“Sera,” she replies softly, the curve of her lips angling upwards.
I head directly to a local jeweler after lunch to inquire about the fluorite in my ring. Fluorite is a stone used to prevent fertility and is worn in different sets of jewelry by both men and women alike in the Old World, mystical or human. I wear the green stone set atop a simple gold ring on my left index finger, the piece modest but beautiful, nonetheless.
The jeweler huffs when he looks at the ring, not recognizing the piece as his own, and quickly pronounces that the stone is nearing its end life with the qualities fading. Whether he tells the truth or not, I don’t argue, and instead buy a similar ring to replace the first. The band is a shiny new gold, thicker than my last, and has the green fluorite carved into a small rectangle right in the middle. I stare at it happily and move it onto my middle finger, loving the way the gold shines against my tanned skin.
Next is the riding shop where I can pick up a new pair of sturdy boots. I let the Discerni helping me know that I’m traveling to colder climate, so he immediately shuffles me in front of a selection of boots that are so long the leather passes my knees and rests in the middle of my thighs. Ilovethe style.
After the riding shop is the local armory, where the human male assisting me raises his brows when I request a look at the green agate blades he has in his collection. The blades aren’t prohibited to humans, per se, but the look he sends me comes with a casual reminder I can’t ignore:
Any weapon melded with green agate comes with a certain rule to it, one that can send us humans straight to Bardot’s prison cells if we don’t abide.
The man quietly walks to the back of his store and returns with a leather pouch, opening it on the small counter for us both to eye the various daggers within. I settle on a blade much larger than the one buckled to my bicep and smile when I realize it’ll strap perfectly against my thigh under the new boots I just purchased.
My next stop is one I dread. I open the small door to a familiar and cozy room that’s sparkling with lanterns of bottled moonslight. There’s incense burning in the air as multiple tables topped with pillows and blankets spread out across the room. A young human girl walks up to greet me, her eyes flicking to an empty table and giving me a brief nod.
“The usual?”
“The usual,” I reply, reaching for my boots as I begin to pull them off.
The girl grabs a partition and wraps it around the table, blocking the view from the store’s windowfront and anyone moving about. I quickly take off my shirt and riding pants and lay down on top of the blankets and pillows, silently watching and waiting as she comes back with a pot of hot wax.
Last on my trip is a small clothing boutique nestled along the main road, the seamstress always hosting the latest fashion trends that typically come from the modest Woodlands Court. She adds her own Knowledge twist to the clothes, of course, but she does tack on a few extra cinerin for the cost.
I let my fingers roam over a deep emerald cloak and admire the thickness of the velvet, feeling as her dark eyes watch me like a hawk.
“You have good taste,” she says quietly.
I peer at her from the side, noting that her brown hair is pulled back in the similar half up, half down fashion I often wear and making it hard to tell if she is a Discerni or human.
I finger the hood of the velvet cloak and give her a small smile. “How much?”
Her pause before answering indicates she doubts I can afford it.
“Twelve cinerin.”
Steep.
I move to the satin shirts and lace undergarments, leveling her with a sweet smile.
“I’ll take the cloak, a gold and emerald long sleeve with the cut down the middle, and two sets of lace for twelve cinerin.”
The woman looks at me in brief shock before nodding the reaction away.
“What size shirts?” she asks, grabbing the clothes.
“Medium,” I reply as I walk to the front of the boutique.
“And under?”
“Medium as well.”
I peer out the window and watch the bustle of the day with a smile.
There’s a small pause before the woman asks, “color?”
My eyes narrow on a blonde man standing at the far end of the road with his hood drawn.
“Ma’am?”
