The prohibition to study only made Sol get her thirst for knowledge sedated through other ways, sneakier and more unfiltered. She dared say the stories she heard from the citizens made her a different sort of educated.
Sol sighed. “Keelin pays well. I’ll quit when I can afford a ship to the Scholar Towers.”
Leo rolled his eyes. “It’s compensation for the abuse of labor.”
She shook her head and flicked the flat stone over the lake. “It’s an overnight shift anyway. You have morning duties in the town."
Stocking shifts were Sol’s favorite, though still dreaded. She could at least pick at the food and bread undisturbed as she organized the shipment of ale and vegetables for the week.
Leo splashed water over his face. “Even more of a reason to have someone else there. You shouldn’t be alone at night.” “Lora was gonna swing by after her rounds so we could walk
home together.” Sol nudged his shoulder. “Plus, I can take care of myself.”
He nudged her back. “Holden probably thought the same thing.”
SOL AND LEOparted ways a few hours later, ultimately deciding squirrels and lazy birds were not worth prowling the forest, especially as it still heldan air of eerie mystery.
Leo made his way back to his cottage, neighbor to Sol's, to help his sister prepare for what he swore was going to be a rainy evening. Before he let her go, though, Sol had to promise she would stop by on her way home, if only to let him know she was alive. He even
bribed her with the promise of fresh stew.
Sol took the long way to the Hound Inn, deciding to prepare for
what presumably was to be a boring night. She detoured to the Yavenharrow Archives, the town’s epicenter of knowledge and folklore. It was also the town’s oldest building, and history claimed it had once been some sort of temple for the gods, long before civilization bloomed on the continent. It was a domed, stone-carved monstrosity in the center of Yavenharrow, its entry archway depicting Erriadin’s gods.
The original legends—the ones her mother sang as lullabies—told the origins of the four gods, the Creators and gifters of all magic. In all illustrations and statues, they were in a frozen dance: the males showcased their physical strengths while the females gazed at each other as if they knew secrets Erriadin didn’t. Later came the fifth and most mysterious god, one most of Erriadin still spoke of only in scattered whispers. Irene was devoted to him, constantly sharing how his blessings were worth more than all others combined.
Sol had thought her mother liked Warren the most because he was, objectively, the most handsomely illustrated in the folklore.
As Sol collected the memories and passed the stone deities, she swore Emberdon, god of fire, followed her with his beady, ruthless eyes. The structure shone in the sunlight, and the wooden doors of the Archives creaked open as a group of students made their way out, arms full of books and faces bright with smiles.
The smell of worn parchment and leather greeted her, prompting a satisfied inhale as she stepped inside. The only way time passed in the place where it all stood still (the Hound), was with a good, long romance novel. Another benefitwas that she could later trade it with Mina, Leo’s sister, for whatever she managed to find.
Sol traced a finger along the bookshelves, leaving behind a clean trail while dust flew in her wake, when a book title made her pause.
Angling her head, she plucked it from the shelf.
Myths, Tales, and Truths of the Southern Continent: Light Magic and Its History.
Sol smiled.
Erriadin’s Southern Continent, further south than Yavenharrow, was famous for its stories—and its secrets. Tales of the magic the Southern natives possessed were widely sung around fires and festivals. The one story told the loudest was the legend of a city with rough, hilly landscapes and crowded streets paved with the densest stone, fiercely loved by its queen and her people. The stories whispered of the city of Rimemere mostly warned of the Light Magic Wielders who walked among it, taking up residence in a giant castle stark in the middle of the city.
The bedtime stories meant to lull children to sleep sang of the sweet elemental magic they held, while the stories meant to discipline and spook told of the way they despised humans. In fact, they coveted their abilities so much that most of their bloodlines only married known Wielders.
Sol’s mother had told her so many stories that she wondered if somehow she had traveled there herself. But every time Sol asked, Irene would laugh and tuck her into bed.
The memory squeezed at her chest, and by the time she left the Archives, she decided to take one final detour.
She walked through the bustling streets, smiling at the vendors and children as they chased each other around the Old Square. Yavenharrow, though difficult with its weather, was a lovely town.
Anything a person might need, Yavenharrow had it. It was the advantage of living in a port town, one Sol had never taken for granted. What they lacked in finery and luxury, they made up for in culture.
Past the vendors and markets toward the edge of town, the cobblestone funneled into the Yaven Ports. Ships were docked asusual, ready to take sailors on their quests or transport whatever item the Northerners fancied.
This month, to Sol's dismay, it was quilts. The fools had purchased most of the town's supply of wool and fur blankets, leaving the thinner options for them. It wasn’t a huge concern since summer solstice was next, but Sol still liked stocking up while they didn’t cost a whole week’s coins.
She looked around for any and plotted to negotiate for one but settled with free seafood samples instead. She didn’t only prowl the shops with schemes to snag cozy things, but also to greet the regular vendors who would set up across the docks. Most of them were regulars at the Hound, so remaining on their friendly side was advantageous. For tips, and free seafood, of course. Blue crab meat melted on her tongue, and she suppressed a sigh as she plopped a spiced shrimp in after it. The food almost made her want to stay in Yavenharrow.
