At one stall—a weathered tent lined with polished bone jewelry and talismans—the merchant’s smile faltered when he noticed me. His eyes lingered too long on the crescent above my brows, narrowing with suspicion.
“That mark,” he muttered. “Is not welcome here.” The words struck like cold iron. Not new. Not unexpected. Still cruel.
Eira’s grin vanished. In its place came steel. Her voice dropped low. “Watch your tongue or I’ll cut it out,” she said evenly, lavender-grey eyes pinning him. “She’s a guest here. And if that doesn’t mean something to you, then I promise—Veyrion’s wrath will.”
The merchant paled and busied himself with his wares, muttering, but Eira didn’t give him another glance. She slipped her arm through mine and steered us away with deliberate ease.
“Not that we wanted his trinkets anyway,” she said loudly enough for him to hear, her tone edged with disdain. “Poorly made, and overpriced.”
I couldn’t help it—I smiled. A small, startled curve of my lips that warmed against the cold air.
The way she’d defended me—so quick, so certain—reminded me of Maleia. My sister had stood between me and the world the same way when we were young, teeth bared at anyone who dared call me strange.
Eira walked beside me, easy and unguarded, and I realized—with a quiet, startling certainty—that she was the closest thing to a friend I’d had in a long time, maybe ever.
We ducked into a tavern tucked just off the main square for a late lunch. Inside, the world was all warmth and noise—firelight spilling across arched stone walls, wooden beams darkened bysmoke, and the mingled scents of spiced meats and mulled wine. Minstrels near the hearth played bright, lilting tunes on string and pipe. Their music threaded through the air, weaving with the thunder of laughter, mugs slamming on wood, boots stamping in rhythm.
We found a spot at a heavy wooden table, the bench worn smooth from years of use. A steaming bowl of stew was set in front of me—rich, spiced broth with tender chunks of something gamey, sweetened with root vegetables soft enough to melt on my tongue.
I let out a soft sigh, and Eira chuckled.
“You eat like someone who was imprisoned,” she teased, tearing into a piece of bread and handing me half.
“Salted rations and storm-brewed tea don’t exactly count,” I replied, managing a half-smile.
“Storm-brewed tea?” she repeated, laughing as she nearly choked on her drink. “Sounds like something that could put hair on your chest.”
“It might’ve—I never checked.”
Her laughter rang loud enough to turn a few heads at nearby tables, but she didn’t care. She only leaned in, eyes bright, smiling wide. “Well, now, you feast like a warrior. Veyrion insisted. Said you were too thin for mountain air.”
The warmth that had been building in my chest faltered. I picked at the bread in my hands.
“Veyrion always knows what’s best, doesn’t he?,” I muttered, bitterness slipping through before I could stop it. "Always deciding what I need, what I should eat, where I should stay. As if I can’t make a choice for myself.”
Eira’s grin dimmed as she studied me. Not offended—just watchful.
Then her expression narrowed, not at me, but at the thought of him. She leaned back, caught somewhere between affection and exasperation. “You’re not wrong,” she said finally, voice low enough that only I could hear it. “My brother has a way of… taking the reins. Even when no one asked him to.”
Her attention softened as it returned to me. “He thinks it is the same as protection.” She tore another piece of bread, shaking her head. “It isn’t.”
Her words sat warm and heavy in my chest—an echo of the thing I’d been trying not to name: that Veyrion’s protection felt too much like a cage.
I set my spoon down, fingers curling tight around the edge of the table. “Protection?"
I drew a breath. “He told me if I didn’t agree to marry him, he’d kill the man I love—and turn me over to the Tidekeepers.” My jaw tightened. “He leveraged. The people I love. My fear. My desperation.”
The words came faster now, harder to hold back. I looked down at my clenched hands.
“And now,” I said quietly, venom threaded through the calm, “he acts like it never happened.”
Eira didn’t look away. She didn’t rush to excuse him, or defend him. She only sat there, quiet, jaw tightening as if she were grinding the words I’d given her into dust.
“That sounds like Veyrion,” she admitted at last. Her voice wasn’t sharp, just heavy—resigned. “He’s always believed the end justifies the means. That if he pushes hard enough, people will see the sense in his way.”
She reached across the table—not to touch me, but to set her hand palm-down between us, a gesture of grounding. “I don’t blame you for hating him. If it were me, I’d hate him too.”
Her words settled between us like an anchor—heavy, but steadying. I let the silence soften.
