My steps slowed. The ache in my ribs eased a little.
I let my eyes wander across the display.
There were petals like stars. Buds like sea glass. Vines that curled like a sign of doubt.
And then I saw them.
Long, white-stemmed flowers with soft blue and violet centers, their edges dipped in a watery pink hue like a sunset trapped in ice. Someone arranged the flowers in a shallow bowl filled with pale sand, with tiny drops of moisture clinging to their roots.
“Sea lilies,” the woman smiled softly. “They only bloom during mourning tides.”
I blinked. “Mourning…tides?”
She nodded once. “It’s what we call the third moon cycle after a death, when the water pulls harder, when grief weighs more than breath, these only open then. When someone somewhere is still waiting to be loved again.”
A dryness gripped my throat, preventing any sound from escaping for a brief moment.
“They’re beautiful,” I whispered.
“They’re stubborn,” she corrected. “They bloom when they shouldn’t. When the world says stay closed, they reach anyway.”
“I’ll take one,” I said, swallowing hard. “Please.”
She nodded, gently selecting one and wrapping it in soft linen. As she handed me the flower, I left the coin on her stall, and she looked at me as if she could see right through me.
“Your soul is louder than your footsteps,” she said. “Be careful who you let hear it.”
I didn’t know what to say.
So, I tucked the flower close to my chest and stepped back into the quiet shade of the alley.
For the first time since we’d arrived in this glittering place, I breathed without pressure. Without bracing.
The scent of dried herbs and salt lingered on my skin. My fingers clutched the delicate sea lily, a desperate attempt to find purchase in a world that felt adrift. I didn’t know what I was mourning. Myself, maybe. My freedom. The quiet life I thought I’d lead. Or perhaps the idea that I could go anywhere without being looked at.
But here, in the hush and bloom, I could be invisible.
And it felt like mercy.
The sun had dipped behind the tallest building, casting amber light across the blue-tiled roofs. The breeze had shifted again, gentler now, cool with the scent of tide and stone.
I held the sea lily safely against my chest.
I wasn’t sure I was ready to go back into the crowd.
Then I heard the footsteps—measured, slow, and familiar in their quiet weight.
I didn’t look until he spoke.
“You disappeared,” Erindor said simply, but the quiet tension in his voice revealed a deeper unease.
I kept my eyes on the flower. “So did everyone else.”
He didn’t answer that. Merley stood beside me for a moment, hands resting loosely at his sides. I glanced sideways. Dust from travel covered his cloak. There was a new bruise across the bridge of his nose, faint and blooming.
“Sorry,” I said softly. “I needed to breathe.”
He gave a slight nod. “I thought you might.”
