Tomorrow, she would just be Kara.
Kara woke early the next day. She’d been given chambers in the barracks near the High Council’s Hall. They were modest but comfortable. Sunlight streamed through the windows as she dressed in a healer’s-green day gown and a dark travelling cloak. She pinned her Hale Creststone to her chest: a serpent coiled protectively around a lavender flower, the emerald at its centre pulsing softly. Every Vallennan bore one, each shaped to their house’s sigil. Magically bound to its wearer, Creststones were identity, lineage, and currency.
Alys was already waiting when she reached the main gate, auburn curls bouncing as she bobbed up and down impatiently. “Come on,” she urged, grabbing Kara’s hand, tugging her excitedly into the market square.
The City streets were bustling with dozens of multi-coloured stalls, already crowded with people, chatter and music. Every stand was more fascinating than the last. The air still held the last of the summer heat, thick with the scent of spices and pulses of magic. Kara was drawn to a Lyran stall which hummed with music – amethyst-coloured glass vials that sang different tunes depending on the moods of those who touched them. A Navyrian merchant laughed loudly when it shrieked off-key. Kara turned when she realised Alys was no longer by her side – she had stopped at the stall of a Durent metalsmith, already haggling over a pair of hairpins shaped like Arcanthys’ three crescent moons. Kara strolled on, wide-eyed, taking it all in – the atmosphere, the people, the sheer variety of craftsmanship. Two Navyrian children darted across her path, shrieking with laughter as they chased a wooden bird on a ribbon of enchanted wind. Kara stepped aside for them, towards the edge of the market square – and noticed an alleyway, tucked between two white stone buildings.
It was narrow. Decorated with fluttering wind chimes of coloured crystals. She moved closer, curious. The air shimmered faintly with a dark-red barrier. A shield. She shifted uneasily. She’d seen these before.
Fatàn magic.
As well as their prophetic magic, Fatàn could cast protective enchantments no other House could replicate. But they were secretive in nature, and had the unpleasant habit of looking at people as though they already knew what you’d choose before you did. Kara’s curiosity won out. As soon as she touched the barrier, it parted only enough for her to step through. The sounds of the market died instantly, and the bright sunlight became a dim ruby glow. At the end of the alley sat an elderly woman in purple robes, head bowed and cross-legged on a pile of dark cushions. Gemstones and silver trinkets were scattered around her.
“Yours is restless,” the woman croaked without looking up.
Kara jumped slightly. “What?”
“Your magic. I can hear it from here. Searching for something it hasn’t found.”
She’d never heard magic described that way – like it was alive – and yet, the words resonated.
“You have a duty to yourself to look, Healer of House Hale.”
Even though the woman’s words unsettled her, Kara found herself drawn in. The woman held out a bracelet – an intricate pattern of sparkling rubies and emeralds encased in winding silver. It threw soft rainbows on the ground even in the muted sunlight.
“These particular gems are rarely found together,” the woman said. “But more beautiful for it, I think.”
Kara took it, brushing a thumb lightly over the stones. “Yes, they are. How much?”
“Five silver,” the woman answered. Kara pressed her Creststone. Five silver transferred with a hum, and the woman’s Fatàn hourglass on her chest glowed briefly.
Kara slipped the bracelet onto her wrist, the gems warm against her skin. “Thank you,” she said as she turned to leave.
“Good luck, Karalynna Hale,” the woman replied. Kara didn’t hear her as she strode back to the alleyway entrance – and collided with what felt like a wall of solid muscle. She staggered backward, but the man didn’t even sway.
“Ooft – Gods, I’m sorry–” she began as a strong hand caught her arm, steadying her.
She looked up and was caught in the gaze of ice-blue eyes that flashed dangerously at the sudden impact – the stranger’s free hand twitched towards the sword at his waist. Clearly a fighter’s reflex. Kara froze. He was standing so close that she’d had to tilt her head back – bya lot – to see him properly. He looked older than her, though not by much. His slightly too-long dark hair brushed his shoulders in waves, framing a sharp jaw that would have made a Durent stonemason weep. The only flaw in his otherwise rather perfect face was a jagged, raised pink scar on his chin. Recent. And from a deep wound by the looks of it. But still, he was very handsome, if she was being objective. His grip on her arm tightened as he took her in, eyed the Creststone pinned to her, and the danger melted away, his expression cooling into something close to amusement.
Then he opened his mouth.
“Well,” he said, “if you wanted to throw yourself into my arms, you could have just asked.”
Gods above.
She stepped back sharply, putting proper distance between them. She eyed the red tunic and dagger crest on his chest. It told her everything she needed to know.
House Thorne.I should have guessed.
“Hardly,” she bristled. “You nearly knocked me over.”
“Actually, I think it was you who walked into me.”
“Debatable. But most men apologise when that happens.”
He pretended to consider that.
“Ladies first.”
