Nymiria shrugged. "I've been through quite a few things, myself and I don't walk around glaring at the world and being hateful."
"No, not at all." Desi confirmed. "You don't glare at the world, you just put yourself in dangerous positions that could potentially get you killed. Like, I don't know, taking drugs from strangers. I could also name a few other things, but I'd rather not go down that path with all of these listening ears and watchful eyes running about." She shot Nymiria a meaningful glance, one loaded with a thousand unsaid words and unasked questions.
Desiree had been with Nymiria for the past ten years. She'd woken up in the servant's quarters with a young and terrified Desi looking at her with wide, purple eyes. They hadn't parted from one another since. Nymiria was proud to call her her best friend, proud to say that Desiree was the closest thing she'd ever had to a sister. She'd even worked her magic with Dorid to ensure that Desi was her personal servant. It was the only way to keep her this close without requesting she also become a courtesan. And Nymiria didnotwant that title following her friend throughout the remainder of her life.
She looked up at the summer sky, squinting against the harsh rays. There wasn't a single cloud in sight at the moment, but she could feel the rain coming. There was a certain thickness in the air that was unmistakable. "I think I'm craving something sweet. Like dragon tart." She hummed.
"You're avoiding talking to me, that's what you're doing."
Nymiria smiled, quirking her brow as she made a turn towards a pastry stall. "I'm not doing anything. I'm just hungry." Her hunger was not a lie. In the last day since she'd run into Aziel, Nymiria hadn't eaten. Her anger and frustration seemed to be enough sustenance to keep her going, but she awoke that morning with a hunger that made it feel as if her stomach was going to eatitself.
"You're horrible."
"Nope, just hungry." She beamed up at her friend as she pulled out her coin purse. The baker looked at her with squinted, wrinkled eyes. The old woman's skin was tanned and sagging in heavy lines, surely weighed down by the years of work she'd done in her craft. Nymiria had a deep respect for the merchants in Yaar. Day after day, they lined these streets and sold their goods to travelers andlocals, but none of them made nearly enough to afford proper housing or proper care. They often suffered from ailments that left them looking far older than they truly were.
Nymiria knew this baker well. Her name was Dieve and she'd been making pastries since she was just a small girl that could barely see over the counter without the help of a stool or chair. Her mother and her grandmother had started this business and they were the most popular bakery in town. You wouldn't be able to tell by the fact that the line outside of the stall only consisted of Nymiria and Desi, but it was early. Most of Dieve's patrons arrived during the lunch toll.
One thing about being a courtesan was that they were not allowed in the streets beyond a certain time of day. Always with a companion and never alone, and always wearing a chastity belt. It was uncomfortable, but Nymiria became rather used to it after the first few years. And she certainly wouldn't allow a scrap of cheap metal deter her from enjoying a slice of freedom. Even if everyone knew who and what she was to the royal family and they whispered about her as she passed, she didn't care.
That was a lie. She cared, certainly. And the chastity belt pissed her off more than she would like to let on. But…dragon tart.
It was a sweet crust filled with dragon berry jam, roasted over a the fire for a maximum of ten seconds before Dieve coated it with clear icing. It was the most delicious thing that Nymiria had ever put in her mouth and the highlight of her weekly promenade.
"Dieve, one would believe you are a demon of hell with how well you make these, sent here to tempt us all with sugary treats." Nymiria hummed, leaning over the counter of the old woman's stall as she prepared the tarts. "It's absolutely sinful for something to taste this good."
Dieve let out an annoyed grumble. Even though the old bat wore a hard exterior, Nymiria had a feeling that she actually, secretly liked her visiting every week. A sharp sting drew Nymiria from her ogling and she hissed as she rubbedat the place Dieve smacked her with a sugar cane. "Stop leaning on my counter. You're breathing all over the pumpernickel."
"Thathurt." Nymiria snapped. "Maybe youarea demon."
The old woman only laughed, using a spatula to pull Nymiria's tart from the tiny clay oven on the other side of the stall. "There's nomaybeabout it, Mystic. You'd be smart to remember that the next time you decide to come and drool all over my bread." She looked behind Nymiria to where Desi stood, her hands politely interlocked behind her back and her head low. "Quit bringing her here, Desi . She ruins my day."
Nymiria gasped, making a dramatic show of shock and horror. "That hurt more than that slap with the sugar cane."
"Good." Dieve laughed, stuffing the dragon tart into a paper bag before handing it to her over the counter. The old woman paused, patting the top of Nymiria's hand before she reached out to cup her cheek. "Are you doing alright, little flower?" She asked.
If she was being honest with herself, Nymiria wasn't quite sure how she was doing. She hadn't been sure for quite some time. It was hard to answer a question like that when there were so many thoughts and emotions flooding through her that she could hardly decipher them at all. "I'm doing fine, Dieve. Just hungry."
Dieve frowned. "You've been saying that for the last three weeks."
"She's been saying that any time I ask her anything." Desi grumbled.
Nymiria shot her friend a look. "Iamfine, though!"
"She punched Aziel in the throat."
"Aziel?" Dieve gasped. "My sweet, darling Aziel? What on earth did he do to deserve that?"
Nymiria rolled her eyes at the sentiment. "Of course you think he's sweet and darling—both of you must have crawled out of the same pit when you came here from hell to torture me." She didn't mean it literally, but she didn't need to tell Dieve that. The old woman was well versed in the art of sarcasm. But in terms of Aziel, Nymiria wasn't stretching the truth very much. He looked at her like hewanted to murder her every time they were forced to be in the same room with one another. Of course, that'd only been three times, but three times was enough to tell that he didn't like her very much.
"You have the audacity to keep calling me a demon? After all of my dragon tart you've eaten?" Dieve chuckled.
The conversation switched to Desiree and her studies. Although she was a servant, Dorid insisted for all of those within the palace to be highly educated and knowledgeable in almost every subject. Desi was one of the smartest people in Yaar and Nymiria would know—she'd been forced to entertain scholars and scribes that were close friends with Dorid and hardly any of them spoke of anything beyond the kingdom. As if the world outside of Yaar simply did not exist.
Nymiria took her dragon tart from the paper it was wrapped in and allowed herself a small bite of the corner. She didn't want to spoil her lunch and Desi had practically begged to go to the new bistro that opened on the edge of the city. It was still quite a ways away from where they currently were and her time of freedom was dwindling to an end. She drew in a deep breath, savoring the flavor of the dragon berry jam as it melted on her tongue.
The air around her suddenly started to shift. It was already thick with humidity, but this was something else… somethingterrifyingthat made her stomach sour. She turned her head from Desiree and Dieve, searching the throng of people for the source of her sudden discomfort. Sweat formed at the nape of her neck as she brushed a flaky crumb away from her lip, eyes narrowing to help her focus. The breeze that washed over her was one that made her nose scrunch, the smell of wet and rotted roses filling her nose. Her mind had taken over, her curiosity guiding her as she turned away from her companions and walked in the direction of which the smell came.
The moment she saw him in the shadowed alley a couple of streets over, Nymiria knew that the source of the smell was him. He was crouched over a slumping body, his fingers curled around a straining neck, being clawed at by hands that were desperate to take purchase of freedom.
