“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.
