RAINA
Nephele, Hel, and I walk up a busy cobblestoned road with Yaz and Zahira hand in hand at our sides, fraudulent passage papers in our pockets.
I’ve long dreamed about Malgros. Envisioned my parents roaming around a sunny city by the sea. Those images formed by a young girl’s imagination are nothing compared to the real thing.
The street is elevated above sea level at the top of the cliffs, arching along what’s known as Village Hill and Malgros’s sea wall. On one side there’s a seemingly endless row of tall buildings made from various types of stone—shops and homes, offices and businesses, taverns and inns. The buildings with signs creaking in the breeze are often crowded, people moving in and out of doors, while others still lie quiet for the day. There are food carts and stalls, children playing in public fountains, and fishermen climbing up the hill from the eastern beach access, their morning’s catch in tow.
My chance of being noticed at all dwindles with every step. I’ve never seen so many people in one place.
On my other side lies the sea. I struggle to stop staring at its shimmering surface over the top of a shoulder-height crenelated wall. All that glittering blue, and the coast’s long stretch of golden sand is so inviting, even with the Watch’s fleet floating on the water, sails billowing in the wind.
I pause to take it all in, resting my hands against the wall’s sun-warmed stone. It’s a cool day, but still pleasant. To my right, a mourning dove perches on the next merlon, hooting like an owl, watching me like it has something to say.
The little death I stole for the dove that struck our door on Collecting Day flutters, then coils its shadow inside my chest, like a child curling up to sleep.
Are you following me? I ask with my mind, but the dove flies away.
“Makes you wonder why Mother and Father ever left, doesn’t it?” Nephele says, stopping at my side. “Their stories were so real it feels like I’ve been here before.”
For the first time since I was old enough to wonder such things, I think I truly understand why Rowan and Ophelia moved north. It’s hard for Nephele and me to imagine turning our backs on this place now that we’re here, but I’m reminded that fear feasts on those with something to lose. There’s been war on the other side of that sea for ages. If I had a partner and children, I’m not sure I’d feel safe raising them here either, beautiful though a home by the Malorian Sea might be.
“They did it for us,” I sign.
Nephele squints at the water. “They did. I still doubt that it was easy to say goodbye.”
“That’s where Finn’s staying,” Hel interrupts.
Nephele and I turn around. Hel holds the piece of parchment where she jotted the name of the tavern after speaking to Harmon before we left. She hadn’t wanted to mention Finn’s departure at breakfast. Didn’t want me to worry. But when I almost went upstairs to see him, she knew she had no other choice but to divulge what happened last night, the way he’d decided to leave no matter what she said.
She points across the street, a few buildings down from where we’re standing. The large wooden sign swinging above the door is the shape of an ale cask and reads: The Bitter Barrel.
“I’m going to check on him,” she says. “Just buy whatever you think I might need. Nothing fancy.”
For a moment, I consider accompanying her. Everything with Finn is so broken. But if he was ready to accept my relationship with Alexus and to put the pieces of our shattered friendship back together, he wouldn’t have left Starworth Tor last night. I need to give him the space he wants, even if it worries me.
“I can go with you while Yaz takes Nephele and Raina to shop for clothes,” Zahira offers. “It’ll be safer.” She turns to Yaz. “We’ll meet you at Ingrid’s in a couple of hours?”
They kiss, and we part ways, and soon, Nephele and I are standing in a shop filled with women’s clothing that’s like nothing we’ve ever worn. Nephele’s eyes are wide as she takes in the gowns and day dresses hanging around the room. There’s a table covered in hand-sewn lacy underthings too—far more provocative than my usual attire.
My attention snags on a red dress, silken and beautiful. The last time I wore red was at Winterhold, a darker shade, and I didn’t care for it. But this? This red reminds me of passion.
“These clothes are all too… elegant?” my sister says, clasping her hands in front of her chest. “We need traveling attire.” There are only two shopkeepers in the room, busy at the window, but Nephele lowers her voice anyway so that only Yaz and I can hear. “We need fighting wear,” she says. “Leather. Linen. Boots. Belts. Leather halters. Also things made for the desert. Not lace and silk, unfortunately.”
Yaz is petite, yet formidable. She stands up straight, pushing out her chest, planting her tiny feet, as though rooting where she stands. “Those items are in the back, and we’ll purchase all that you and your crew need. But I’m not leaving unless you two and Helena have a couple of lovely items each to wear to dinner while here.” She winks at us. “And maybe something that Joran, Rhonin, and Alexus will fancy.”
Nephele huffs and gawks, her mouth agape in disgusted horror. “If Joran Dulevia ever sees that much of me again, it’ll be because I died that way and he found me. I would never purchase clothing for that man’s benefit.”
“Then for your own benefit,” Yaz says, gesturing to the room. “Take your pick. Something you like.”
I blush and look to my sister for any salvation from this moment. I can see in her tight expression that she still wants to argue with Yaz, but Yaz’s sternness reminds me of our mother, meaning we’ve met our match.
Nephele reads my mind. Reluctantly, she snatches a sleek, vivid blue dress from a rack—the bold color suits her well—along with crisp, white undergarments. I reach for an emerald dress for Hel, and something just as bold for myself. The red dress. With its fluttering sleeves and low neckline, its crossover skirt and sash, it feels right.
Lastly, I turn to the undergarment table and gather tops and bottoms for Hel and I. Hers, a lighter shade of green. Mine, dyed the same color as my dress, the bright red of a blooming rose.
A big, white smile spreads across Yaz’s face as she strolls deeper into the shop, trailing her hand over more pretty dresses. “Red is a good choice, Raina. Exactly what I was going to suggest.”
The Memory Catcher’s shop is not a shop at all.
