Chapter 13

Long after she left,Asha's voice lingers like a ghost, her argument sensible, logical. Marry for strength, for unity.

I close my eyes and press the heels of my palms into them until I see stars. The idea of marriage to Kendrick is like a well-tailored gown, exquisite to look at but suffocating when worn.

A sigh escapes my lips as duty and desire clash within me like two storm fronts destined to collide. My heart wants one thing. My mind drags me in a completely different direction.

I abandon the window and pace the room as the door opens, and Emerin steps inside, a smile already on her lips.

"Do you fancy a trip into the city to shop for fabric? I want some new cotehardies," she says.

"I'd love that," I say, knowing I could use a reprieve from my thoughts.

I put my veil back on, grab my leather satchel, then follow Emerin out of my bedchamber. Together, we stride through the corridors, our footsteps echoing off the stone walls. Emerin's voice fills the space between us as she talks about sewing the gowns herself. I offer to help her, and she grins and thanks me.

We emerge from the shadowed hallways into the harsh light of day. The sun sits high in the sky, and the air holds the heat of a thousand ovens.

Emerin shields her eyes from the sun. "It's a fine day for browsing the markets," she says, her voice carrying a hint of enthusiasm that I can't quite match.

If one considers sweating profusely and being slowly roasted alive a fine day, then I guess she's right. But I keep my thoughts to myself, not wanting to dampen her excitement for our little excursion.

As we draw nearer to the gate leading to the city, the rhythmic ring of hammer on anvil echoes over the walls. The scents grow stronger too—the warm, earthy aroma of cardamom and the sharp, citrusy tang of coriander, alongside less pleasant odors I try not to focus on.

We pass through the fortress gate, where guards stand sweating in the heat. Inside the city, lies a labyrinth of narrow streets and alleyways, all packed tightly with stalls and bodies.

Silks in vibrant jewel tones hang from awnings, rippling gently in the faint breeze like the undulating scales of some exotic serpent. Baskets brim with fruits and vegetables, some I do not even recognize—strange, spiny orbs and gnarled roots that look like they were plucked from another world.

Emerin gasps and rushes over to a table laden with swaths of embroidered fabrics. I follow behind at a slower pace. A peddler waylays me, offering me a silver necklace with an oval locket. I shake my head politely and continue until my eyes catch on a stall filled with seashells.

Knots tighten in my chest as I remember the necklace Jasce gave me, and guilt hits me for even considering marrying Kendrick.

"Annora, look at this brocade." Emerin holds up a shimmering length of emerald silk. "Don't you think it would make the most divine gown?"

I run my fingers over the fabric. "Yes. It's beautiful."

Emerin haggles with the merchant, and after a moment, her persistence pays off, and she secures the brocade for a bargain with a triumphant smile.

The merchant, a man with lines of laughter etched deep into his skin, folds the fabric with care and hands it to her.

"Let's go," she says, tucking the brocade under her arm.

We weave our way through the market, dodging elbows and sidestepping errant children playing between stalls. Then, Emerin veers off the main thoroughfare and down an alley I've never set foot in. Narrower and cooler than the market street, it offers a reprieve from the sun's relentless gaze. The sounds of the city grow fainter as we delve deeper into this hidden vein of Bakva.

"Where are we going?" I ask, my curiosity piqued by the unfamiliar surroundings.

"There's someone I want you to meet," Emerin says, her voice filled with excitement as she guides me around a huge dip in the street, careful to avoid the uneven cobblestones.

"Who?"

"You'll see," is all she says, before pressing on, her long, wavy copper hair swaying with each step she takes.

The alley twists and turns like a serpent winding through dry grass. Patches of sky peek through gaps between leaning buildings, the tall structures seeming to converse in whispers above our heads.

Eventually, her sure steps lead us to a stone cottage tucked between two bigger buildings. Vines crawl up the weathered walls, and a rounded arch frames the wooden door.

Emerin steps up and knocks. After a few moments, the door swings open, and a young man stands on the threshold. A grin spreads across his handsome face when he sees us, and he eagerly waves us inside.

"Come in. Come in," he says.

I glance at Emerin, but she just smiles and walks into the cottage. After a moment, I follow her inside and look around. Wooden beams stretch across the ceiling, solid and dark against the whitewashed walls. A table, scarred from summers of use, sits in the center of the room, surrounded by chairs that invite long conversations over cups of steaming tea. In one corner, shelves overflow with books and scrolls, some leather-bound, others simply tied with string.

I turn my attention to the young man next. His hair is a warm blend of russet and gold, and his eyes remind me of polished amber. He meets my gaze with a smile that is both welcoming and a touch shy.

"This is Corvin," Emerin says as she grins at the man. "He's an old friend."

He bows, offering me the respect my rank demands. "It's an honor to meet you, Lady Annora."

"Hello," I say warmly.

They share a brief look that speaks volumes. It's clear there's more between them than she has mentioned. Perhaps even more than they've admitted to each other out loud.

"Corvin helps procure rare books for me," Emerin explains, her eyes sparking with excitement as she picks up one such tome from the shelf and cradles it in her arms like a treasured possession. The leather-bound volume appears ancient, its spine cracked and pages yellowed with age. "He has access to many private libraries."

Emerin has always shared my love of reading. It warms my heart to know she has found a friend who not only understands but actively supports her passion.

She holds out the book to me. "I found this one for you."

My brow raises as I take the book from her and examine the worn leather cover and trace the embossed title with my fingertip. Understanding Silver Magic.

Nerves knot in my throat as I glance up at Emerin, catching the gentle curve of her smile.

"I read enough of the book to know that there is quite a bit of information about silver magic that requires runes in there," she says. "You don't have to wait for our mother to give you a rune. You just need to know what kind to use."

"Oh, Em." Her thoughtfulness never ceases to amaze me. "That would be fantastic."

With an elegant sweep of her long gown, Emerin turns toward the table. "Now, let's sit and enjoy some tea. Corvin makes an excellent chamomile tea."

I follow Emerin's lead and settle into the chair opposite her, the book nestled securely against my lap. I can't bring myself to set it down, not even for a moment. Not when it might hold the answers I've been seeking about my silver magic.

As Corvin strides to a small stove tucked in the corner, I allow my fingers to caress the spine of the book. Maybe, just maybe, if I could unravel the secrets held within these pages, I could find a way to learn about my silver magic. Then, I could know myself in ways I have never understood it before.

Since Grandfather died, I have tried to make my own decisions, and I have tried to discover things I didn't know about myself.

I have explored the city more, with a veil on, of course, and I have created things with my hands. Like pottery and ceramics. Each one brought me closer to knowing myself. Yet, there are still mysteries like my silver magic and Lyra's magic.

Sunlight slants through the windows and illuminates Corvin as he pours hot water over dried chamomile flowers. Once the tea has steeped to perfection, he places steaming goblets before Emerin and me.

I lift the stoneware to my lips, savoring the warmth that spreads through me as I sip the chamomile tea. The delicate floral notes dance on my tongue, soothing my senses.

Emerin leans forward, her copper hair catching the light as she rests her elbows on the table. "Rora, Corvin was just telling me about a festival in the city next week."

Corvin nods. "It's quite the sight to behold—with dancers, entertainers, and acrobats. And there are games of skill and chance."

"It sounds absolutely wonderful," I say, letting my imagination paint a vivid picture of the festive scene.

Emerin's eyes twinkle with barely contained excitement. "We should go. It would be a shame to miss out on such a delightful experience."

"I'll ask Ash in the morning." I smile and slip the book Emerin gave me into my leather satchel. "I'm sure with a little persuasion, we can convince her to join us."

As we laugh and talk, time slips by unnoticed, like grains of sand through an hourglass. The once golden shafts of light that filtered through the cottage windows have gradually shifted to a deep, burnished orange.

I glance at the window, knowing we need to hurry back to the fortress before we are missed, and Asha sends out a search party. "We should go, Em."

Emerin nods, and we both stand and head toward the door. Corvin follows and promises to hold on to any new books he finds for Emerin.