The world dissolved into ringing. Gold flickered violently down her arms while her bracelet hummed, straining to contain itself. Containment hurt. Not physically—existentially.Like being told to breathe shallower when you were already drowning.
“Essie,” Nythir grabbed her shoulders. “Essie, look at me.”
Her knees buckled. Nythir caught her and gently lowered her to the ground. She couldn’t see what was in front of her anymore.
“Hey. You’re alright.” Lyssara knelt, shielding Esther from the merchant’s eyes. That mattered more than the magic. Being hidden was different from being restrained. “Nythir, calm her.”
“I am trying,” he growled.
The bracelet pulsed hard. Nythir poured his steadily flowing silver magic into her, coaxing the frantic energy to stabilize. Slowly, the sparks faded, and Esther remembered how to breathe.
“I am fine,” she lied with the confidence of someone who was absolutely not fine.
Lying felt safer than explaining. Explanation led to questions. Questions led to choices she wasn’t ready to make.
Nythir glared at her like he wanted to set the world on fire for daring to tremble.
Lyssara looked at her like she knew better.
Vorrik looked at her like she needed a goat.
The merchant, blissfully unaware of the chaos he’d caused, continued in a thoughtful tone.
“King Maelrik presses harder every season, putting pressure on Valedara to come to terms with their beliefs or go to war. The assassination attempt over a decade ago was just a warning.” Esther’s heart stuttered. Warnings were meant for survivors.
“Rumor has it, there has been talk of a royal marriage with Kraggmar to solidify borders.”
Esther froze. So that was it. Not just power. Not just legacy. Leverage.
“We’ve heard enough,” Nythir barked.
The merchant blinked, confused, then backed away.
Once he was out of earshot, Lyssara whispered, “Essie, are you alright?”
She pasted on the weakest, most suspicious smile imaginable.
“Just a little tired,” she lied. There was no way she could tell them she was one of the royals who might stop a war she knew nothing about.
Nythir didn’t believe her. Lyssara didn’t believe her. The goats probably didn’t believe her.
But no one pressed. And she loved them all for that. Silence, she was learning, could be mercy instead of neglect.
The caravan resumed its slow journey. Wagon wheels creaked over the dirt, continuing as if no battle had ever happened.
Esther breathed shakily. Her past was clawing its way into her present, and she wasn’t sure she was ready to remember what happened all those years ago.
She stared ahead at the long road stretching between the trees. For the first time since leaving the palace, Esther wondered:Am I running from the right danger?
For the first time, Esther wondered if the danger she feared most wasn’t behind her—or ahead—but waiting for her to stop running long enough to choose.
27
Esther
How to remain composed: have a panic attack quietly where no one can see you.
Greyhollow appeared over the hill like a colorful splash of life against the forest. Bright awnings covered busy stalls. Merchants called out prices with theatrical flair. The smell of roasted chestnuts, fresh bread, and spiced tea drifted throughthe air. Horses snorted, wagons rattled, and at least five people shouted about discounts simultaneously.
