Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
REIYANA
E ventually, Reiya came to a stop, shoulders trembling, every shallow draw of air unspooling a knot of dread inside her.
Sweat trickled down her nape, and the pull toward the Xians’ wagon—its dark, familiar refuge—pressed hard against her. She could disappear there, shut the world out, but . . .
Hadn’t that been her path until now? Avoiding truths, sidestepping fear instead of facing it head-on? The wagon was a comfort, yes, but she hadn’t come all this way to hide, to shrink back into the shadows, even with the threat of Jodhar and others like him.
If she hid, what of the small agency she’d fought to carve out on this journey? Her place with the Xians? The promise she’d made to Xian Jun?
The purpose she’d found with the merchant family wasn’t grand, but it was hers—something she’d built with quiet steps along the way. She wouldn’t let Jodhar take that from her. Not someone like him, who prowled without respect, who saw boundaries as nothing more than lines to be crossed.
She drew a deep breath, willing her heartbeats to slow, letting the air settle her nerves. The market’s hum wrapped around her—spices, fresh bread, leather, and wool weaving into the rhythm of her steps. Voices blended—laughter, bartering, hurried feet over warm stone.
Where once she had resisted, she now surrendered —letting the pulse of the market guide her steps.
She pulled the crumpled list from her pocket: wool thread, saffron, goat’s milk soap.
From what she’d observed, the market was divided by trade.
The Xians’ stall, with its eclectic offerings of belts, pouches, and herbs, was likely near the centre.
Judging by the pungent scent of spices around her, she’d drifted near the spice traders.
It was a good start.
Following the heady pull of cloves and cardamom, she threaded through narrow aisles, eyes flicking to the chalked stall numbers as Xian Jun had advised.
Alphas passed now and then—faint sparks at the edges of her awareness.
She shifted instinctively, keeping to the sidelines, watching without drawing notice.
The caution came naturally, part of her now, but she kept moving, anchored in the market’s warmth.
The saffron stall appeared ahead, bright strands glowing inside glass jars. Relief steadied her as she gathered what she needed and moved on. Wool threads and goat soap remained, but the next section felt unfamiliar.
She paused, scanning the stalls, then asked for directions—only to once again meet indifferent shrugs and hurried steps.
Still, she pressed on, undeterred by dismissive glances. She stepped toward another vendor, bracing for another brushoff, when a woman’s voice, speaking in fluent Isseric, rose above the market’s din.
“Looking for the wool stalls?”
Reiya turned and found herself facing a striking woman.
Gold hoops glinted in her ears, catching the afternoon light.
She stood with effortless ease, as though she belonged to every inch of the bustling market.
Sun-warmed curls framed high cheekbones and sharp angles, her crimson and gold robes magnificent against her brown skin.
Dark eyes met hers, steady and sure—welcoming, yet unshaken, as though the world held no sway over her. There was a quiet certainty in the way she moved, a fluid grace, unbound, unapologetic. Free .
Something in that freedom made Reiya pause. For a moment, she forgot herself—forgot the stall, the market, everything.
She blinked, pulling the pieces back together.
Wool. She was here for wool.
“Yes, I am,” she said, forcing the words past the tangle in her throat.
The woman’s gaze lingered, a flicker of recognition in her eyes—as if she knew more than she let on. A smile then graced her lips and she gestured toward a line of stalls to the east.
“Follow that row until you see the red awning. You should find what you need there.”
“Thank you,” Reiya replied, offering a polite smile.
Something stirred beneath her skin—a quiet, unspoken recognition. A pull, like sensing the tide before it turned.
Was the woman an Omega?
But the thought slipped away as quickly as it came. She carried herself too freely, too untouched by expectation. Whatever Reiya had sensed, it had to be something else.
With a quiet nod, the woman disappeared into the crowd, leaving her with a lingering curiosity. She watched those rich brown curls until they vanished completely.
Following the direction, Reiya wound through the stalls, gathering each item on her list. With her supplies in hand, she turned back toward the Xians’ stall, her steps lighter now—each one a quiet reminder of what she’d managed to accomplish.
On her way back, she passed a bathhouse tucked between the market stalls—its graceful stone facade and arched windows stark against Zohara’s chaotic sprawl. Intricate carvings framed the entrance, the soft scent of jasmine and sandalwood drifting out into the market.
She slowed, gaze lingering on the building’s quiet elegance—a sanctuary hidden among the bustle. The thoughts of warm water, washing away the tension still clinging to her skin . . .
She hadn’t known solitude like that since leaving Nymaris.
But the Xians were waiting. She tucked the thought away for another time and pressed on .
Relief washed over her as she finally spotted them—Mei Mei in her new bright red tunic, which Su Lian recently completed to the girl’s delight; Ru Rong scanning the crowd; and Xian Jun, whose gaze immediately softened the moment he saw her.
Mei Mei bounded over. “Yara! Bà was so sure you got lost!” She tugged at Reiya’s sleeve, pulling her closer. “He almost went to look for you.”
Reiya smiled, careful not to drop the bundles she’d painstakingly gathered. “I did get lost, but I found my way back.”
Xian Jun stepped forward, his nod subtle but approving, the faint lift of his mouth saying more than words could. Su Lian’s hands eased the packages from her arms, fingers brushing her shoulder in silent relief.
As the last bundle was set down, Ru Rong’s eyes caught the mark on Reiya’s neck, and the woman’s expression faltered.
Su Lian’s gaze followed, and a quiet exchange passed between the two women.
Mei Mei, sensing the shift, fell silent, her wide eyes flicking between the adults until Ru Rong rested a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“Mei Mei, be a dear and fetch some water. We’ll need plenty for tonight.”
The girl hesitated, but nodded and scampered off, glancing back only once.
Without words, Ru Rong gathered herbs and oils, working with brisk efficiency at the back of the stall while Su Lian guided Reiya to a small bench. The woman sat beside her, resting a hand on her shoulder—no questions, no pressure, just quiet reassurance.
Xian Jun stood nearby, arms crossed, brow drawn tight. Though silent, his watchful stance—tense shoulders, sharp gaze—radiated vigilance, ready to step in if needed.
Ru Rong returned with a sharp-scented salve, dabbing it carefully onto the bite at Reiya’s neck. The ointment stung, hot and biting against tender skin, before melting into cooling relief.
“He must’ve used some force to leave this mark,” Ru Rong murmured, voice edged with quiet outrage.
Reiya said nothing, eyes lowered as Ru Rong worked. Su Lian’s hand slipped into hers—warm, steady. Reiya squeezed it, grateful for the silent comfort that asked nothing of her.
“Was it Jodhar?” Xian Jun’s voice was calm but laced with restrained anger. “If he overstepped, Elder Tasim should know.”
A prickle raced up her spine.
Gratitude stirred at Xian Jun’s calm protectiveness—but it tangled quickly with a sharper fear. If a formal complaint was raised, if too many eyes turned toward her, questions would follow.
She couldn’t afford questions.
A chill slid down her skin, the kind that no warmth could chase away.
Exposing her identity could jeopardize not only herself but also the Xians, who’d taken her in. Harbouring an Omega on the run comes at a cost.
“Please.” Her voice was a soft plea, layered with quiet urgency. “It’ll only bring unwanted attention. I don’t want to put any of you at risk. Just . . . let it be.”
His expression remained unreadable, but Su Lian’s gaze softened. She turned to her husband. “Perhaps it’s best we heed Yara’s wish. These things often play in an Alpha’s favour, especially one the caravan rely on.”
Xian Jun studied Reiya’s face, determination softening just slightly before he gave a short nod, though tension still marked his stance.
“For today,” he said, “Su Lian and my mother will serve the customers. You stay in the back and work. Besides, Su Lian has an idea for new goods and needs your help.”
Su Lian picked up a stack of finely woven cords in various colours, examining them with a small, thoughtful smile before handing them over. “I was thinking of adding braided bracelets to our stall’s offerings. You seem to have a knack for them.”
Reiya accepted the cords, fingers brushing over their sturdy texture. She remembered watching Leif’s hands deftly weaving similar strands, his expression calm, each braid crafted not for decoration but for the rigours of sailing.
He had once told her, ‘A good braid is stronger than it looks, Rei. It doesn’t break under pressure; it just pulls tighter.’
Now, the task felt like a lifeline, a quiet challenge to rebuild her own resilience in the wake of everything she’d just faced.
“Thank you,” she murmured, grateful for both the distraction and the gentle way it was offered—a reminder that she was trusted, included.
Here, she wasn’t a precious or desirable Omega. She was someone they’d welcomed as one of their own; a bond she couldn’t risk shattering by drawing attention to what she was.