I swallowed as I quickly buried the ominous feeling deeper into that well inside me before my mind could tread any further. Morgana gave me a look, testing my features, and I nodded for her to keep going.
“He quite literally would havebeggedto stay home. I think that man could’ve lived in a cave and been happy. As long as he had his Ayla, of course. By the Fates, he loved your mother.” Morgana tucked an arm around my waist, and I stiffened at the contact before relaxing into her.
“I’m sorry you never got to know them well, dear. Especially your mother. But she loved you from the moment she found out she was carrying you. So, so much. ‘My little flower,’ she’d call you.” Her hold on me tightened, her voice cracking. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she suddenly said, wiping at her eyes and pulling away. “I suppose this whole ordeal is setting me on edge.”
“It’s fine. I—I like it when you talk about them.” I rubbed at the side of my neck, holding onto the brief image she’d given me. “It’s going to be alright. With Uncle Ragnar, I mean. He’s been preparing for months, and we’ve stocked him up on all the charms he could possibly need.”
“I know, dear. You’re right. We’ve done all we can do—it’s in the hands of the Fates now.” Morgana gave me a smile before trodding off to check on Ragnar and Beau.
I cast my gaze back to the water, the bright spot of land even closer than before. I could see trees dotting the edges of the coast, the unfamiliar buildings and docked ships of the port taking shape.
It’s in the hands of the Fates now. My aunt, the devout one. Theone to find safety behind platitudes, to smile and shrug when things didn’t go her way. But I think my uncle and I both understood—we couldn’t stand aside and wait for something else to intervene. We made ourownfate.
And that made it all the more sweet when it bent to our will.
My first impressionof Veridia City was howbrightit was.
Even though the sun was almost completely set, the docks were still busy welcoming guests into the capital. Lanterns hung every few feet, blinding me as I stepped off the gangway. Workers scampered about the deck to help secure incoming passenger and cargo ships, carrying crates of supplies to and from the storage units off the port. It smelled like fish and oranges, and the cool breeze coming from the water was so very different from the brisk, dry air in the forests of Feywood.
Our family was quickly ushered from the ship and to a small wooden outpost beyond the dock. The workers were orderly and efficient, having more than likely welcomedthousandsof spectators coming for the Decemvirate. I barely had time to take in the multitudes of people before they’d found our assigned carriage and sent us on our way.
The driver greeted us kindly but swiftly, assisting Ragnar in loading our belongings.
“My name is Larson, and I will be your driver throughout your stay in Veridia City.” Larson gave a bow, extending his head low enough for me to see the balding spot in the center of his gray hair. “I am at your service to take you and your family anywhere you desire, except during your trials, of course, sir,” he added as he opened the door to the carriage. “It will be about an hour to the palace in the central sector, Master Gregor. With the influx in visitors, the main roads are busy, so we will be taking an alternate path.”
“Central sector?” Beau asked. “What does that mean?”
Larson dipped his head to Beau before responding. “The capital is divided into five sectors: north, west, east, south, and central. You will more than likely be spending most of your time in the central sector, where the palace and busiest markets are.”
“Sounds wonderful, Larson. Thank you,” Ragnar said, shaking the elderly man’s hand before helping Morgana and myself into the carriage.
“It’s my pleasure, sir.” Larson gave another bow and shut the door with asnip. A moment later, the carriage rustled as he situated himself in the box. I heard the sharp snap of reins and we were off, heading east through the bustling port.
As I’d done the previous day leaving Feywood, I now found myself gazing out the glass window, transfixed by the foreign, outside world. We passed through a village with the brightest colored buildings I'd ever seen—white and pink, orange and yellow, blue and purple. The rainbow of stucco shops and houses assaulted my senses, so different from the dark wood and brick structures in Feywood. Citizens still roamed the streets, finishing up their shopping or mingling as the last of the sunrays finally set beyond the horizon. Even their clothing was different from ours, with their cropped linen tops and flowing pants or skirts, showing far more skin than our colder province would ever allow. My thick sweater and leggings were already sticking to my skin with sweat despite the slight breeze of the autumn evening.
Slowly, the bright cobblestone path turned to rocky gravel road as we left the portside town behind and ventured deeper into the woods. These trees weren’t the same tightly packed pines I was used to, with sharp needles and bristly branches. The leaves here were broader, their branches wider and higher, like a vast canopy opening up above our heads. I could hardly see the shrubbery surrounding us. The soft glow of the lanterns attached to the side of the carriage was the only light illuminating the ground.
Shadows crept along the path like snakes, crawling their way from the dense greenery. The sound of crickets and owls created a symphony through the brush of leaves. For a brief moment, Ithought I saw a flash of a long, dark tail slithering through the grass, but when I trained my eyes on the spot, it had vanished.
I leaned my head against the leather interior and closed my eyes, longing for a warm bath and a bed.
Suddenly, the carriage lurched to a stop. I threw my hand out to stop my body from careening into my aunt.
Ragnar cursed under his breath, rapping his knuckles against the small sliding door between us and the driver’s box. “Larson?”
A thud sounded on the other side.
Ragnar stiffened, and he and I both instantly reached for our respective pouches of herbs. In a breath, I had an amaranth stem mixed with mistletoe and blackthorn ash on my tongue, the sweet, nutty flavor bursting through my mouth, preparing to cast a spell.
“Stay here,” my uncle commanded the three of us. Beau tried to protest, but the look on Ragnar’s face silenced him. Soundlessly, Ragnar eased open the carriage door, and the curiosity and adrenaline pumping through my veins made me instinctively rise from my seat and follow on his heels, ignoring Morgana’s pull on my cloak.
My heart pounded faster at the loud shout and the sound of boots scuffling along rocks. I turned to find Morgana clutching her son’s arm, looks of alarm blaring across their faces. Before they could move, I took a pinch of blackthorn ash and blew it toward them, watching it coat their bodies with a gray shimmer.
“Slentium.” I felt the spell for silence stretch and snap into place, momentarily stealing my breath. “I’ll be back,” I whispered before they could argue, then slipped out the door.
Creeping around the side of the carriage, I saw our two horses pawing the ground anxiously. Rough voices mixed with my uncle’s, making me pause to assess instead of jumping into view.
“Nice night for a ride, isn’t it?” a low, gravelly male voice said.
