hen in Rome do like the Romans, Daphne,” Camille said while straightening my sheer black kaftan. The candlelight made the gold embroidery at the hems shimmer, and the white silk robe beneath flashed when I moved. “How do you like it?” she asked, steering me to the mirror near the bed. I gasped. Camille had transformed me into an Egyptian princess. Golden jewelry clinked when I moved, and a black veil draped over my hair. She had even framed my eyes with black kohl, making them pop.
I twirled around. “I move differently in these clothes.” The fabrics were cool and let me move with ease.
“Yes,” Camille said, putting away all the clothes scattered around the narrow room cluttered with all kinds of odd objects. “Who would’ve thought that corsets are not practical?”
“Need to go,” I said. “Emrys is probably waiting for me.”
She grinned at my words. “Oh, I bet he is, Daphne. I’ll make the room nice for your return. Incense, some wine, fresh sheets, just in case.”
I blushed furiously and walked to the door. “I don’t think that… would be necessary.”
“That’s because you haven’t seen how he looks at you.” She whispered with a smile and lit more candles.
I left the room, my heart pounding loudly. Emrys was waiting for me in the entrance hall. Heat pooled down my spine when I saw how his eyes widened. He wore a crisp white shirt and sand-colored pants. His black hair was still wet, dripping over his shoulders.
“Daphne,” he whispered, his throat bobbing. “You look like a prayer someone once whispered in this city.” He took my hand and placed a tender kiss on my knuckles, then led me to the exit.
The streets were busy in the late evening gloom, the townsfolk taking full advantage of the retreating heat. The crowds were getting denser, and the voices ahead were louder.
“Souk Al-Sahr,” Emrys said. His eyes reflected the golden light of the bronze lanterns above us. “The Market of Enchantment. This place hasn’t changed a bit.” We walked past stalls piled with silks and copper, spices and jewelry. Scents tickled my nose—some familiar, some unknown: cumin and jasmine, roasted almonds, rosewater, and fire smoke. Voices overlapped in Arabic and French, and somewhere above the sea of roofs, echoed a call for evening prayer.
“Cities rarely change,” Emrys noted. Someone handed him a tiny crystal cup of tea. “Shokran ya sa?by.” He nodded politely at the man. “The streets still keep the memories. Buildings change, the gods worshipped change, but thebeating heart beneath that all” — he made a wide gesture — “remains the same.”
Children darted past, singing a song unchanged for centuries. A woman laughed, offering me a stuffed date. I took it, thanking her with a smile.
For so long, my world had been quiet. Gray. Caged.
Now, I was walking through a city that pulsed with magic and memories. Not hiding anymore. I was part of something vast and strange and wonderful.
I caught Emrys watching me, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Emrys, I think I love this place.”
He offered his arm.
“Then let me show you more.”
We left the brightness of the bazaar behind, slipping down a narrow side alley where the lanterns hung lower, their flames muted behind stained glass. The chatter of the crowd faded. The scent of spices gave way to cool stone, old books, and something I could not name.
A crooked sign hung above a door, carved in a script I didn’t recognize. Emrys pushed it open, and the bell above the door let out a metallic chime.
Inside, the air was still and thick, like an old temple that had forgotten it was part of the living world.
Shelves leaned under the weight of ceramic jars, scrolls, and necklaces coiled in dust. A pair of glass eyes followed us from a jackal-headed mask mounted above the counter. The shop smelled of parchment and ash and dried figs.
Behind the counter, an elderly woman in layered robes didn’t bother to look up from her book. “Still alive, Ravenborn?”
“Don’t sound so disappointed,” Emrys replied softly.
He stepped deeper into the shop, and I followed, looking around. Everything in here looked fragile. Every piece held a story.
Emrys paused before a glass case, crouching slightly. A shard of carved ivory lay there, a ceremonial knife, broken and scorched.
“I haven’t seen this since Memphis fell,” he said.
“Memphis?” I blinked. “You mean the—”
He smiled, lost in memories. “The original one. The one ruled by priest-kings and sun-worshippers.”
