Page 53 of Embers of Ruin

To my great relief, the girl grins.

“Captain Onyx!” Her shrill voice makes me smile as her face lights up, revealing the two missing front teeth that somehow make her grin even brighter.

He crouches and hands her the ribbon, patting her head. “You should be more careful near the water, Senele.”

“But I was careful!” She pouts. Goddess, she is adorable. She looks well fed and clothed, and happy. This is how children are supposed to look. My heart swells as I watch their interaction.

“You nearly fell in. Your mother would have a fit, and you know it.” His voice is gentle as he scolds her, and I can't help but smile. Onyx is going to make a wonderful father someday.

Some lucky woman will marry him, and he'll spend the rest of his life making her laugh, calming her fears, and carrying children home. A strange pang settles in my chest but I ignore it. Not today.

“But I did not fall in. You saved me!”

I press my lips together to hold in my laughter. The sweet child has a point. Onyx’s gaze flicks toward me as if daring me to comment.

Obviously, I do.

“She makes a strong argument, Captain. You were there to save her.”

The child looks at me then, her eyes catching on my hair. I wait for the usual reaction. Fear. Suspicion. Something familiar enough to brace for.

“Your hair is pretty. I like it! I wish my hair were that pretty.”

My throat tightens, and something warm blooms in my chest so unexpectedly that it takes me a moment to answer.

“Your hair is beautiful, little one,” I say, my voice softening as I crouch to her eye level and brush a hand gently over her wild brown curls.

She beams, snatches her ribbon from Onyx, and races back toward the woman calling her name from the bakery doorway, her laughter trailing behind her.

My chest aches. I've never really let myself imagine a husband. Or children. Lives like mine don't usually end with happily-ever-afters. The realization catches me off guard. I swallow against the lump rising in my throat and force it back down. There's no point dwelling on a future I was never foolish enough to expect. My gaze drifts to Onyx. I wonder if he's taught himself to stop imagining it, too.

Onyx stands beside me, saying nothing, which is good. If he says something kind right now, I might lose whatever fragile grip I have on myself, and I refuse to cry in the middle of the street because a child complimented my hair. That would be ridiculous. Understandable, considering no one has ever complimented my hair. But still ridiculous.

“Children here are not taught to fear silver hair?” I ask, keeping my voice light.

Onyx is quiet for a moment. “Not here they aren’t. There is magic here and they do not fear it. Having silver hair isn’t something to fear, Lyra. It’s just… hair.”

Not here.

It’s such a small answer with such an enormous wound hidden inside it. I lock my emotions down before he can see the huge impact it’s having on me. Gods. Why can’t Elvora be as simple as a place that I was taught to hate?

I look at him sharply. “What does that mean?”

“It means Andell has different superstitions than Elvora.”

“That is not what it means and you know it.”

“No,” he agrees. “It is not. But it is all I am going to say.”

My pulse picks up. Finally. He’s giving me something that’s almost an answer.

Before I can press him, Riven clears his throat behind us. “Captain.”

Onyx’s expression shifts immediately. Captain again. Guarded. Formal. The door closes before I can wedge my foot inside it. Damn it. I hate that.

We continue into the market district, and any question I might have asked gets swallowed by the noise. The lower city is nothing like the palace. It is darker, yes, built from the same black stone, but it is not cold in the same way. Color exists here, vivid and intentional. Crimson awnings hang above spice stalls. Blue glass lanterns swing from iron hooks and strips of dyed cloth flutter between buildings. Vendors call out prices over the clatter of hooves and wheels, attempting to attract customers. Even the vendors here are dressed nicely, and their carts look nice. Not worn and littered with junk like the ones in Elvora. Further along the road, someone plays a stringed instrument with a bright, quick rhythm that cuts through the gray morning like laughter.

The smells hit me next. Fresh bread and charred meat that makes my mouth water. The spices are sharp enough to make my nose sting. There is so much life here it overwhelms my senses; I almost feel dizzy with it.