“So you are Erevos’s human,” Rolam said. “He came to me and purchased honey and spices.”
Lyssena blinked.
The market, the towering forms, the awareness of being surrounded by creatures far older and more powerful than herself—all of it seemed to shift slightly out of focus as her mind struggled to reconcile this new information.
A strange warmth unfurled in her chest despite herself, softening the tense line of her shoulders, and for reasons she could not fully explain, she felt more at ease than she had only moments before.
This demon—this Rolam—sold human food.
Why?
For what purpose would beings of The Void require honey or spice, substances born of sunlit fields and mortal kitchens?
She did not know.
And somehow, that unanswered question unsettled her far more deeply than his laughter had.
Chapter Forty
Three Bubbles and a Truth
Lyssena
Lyssena walked beside Rolam, careful to keep a respectful distance between them, though not so much that it would appear rude, her hands resting lightly at her sides as she tried to steady the fluttering unease in her chest.
She did not fully understand why she had chosen to trust him.
Perhaps it was the way he spoke—not like the others who moved in near silence between the stalls, but with an ease that resembled human conversation. Perhaps it was the laughter he had offered her earlier, so startlingly familiar that it had disrupted her fear. Or perhaps it was simply that she had already stepped too far into this world to retreat now, and trust, however fragile, was easier than admitting how vulnerable she truly was.
They walked between the towering dark stalls of The Void market, where all the other demons seemed to pay no attention to them at all.
“Did Erevos give you the tear-bubbles,” Rolam asked so casually, as though inquiring about the weather, “or did you create them yourself?”
Lyssena’s breath caught. Her hand moved instinctively toward her hip, toward the pocket where the small spheres rested securely against her thigh, and she looked up at him in open surprise.
“How did you know what I carry?” she asked.
Rolam’s mouth curved. “You are walking through a market of demons,” he replied. “You think we cannot sense grief when it brushes against us?”
Lyssena swallowed, “I made them,” she admitted quietly. “I wished to buy something for Erevos . . . for our home.”
At that, Rolam’s gaze shifted slightly, studying her. “And what were you thinking of purchasing?”
She hesitated, because now that she stood here, surrounded by towering beings of shadow exchanging objects she barely understood, her ideas felt embarrassingly small.
As they continued walking, Lyssena allowed her gaze to drift across the stalls, trying to gather some understanding of what this market offered. There were not many demons present—perhaps ten or a few more in total—they were positioned far away from one another. The demons exchanged small containers and narrow boxes, all crafted from condensed shadow.
The exchanges were nearly silent.
No loud bargaining, no raised voices, no laughter echoing across the square. Only the faintest murmur now and then.
She noticed that the containers varied in shape, some tall and slender like sealed vials, others broad and square, their surfaces matte and lightless, and though she could not see inside them, she felt certain that whatever they held was not physical in the way honey and cinnamon were.
The realization made her feel even more conspicuous. What could she possibly offer in a place like this?
As if sensing her growing unease, the two-tailed creature slipped between her and Rolam once more, its soft body brushing against her ankle before gliding toward his side.
Lyssena looked down at it, then up at Rolam.
