Page 57 of The Awakening of Essensia

“Will there be another round of questioning?” Vaelira asked.

Ressa laughed. “Just shopping. Maybe a drink if your stomach can take it.”

Vaelira winced. “No to the drink.”

“And the shopping?”

What she wanted was to crawl back in bed and stay there, but a memory surfaced.

Anhaven. Freya dragging her out of bed when they were still girls, but not too young to have pinched a few bottles of ale from her father the night before. Freya had claimed the best cure for too much drinking was to go on like normal, wallowing around all miserable never did anyone any good. Vaelira had questioned how a fourteen-year-old knew such things and Freya had simply said that it was common sense.

A smile tugged at her lips, and her shoulders loosened. “Yes, to the shopping.”

Ressa smirked. “Great. Meet us at the gate in thirty.” As they left, Fang shot her a wink.

Vaelira laughed, shaking her head. Maybe making new friends wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

On her way back to change, and maybe do something about her hair, she stopped at the mailroom. Her pigeonhole was empty, save for a small pouch of coin for the week. It wasn’t enough to live on, but with the barracks covering food and board, she supposed she should be grateful to get anything at all. The coin wasn’t what troubled her. It was the empty pigeonhole. Surely someone would’ve written by now.

Lysander, she could understand. He was a busy man. He’d probably barely thought of her since she’d left, but Freya was still bed-bound with a broken leg. Maybe she was giving Vaelira space to settle in, or maybe she didn’t know what to say.

A knot formed in Vaelira’s throat. It wasn’t like she’d taken the time to write either.

Before heading to her room, she grabbed a pen, a pot of ink, and a sheet of parchment. She wrote a short letter, asking about Freya’s leg and giving a brief rundown of training, how it compared to drills back in Anhaven, and how different yet similar everything felt here. She sealed it with wax and the barracks iron stamp, then made a mental note to drop it at the post office in town. It would probably get sent out quicker that way than if she left it to be picked up in the mailroom.

She still had a headache, her stomach was still a little unsettled, and yet, somehow, the day didn’t seem as bleak as it had when she woke up. She tucked the letter into her pocket and let the rest of it go, for now.

The snow had stopped sometime in the night, leaving the cobblestones slushy beneath her boots. Shop doors opened and closed, little bells ringing with each. Boots clacked against stone, and faint trails of breath hung in the air behind cloaked figures going about their business. A few windows glowed with firelight. It wasn’t as chaotic as New Town, but it still hummed with life.

Fang dragged them into three weapons shops before Ressa pointed out none of them could afford anything inside, and even if they could, it’d be a waste of coin with the barracks armoury at their disposal. Fang had only shrugged, letting Ressa take the lead.

She brought them to a wide glass display window, where silk dresses hung, the fabric shimmering like water. Above the door, swirling gold letters spelled out Miss Selma’s Silks.

“They’re beautiful,” Vaelira said, “but a bit revealing. I’d freeze walking around in one of those.” She nudged a mound of snow with her boot.

“They’re not for wearing outside,” Ressa said, raising a brow.

“Definitely not,” Fang agreed, hands on his hips as he eyed the scandalous fabric. “I like the red one.”

“I bet you do.” Ressa said.

Vaelira glanced between them. “Are you two, you know, a thing?”

They both burst out laughing.

“I tried my luck the first week of training,” Fang said. “Turns out I’m not her type.”

Vaelira found it hard to believe Fang wasn’t everyone’s type. He was beautiful, and strong as an oak. If she hadn’t been so distracted by everything, she’d probably have noticed sooner.

“If you keep staring like that, I’ll start thinking I’m your type,” he said.

Vaelira blinked.

“Don’t get your hopes up,’ Ressa said. “I think this one’s spoken for.”

Vaelira’s mouth twitched, but she didn’t correct her. Instead, she stuck out her lower lip. “Sorry. Not interested.”

“It’s the Prince, isn’t it?” Ressa said, looking at her side-long.