Turning red, Percy rubbed the back of his neck. “I always told him he was emotionally constipated. And that he didn’t need to be with me.”
Leaning forward, Cerys wore a soft smile. With her facing me, I could read her lips. ‘So am I. Being noble in this land . . . it’s not always a blessing.”
“Well, that’s alright,” Percy said. “I’m a veritable laxative.”
Cerys’ eyebrows flew up. Her mouth warbled like she intended to laugh. Holding it back, she straightened.
Biting my lip, I suppressed a laugh, too. Percy’s emotions swirled around the block like a storm. ‘Oh gods, I’m an idiot.’
Perhaps later, I’d tell him what the Oracle felt.
Cerys dropped her solemn Oracle act and grabbed Percy’s arm, pulling him around the corner. Nobody saw—their eyes were pointed at the ground as they kneeled.
“El?” Aethra asked. “Are you . . . overwhelmed by the emotions here?”
“Yes,” I said. “There’s an odd feeling simmering in this place, this deep dread I don’t understand.”
Seth sounded somber. “It shouldn’t be like that here. It didn’t used to be.”
“You know what’s causing it?”
“ . . .later. We were almost having fun.”
Following the road, I peeked around the corner. It was a dead end. The channel pooled into a small pond, where an elegant stork preened its feathers. Kneeling, Cerys pointed at the bird, telling Percy a story. Her emotions carried toward me as I focused on her back. Happiness, but also sorrow. This bird must have been a fleeting joy in an otherwise unhappy life.
Percy listened with rapt attention. Feeling like I intruded on a private moment, I kept walking.
A quaint shop on the street corner caught my eye. Shimmering under the morning sunlight, a variety of necklaces dangled from the ceiling and hooks on the shop’s wall.
Aethra had gifted me a beautiful quill back in Red Bluff Outpost. I’d never returned the favor.
Glancing over my shoulder, I stepped into the shop.
The woman tending the counter looked up when I entered. Her dark skin was lined with creases, yet she didn’t look old. Perhaps she had lived a hard life, toiling for many years under the sun.
Nodding at her, I looked around. One piece caught my attention: a pale blue stone was set in a delicate teardrop of silver. Simple and perfect. Just like her.
The shop-owner spoke up. “Buying that for your lady?”
“I wouldn’t call her that,” I said, lifting the necklace from its hook.
She chuckled. “I imagine you hope to, soon.”
Smiling, I pulled out my coin purse. Something about her tone reminded me of the elders I’d trained under in Therapne, but this woman couldn’t be older than forty.
While she counted the coins I offered, I peered into her mind. The colors of her thoughts were monotone, tired, and dull. Resignation hung heavy on her shoulders. A well of memories stretched back through the ages, but she did not wish to remember them.
The song of dread whispered faintly, beneath the layers ofgray.
“Are you alright?” I asked.
She looked up sharply. “I’m just fine, dear.”
“Sorry. You just seem . . . sad.”
She laughed bitterly. “When you reach your fourth cycle, you’ll understand.” Pressing a finger on one of the coins, she looked me up and down. “You look like you’re in your first.”
Cycle? What was she talking about?
