Not until he looked up.
Brown eyes, so dark they were almost black, but shining with the stars we’d once watched from the riverbank. Full, symmetrical lips that drew my eyes immediately. In an instant, I remembered the way those lips had felt against mine in my boyhood.
It was the boy from my memory. His name shoved its way to the forefront of my mind and past my lips.
“Castien?”
Chapter Two
Castien
The Everend Market was one of my favorite places in the realm.
I had been coming since boyhood, when I would accompany my father to help in his stall. I liked the travel more than my siblings did, though when they came, they much preferred the crowds. Unless Papa pushed me out of the stall, I was content to stay there. Even on the breaks he required me to take, I would sit in a corner of the stall and draw cogs, take notes, study the way different pieces interacted with each other and dream of ways to improve Papa’s timepieces.
By the time Papa stopped coming to the market, I had already established a small shop in Gearwick of my own. I had filled it with my own creations: timepieces like my father, little piecesof jewelry inspired by the inner workings of my inventions, and, behind a curtain and hidden away, devices that brought pleasure in the bedroom. My timepieces and jewelry sold well, but the objects behind the curtain were my best coin makers.
I was young the first time I had my own stall at the market. Outside of the market, technically, set up in my cart across the Glaesflod Bridge. At least half of the vendors there were dreamers like me, hoping to make an impression and gain entry into the market to peddle their wares. Others sold questionable wares, and I learned to keep my coin close and turn a blind eye to what was going on around me. Luckily, I had always been good at minding my business and not that of my neighbors. I spent two years across the Glaesflod Bridge before being granted a small stall that I was allowed to use for three days before I had to vacate it.
A few years ago, I was granted a booth amongst the other elves of Gearwick, reserved only for the best vendors. Elves flocked to my booth, and I began to make a reputation for myself. It was a reputation that had a line at my booth now on the first day of market. My sibling, Acantha, milled around the booth. Whereas I was good with inventions, they were good with people and numbers. We were an unstoppable team when we worked together, and they were my primary helper at my shop in Gearwick.
I had left it in the care of other family members while we traveled. I could hardly shutter the shop and cut off that stream of revenue while I chased prosperity at Everend Market. It would be unkind to my regular customers, and it was good for my siblings to be faced with a little responsibility.
I was assisting a customer at the counter with a pocket watch when I saw him enter my stall.
He was tall, and he drew my attention the moment he stepped inside. He seemed to almost glow when I looked at him, thoughI knew it was nothing more than sun on creamy skin and hair that was almost white. His eyes were wide as he looked around the stall, and I struggled to look away from him and focus on my conversation. I drew in a deep breath and forced myself to give my customer my undivided attention. I answered his questions about the construction of the clock, about the Gearwick innovation that meant it would only need to be wound once a year, and other features that made it stand apart from other timepieces he might find in the market.
It did not take long before he passed coin across the counter, and I passed him the pocket watch. I tucked the coins in the pouch around my waist, the same one my father wore during his days at Everend Market. He had bequeathed it to me when he stopped making the journey, and I treasured it. Acantha teased me for it, claiming it was a lucky charm, though I had never been one to believe in luck. There was no evidence behind it, and what most considered to be luck was nothing more than circumstance, coincidence, and good old-fashioned hard work.
I watched as my customer walked away and prepared myself to help the next elf in line when I felt it: the heavy weight of eyes upon me. I turned toward the source.
It was the beautiful elf I’d noticed when he’d entered my shop. I watched as his face transformed, brightening into something I could not identify. There was something familiar about him, a memory attempting to surface from the clouds of time. It refused to come to the forefront, refused to break free.
“Castien?”
My name fell from his lips. His voice was as smooth as the honey ale the local Gearwick pub brewed, and it made my head feel just as light as an evening spent drinking it.
“D-do I know you?” I choked out. Why did his violet eyes look so familiar?
His mouth closed, and his shoulders slumped. “Maybe I have the wrong person. I’m sorry.”
He began to back away, bumping into a display of oils meant to lubricate the gears of the watches sold in my stall. They clattered to the ground, and Acantha appeared immediately, kneeling to pick up the vials. Color flooded the man’s cheeks, and he began to sputter apologies.
“Stop,” I burst out, climbing down from my stool and kneeling beside my sibling to start picking up vials of oil. “I am Castien,” I told him as I busied my hands with the oils, “but I do not know who you are.”
The man knelt to join my sibling and me. He started to pick up the vials, but he attempted to pick up more than his thin hands could hold and several more scattered to the packed dirt floor. “O-oleander,” he stuttered out, looking down at the mess he’d created.
His name brought forth the memory that had been attempting to surface. A boy close to my age, a riverbank, stars overhead, and a voice telling me legends from around the realm. I remembered the brush of smooth fingers over my lips and the way my breath caught and my heart stopped. I remembered the press of lips against mine. It had been a shock to my system, a new thing to learn that I’d never even been curious about before.
Oleander.
I rose to put the oils back on their display and busied myself rearranging them, reaching down to accept more from my sibling and from the boy I’d nearly forgotten. The whole time, I remembered little details. The dew from the grass against my bare forearms. The sounds of the camp fading away the more we kissed. The way I watched for him for the remainder of the market, only for him never to reappear. After a few months, I almost believed that I had imagined the whole thing, from Papa sending me away from the stall to the kissing by the river.
I was at a loss for words. What did one say to a memory made flesh?
I could only stall for so long though, and Acantha nudged me. “Go out back,” they told me. “I will handle the stall. You talk to…” Their voice trailed off, but their metal gray eyes darted toward Oleander. He was standing now, hands clasped in front of him, still slouched as if he was trying to make himself small.
I could not imagine that. He was very tall.
