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The girl glances at her father and smacks her forehead as if remembering something. She offers me a gawky bow, fluster coloring her cheeks.
“You must be one too, then. Any of my sisters would envy these braids of yours.” I’m not even lying. Her hair is blacker than the darkest night, woven in tight braids, falling well past her hipbone. I crouch next to her and stretch out my hand. “Maybe I can help you with that?”
Zaria gives me the box, and I fight to pry open the rusted lid. I turn away as soon as Valdus reaches to help. After another minute of struggle, the lid gives up with a satisfying pop.
As soon as the box and its contents are returned to its owner, Valdus clears his throat. “We should be going.”
I don’t want to leave this shop of endless stories linked to the clocks and watches, but Valdus seems to have the day all planned out, and I don’t dare to test his patience.
With a promise to come by if another chance presents itself, I follow Valdus into the heat of the city. We stop at the market square with an old fountain of stone and metal as a vestige of another era. No water has flowed through its copper tubing in for who knows how long, only sand.
Merchants have trinkets of forgotten times spread out on their stalls. Anything from kitchenware and tools from before The Cataclysm. The richest merchants have rusting automatons polishing anything from cracked vases made by the finest artisans to the complex mechanisms, I can’t imagine a use for. Everything can be found here. Everything except food. That trade is a crime for anyone but The Carrier of Quotas sanctioned by the governor himself. His shop is the only one that has a long queue running down the block and further into town.
Before I can wander too far deep into the market and its less than honest deals, Valdus pulls me toward an old building with empty halls and curving stairs. We emerge on the roof, and I gasp. The town of The Broken Sands spreads below us in all its glory. The household of the governor looms to the left, the factory pumps smoke to the right, and in between, houses stand one next to the other in endless alleyways.
Valdus brushes his hand over the ledge with a few missing stones in a futile attempt to clean off the sand and takes a seat next to the cleared space. I bite my lip to hide my smile from view and settle next to him. He passes me a sandwich wrapped in wax paper Inara must have packed for us and starts on his own. As we eat our meal, we watch men and women cross the city, children squabble over toys, and a few beggars plead for silvers. With the last bite, I roll the wax paper into a ball.
It’s only then that I notice a small hexagonal box decorated with flakes of gold sitting between us. My mouth waters as I imagine what it could contain, but Valdus pretends not to see the question burning in my eyes.
“Is that…” I don’t dare to finish that question for fear the small treasure might disappear.
“Why don’t you open it?”
I run my fingers over the fine metal painted with swirls of vines before lifting the lid open. Dusted in iced sugar, gummy treats sit inside. I pick one made of chopped pistachios, the paste melting on my tongue and its rich taste lingering in my mouth.
This feels so out of place. A delicacy made for rich folk that Valdus seems to have bought only for me. He refuses to take even a bite, watching me savor the few bites of loukoum.
He motions at my face. “You have something here.”
I rub the corners of my mouth, but Valdus only chuckles. The next thing I know, he reaches toward my face and brushes the tip of my nose, his touch leaving a ripple of heat on my skin.
I’m not ready to think about the way his touch makes me feel, and I hasten to fill the silence swelling between us. “Thank you.”
He turns his gaze away and clears his throat. “We have someone waiting for us.”
We don’t talk as we walk, and it’s only when we stop again that I dare to lift my gaze from the cobbles below my feet. A tower of stones rises to meet the sky. A priest I saw the last time I wandered these streets holds Valdus’s gaze for a beat before entering the temple without a word.
“After you,” Valdus says, motioning to the dimly lit hall full of shadows.
The smoke of burning incense swirls through the entrance. As soon as it clears, I gasp.
Built by the best masters of the empire, The Eternal Enclave in The Shadow City was all kinds of beautiful, but it never became a place of devotion. Yet in a town waging a battle for life with relentless sands, this temple is just breathtaking.
“Welcome to The House of Eternity,” the priest says and starts down the walkway.
Marbled benches and wax candles form rows under a canopy of a forest of sculpted trees. Strings of dotted lights peek out from the branches and cascade down the trunks, filling the hall with a thousand glowing spheres. The priest stops at the last bench. Only when I join him do I notice two faceless statues towering over the man-made forest. Evanae has her right hand over her chest and the left one spread out as if waiting for us to take it. The Maker mirrors her posture, but instead of stretching his hand out toward the world, his left hand is on Evanae’s shoulder as if offering her strength to keep up the battle of wills with her brother.
I bow as much to the Maker and his bride as to the priest welcoming me into his temple.
“Would you want to join me for a prayer?” the priest asks, and I nod, unable to tear my gaze from the gods. “Come,” he beckons.
We cross the hall to a pool of water lapping at the feet of the statues. It’s so shallow that it barely covers the soles of our boots, the reflection of the field of stars of man-made light rippling with each of our steps.
We kneel next to the Maker’s and Evanae’s feet where Livith’s presence even in this sacred place shrouds the statues. Resting the back of our hands upon our knees, deep silence takes over the temple. The prayer blossoms in my mind as if etched there, and I utter the words, my voice lighter than a breath.
Oh Evanae, guardian of eternity,
Oh Maker, creator of the world,
