating than the last. The air still held the last of the summer heat, thick with the scent of spices and pulses of magic.
Kara was drawn to a Lyran stall which hummed with music – amethyst-coloured glass vials that sang different tunes depending on the moods of those who touched them.
A Navyrian merchant laughed loudly when it shrieked off-key.
Kara turned when she realised Alys was no longer by her side – she had stopped at the stall of a Durent metalsmith, already haggling over a pair of hairpins shaped like Arcanthys’ three crescent moons.
Kara strolled on, wide-eyed, taking it all in – the atmosphere, the people, the sheer variety of craftsmanship.
Two Navyrian children darted across her path, shrieking with laughter as they chased a wooden bird on a ribbon of enchanted wind.
Kara stepped aside for them, towards the edge of the market square – and noticed an alleyway, tucked between two white stone buildings.
It was narrow. Decorated with fluttering wind chimes of coloured crystals. She moved closer, curious. The air shimmered faintly with a dark-red barrier. A shield. She shifted uneasily. She’d seen these before.
Fatàn magic.
As well as their prophetic magic, Fatàn could cast protective enchantments no other House could replicate.
But they were secretive in nature, and had the unpleasant habit of looking at people as though they already knew what you’d choose before you did.
Kara’s curiosity won out. As soon as she touched the barrier, it parted only enough for her to step through.
The sounds of the market died instantly, and the bright sunlight became a dim ruby glow.
At the end of the alley sat an elderly woman in purple robes, head bowed and cross-legged on a pile of dark cushions.
Gemstones and silver trinkets were scattered around her.
“Yours is restless,” the woman croaked without looking up.
Kara jumped slightly. “What?”
“Your magic. I can hear it from here. Searching for something it hasn’t found.”
She’d never heard magic described that way – like it was alive – and yet, the words resonated.
“You have a duty to yourself to look, Healer of House Hale.”
Even though the woman’s words unsettled her, Kara found herself drawn in. The woman held out a bracelet – an intricate pattern of sparkling rubies and emeralds encased in winding silver. It threw soft rainbows on the ground even in the muted sunlight.
“These particular gems are rarely found together,” the woman said. “But more beautiful for it, I think.”
Kara took it, brushing a thumb lightly over the stones. “Yes, they are. How much?”
“Five silver,” the woman answered. Kara pressed her Creststone. Five silver transferred with a hum, and the woman’s Fatàn hourglass on her chest glowed briefly.
Kara slipped the bracelet onto her wrist, the gems warm against her skin. “Thank you,” she said as she turned to leave.
“Good luck, Karalynna Hale,” the woman replied. Kara didn’t hear her as she strode back to the alleyway entrance – and collided with what felt like a wall of solid muscle. She staggered backward, but the man didn’t even sway.
“Ooft – Gods, I’m sorry–” she began as a strong hand caught her arm, steadying her.
She looked up and was caught in the gaze of ice-blue eyes that flashed dangerously at the sudden impact – the stranger’s free hand twitched towards the sword at his waist. Clearly a fighter’s reflex.
Kara froze. He was standing so close that she’d had to tilt her head back – by a lot – to see him properly.
He looked older than her, though not by much.
His slightly too-long dark hair brushed his shoulders in waves, framing a sharp jaw that would have made a Durent stonemason weep.
The only flaw in his otherwise rather perfect face was a jagged, raised pink scar on his chin.
Recent. And from a deep wound by the looks of it.
But still, he was very handsome, if she was being objective.
His grip on her arm tightened as he took her in, eyed the Creststone pinned to her, and the danger melted away, his expression cooling into something close to amusement.
Then he opened his mouth.
“Well,” he said, “if you wanted to throw yourself into my arms, you could have just asked.”
Gods above.
She stepped back sharply, putting proper distance between them. She eyed the red tunic and dagger crest on his chest. It told her everything she needed to know.
House Thorne. I should have guessed.
“Hardly,” she bristled. “You nearly knocked me over.”
“Actually, I think it was you who walked into me.”
“Debatable. But most men apologise when that happens.”
He pretended to consider that.
“Ladies first.”
She stared at him. “Unbelievable.”
“I get that a lot.”
“Sorry, did I say unbelievable? I meant unbelievably rude.”
“You wound me,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest in mock-injury. “And here I thought you Healers took an oath.”
“We do,” she shot back. “Just like Thorne swears to honour and chivalry.”
“Chivalry’s overrated.” He dipped into a low theatrical bow. “But I will endeavour to clear a path for you next time, my lady.”
Kara crossed her arms, unimpressed. “You should drop that act before someone mistakes it for charm.”
“Too late. You already did.”
Typical Thorne.
She glared at him. “I absolutely did not.”
“Then why are you still standing here?” he asked, leaning against the wall.
“Do you really have to work to be this arrogant, or does it come naturally?” she asked irritably.
“Oh, naturally,” he said with a faint smile. “Although I like to think I’ve honed my talent.”
His expression was relaxed, but he had a watchfulness about him. His hand never strayed far from the hilt of his blade.
“Perhaps you should find something less insufferable to focus on,” Kara suggested.
“Like what?”
He asked so sincerely that for a moment Kara didn’t know what to say.
“Reading,” she blurted, immediately regretting it.
He arched an eyebrow. “Reading?”
“Yes, reading,” she said, trying to muster as much dignity as she could. “It’s very – it expands your – it’s good for you,” she finished lamely.
His lips twitched. “I’ll bear that in mind, Healer.”
“Good,” Kara said as though she’d gotten him to agree to something important.
He watched her intently. “Any suggestions?”
“What?”
“Books. Since you’re recommending them.” He smirked. “There’s a good one in Thorne’s library about footwork. Not crashing right into people. That sort of thing. You can borrow it if you like.”
Kara rolled her eyes. “How about I just walk the other way next time.” With that, she made to leave.
“Good thinking,” he said smoothly. “Best to keep our distance.”
She stopped mid-step, scowling. “What is that supposed to mean?”
His face was carefully neutral. “Wouldn’t want people thinking a Hale enjoys Thorne company.”
“Trust me, I don’t,” she snapped, as she turned on her heel and stormed into the market crowd.
She could feel his eyes on her – deliberate and needling.
But she didn’t look back. Refused to give him the satisfaction.
She scanned the stalls for Alys instead.
She’d met cocky Thorne soldiers before – plenty of them.
But this one? He’d somehow elevated arrogance to an art form.
He’d irritated her on purpose to watch her reaction.
She shook her head. The City was large, and there were so many people here.
She wouldn’t run into him again. As she walked on, she caught sight of a young couple leaning close, laughing together, steaming cups of spiced milk in hand.
They were gazing at each other as though no one else existed.
Kara watched them for a moment, a dull ache settling in her chest.
She would never look at Henry Caldris like that.
Finally, she spotted Alys fascinated by a book stall, where the Caldris vendor was enchanting large volumes to turn pages of their own accord, reshaping the words into different languages as she commanded.
“Alys!”
Her cousin turned at the sound of her name and flounced over, now proudly wearing the Durent hairpin tucked into her curls.
“You got the hairpin then?” Kara asked, gesturing to it.
“It’s gorgeous, isn’t it!” Alys gushed, laying a hand on it. “Where have you been?”
“I bumped into a Thorne. A particularly cocky one.”
Alys wrinkled her nose. “Ugh, typical. Did he show you his blade?” she teased.
“Worse. Apparently, I was overcome by his charm and flung myself at him.”
Alys looked scandalised. “They think just because they can fight, they’re irresistible.”
“Exactly. And this one had the face to match the ego – which somehow made it worse.”
“The pretty ones are always impossible,” Alys agreed.
Kara laughed. “He might have been tolerable if he didn’t talk.”
“At least he didn’t ask you to spar with him,” Alys said cheerfully, “That’s their idea of flirting.”
“No.” She glanced back – once – to check the alleyway was now empty. It was. “But I did tell him to read more.”
“You told a Thorne soldier to read more?”
Kara shrugged. “Seemed relevant at the time.”
Alys dissolved into giggles. “Only you, Kara.”
“Anyway,” Kara said, looking around them. “I’m starving. Shall we get something to eat?”
Alys pointed across the square. “I passed a Sorrel bakery over there.”
“Sounds good.”
Alys led the way, the delicious scent of the warm bread and sugared cakes filling the air. Behind them, unnoticed in the crowd, the dark-haired man in crimson watched the two women disappear towards the bakery. He turned away, smiling to himself.