1
LORENTH
The ledgers blur together after the third hour.
I lean back in my chair, rubbing the bridge of my nose as numbers swim across the parchment. Flour costs from the mill district, sugar shipments delayed by weather, the new storefront lease requiring my signature before the week's end. The rhythmic scratch of my pen fills the study, punctuated only by the occasional crackle from the fireplace and the whisper of snow against the windows.
My townhouse sits in the quieter residential quarter of New Solas, far enough from the glittering spires and market chaos that I can actually think. Two stories, three bedrooms—more space than I need, but the kitchen makes up for it. The servants come twice weekly to handle what I don't, but I prefer the solitude otherwise. No staff hovering, no constant presence. Just me and the work that never seems to end.
I flip to the next page, scanning the inventory from the bakery near the temple district. We're low on nimond beans again. The supplier's been unreliable lately, and I make a mental note to find an alternative source before?—
The front door slams open downstairs.
My magic flares instantly, a sharp crackle of electricity dancing across my knuckles as I surge to my feet. The chair scrapes against the floor. Every muscle coils tight, ready, because no one just barges into my home. No one except?—
"Lorenth!"
I exhale through my teeth, releasing the gathered power. Of course.
Footsteps thunder up the stairs, too quick and light to be a threat, and then my office door flies open without so much as a knock.
Loraeleth stands in the doorway, arms crossed over her crimson silk bodice, wings half-spread in that aggressive stance she reserves for when she's about to be insufferable. The glacial-blue feathers catch the firelight, making the pale tips shimmer like ice. Her silver-black hair cascades over one shoulder, threaded with those ridiculous red beads she insists on wearing, and her gold-ringed teal eyes narrow on me with the kind of determination that means I'm already losing whatever argument is about to happen.
"Lora." I sink back into my chair, refusing to give her the satisfaction of keeping me on my feet. "You could knock."
"You'd just tell me to go away." She strides in, uninvited, and plants her hands on my desk. The ledgers crinkle under her palms. "You're holed up in here like some hermit. When's the last time you left this place?"
"Yesterday. I was at the mill district bakery all morning."
"For work." She waves a dismissive hand. "That doesn't count."
I raise a brow, leaning back and crossing my arms to mirror her stance. "I own three bakeries and two markets. Work is my life."
"Which is exactly the problem." Her gaze sweeps over my desk—the scattered parchment, the half-empty cup ofmeadowmint tea gone cold hours ago, the ink stains on my fingers. She makes a disgusted sound. "You're thirty-two, Lorenth. Not three hundred. And yet you sit here every night, alone, doing nothing but staring at numbers until you fall asleep at your desk."
"I don't fall asleep at my desk."
"You did last week. You had ink on your cheek when I came by to drop off Kaelen's birthday invitation."
Damn it. She's right, but I'm not about to admit that. Instead, I change the topic. "Where are the children?"
I might not have any of my own but I adore my niece and nephew. If they had been the ones to come bursting in here, I'd be feeling very differently right now.
"With Varos." A flicker of warmth crosses her face at the mention of her husband, but she quickly schools it back into that imperious frown. "Don't try to change the subject. We're talking about your tragic excuse for a social life."
"I don't need a social life."
"Everyone needs a social life." She straightens, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Which is why you're coming out with me tonight."
I don't even hesitate. "No."
"Lorenth—"
"I said no, Lora." I turn back to the ledgers, picking up my pen. "I have work to finish, and I'm not in the mood to be dragged around the city while you make small talk with every noble family we pass."
"I'm not asking you to make small talk." Her voice softens, just a fraction, and I hate how effective that is. "I'm asking you to spend time with me. Your sister. The only family you have left."
Low blow.
