The moment my fingers brushed the hilt, a strange sensation swept through me—a sharp, almost electric current ran up my arm, like the weapon itself was alive. It felt like a part of me, like it had always been mine.
Thorne’s gaze flicked to my face as he stepped closer, his eyes narrowing slightly. “This one?”
I nodded, unable to speak. There was no reason for it. It didn’t make sense, but I knew, deep down, I needed this blade.
Thorne eyed me for a moment longer before turning back to Tyrone.
“How much for it?”
Tyrone hesitated, his fingers twitching as he dragged the velvet back over the dagger, half-concealing it. “That one’s not for sale,” he said quickly, too quickly.
Thorne’s voice darkened. “Everything’s for sale, Tyrone.”
“It’s not what you think,” Tyrone muttered, glancing toward the entrance as if expecting guards to burst in. “That blade… it’s old. Dangerous. Carved with outlawed marks.” He dropped his voice, barely above a whisper. “Virell symbology. You know what they do to people caught with that kind of filth?”
I stepped closer before I even realized I was moving. “But where did it come from?”
Tyrone scratched at his jaw, eyes darting between Thorne and me. “Ruins out west. Scavengers pulled it from under a collapsed wing of the old keep. Said it was lodged in stone like it didn’t want to be moved. Been sitting in that chest ever since. I don’t touch it.”
Thorne’s patience thinned. “How much.”
Tyrone swallowed, bravado shrinking fast. “I—look, maybe I can find you something else. Something… safer. You don’t want the kind of trouble that blade brings.”
Thorne took a single step forward. Quiet. Controlled. Dangerous. “Name. Your. Price.”
Tyrone backed up a little, lifting his hands. “Alright, alright! Seventy sovereigns.”
Thorne didn’t blink. “Ten.”
Tyrone looked like he might choke. “Ten?! That wouldn’t even cover the velvet!”
“You’re not selling the velvet,” Thorne replied coldly. “You’re selling something you’re too afraid to display. And you’re lucky I’m paying at all.”
Tyrone worked his jaw, weighing greed against fear. Eventually, he spat to the side and jerked his chin at the dagger. “Fine. Take the cursed thing.”
Thorne tossed the coins onto the counter with a casual flick of his wrist, grabbing the dagger from the chest. I took it from his hand, feeling its weight settle against my palm, and for a fleeting moment, I almost thought I could hear a whisper of something ancient in the air.
It felt right. It felt like mine.
“Look, you want my advice?” Tyrone called out as we turned to leave.
Thorne paused mid-step, slowly turning back with a glare that could've cut steel. “Why not,” he drawled, his voice cold. “Impress me.”
Tyrone raised his hands in mock innocence, but the edge in his voice betrayed a thread of real concern. “Wrap the handle. Hide the crest. Or they’ll come for you.”
Thorne’s gaze narrowed. “Who’sthey?”
Tyrone gave a thin, nervous smile. “Whoever’s still watching. Whoever still gives a damn about what that blade means.”
His eyes flicked to me. “Just don’t wave it around, girl. Relics like that don’t stay quiet for long.”
Chapter 15
Elira
After the meeting with the weaponsmith, Thorne announced I needed a proper holster for the blade. So, we pushed deeper into the winding veins of the market. I’d tucked the dagger into my pocket, but the urge to touch it—to run my fingers along the cool, unforgiving steel—was almost unbearable.
When we stepped back into the market, Leo ran off claiming he “had a stop to make” and Phoenix took his place by my side.
