That organ in my chest pangs, and I rub at the ache.
“So, Raeve, what sort of store were you hoping to dump that candlestick at?”
“A Curly Quill. If you have one.”
He casts me a sidelong look. “We do.”
My eyes widen. “It’s called that? The Curly Quill?”
“Parchment, pawn, and all your Runi supplies,” he chimes, and relief bubbles through me, popping against my ribs.
Lightening my steps.
I knew they were elsewhere; I just wasn’t certain there would be one this far north. This is my lucky dae.
“You need a quill?”
“I do.”
Lots of quills with sharp, pointy ends honed enough to slit through all of Rekk’s important bits.
Slowly.
Painfully.
“Then I need a sweet drink and a good view,” I tell him, moving the handles of my bag so they’re resting on my shoulder, repressing the urge to scratch at the skin on the side of my nails that’s starting to get a little raw.
“Drink sounds like a premium part of the plan. What sort of view are you after?”
“Best you can find.”
It’s a big city. Figure if I have a view broad enough, I’ll eventually work out where the carter hutch is without forcing any tongues to wag. Then I’ll know where I need to go once I’ve liquidated this heavy golden asset and am packed with a lethal amount of weapons, toting a satchel full of those crispy black fruits Veya was eating.
In front of me.
Shard by crispy, watery shard.
The muscles beneath my tongue tingle …
If I leave this place without some, I’ll never forgive myself.
The aurora sits low, edging toward the west as we move between rounded buildings the color of burnt clay. Urns sprout from the ground, gushing plants and trees and vines that climb all over the rich, organic city, buskers perched within sloped corners blowing tunes from copper flutes.
We jostle through a bustle of folk clothed in garments that drape, pinch, and twist around their bodies like cleverly worn veils, and I can’t help but wonder if everyone in Dhomm has the same garment in brown, black, or rust and just wears it differently—a pin here, a clip there, a copper belt looped around the waist.
Seems likely.
Parchment larks flutter in the space above our heads, diving into the outstretched hands of smiling, laughing folk. Nobody appears starved, homeless, or has a clip in their ear. Not that I can see, anyway.
“Folk appear to enjoy existing here,” I muse, watching two younglings dash after each other, their lilting giggles hitting the most beautiful notes. Two folk I suppose are their parents watch on from beneath a crooked tree, licking at dollops of something creamy-looking that’s cradled within coiled black cones. “It’s nice.”
And I couldn’t have been more wrong about this place.
Pyrok cuts me a sideways glance. “I hear you lived in Gore until you were—”
“Offered to the dragons?”
“Yes. That.” He pulls a flat gold token from his pocket and flicks it through the air, snatching it. “Have you traveled elsewhere?”
There’s an easy lightness in the way he hands me the question, but it still feels like catching an ember.
I consider the cold journey north toward the wall after I finally escaped from … there. Consider the horrors I encountered.
Fought.
The loneliness that bit so deep it gouged bone.
“Just here,” I say, batting the memories aside. “Though I was mostly unconscious or inside Rygun’s mouth. I wouldn’t exactly call it sightseeing—unless you count the ball of flame in the back of his throat that kept threatening to incinerate me.”
A perfect reminder that this city may glow with a happy radiance, but its beautiful king still toted me around like a toothpick. Perfect reason not to fall too far in love with the place. And it’s hot here—I hate the heat. And Rekk needs to be skinned alive, cured, then used as a fucking floor rug.
“You seem to be taking me on a tour,” I mutter, pointing at a tree that’s woven its way around a building like a gnarled crown, boasting big coppery blooms that look like flapping wings. “I’m certain we passed that earlier, when the aurora was sitting much higher in the sky.”
“Relax,” Pyrok drawls, pausing by a market cart. “Unless you’ve got somewhere you need to be?”
Not here. Not in this inviting, wholesome city where folk are too easy to be around. Too easy to want to be around.
Too easy to grow attached to.
“There’s always somewhere to be. What are you buying?”