He glanced at the pastry, then at me. The smile he offered had been practiced so long, the truth had been worn out of it. “Go on without me. I’ll be here when you get back.”
“Come,” I pressed gently. “New walls. Better air.”
He shook his head once. “I’ll stay.”
Hayat and I traded a wordless look. I touched the pastry’s paper. The sugar-sweet scent turned my stomach.
The apothecary smelled of sage and smoke. Colette fussed behind the counter while Demitri clicked his beak like he was keeping time.
“Back again?” she said. “You keep this up and I’ll have to start calling you my little shadow. Never far behind me.”
I watched her hands move—skin pocked by sun and work, sure even when the rest of the world wasn’t. I’d spent more nights than I could count here. Fetching tea, fetching roots, fetchinganything that gave me a reason to warm myself at her steadiness. She never sent me away.
“Not a terrible place to be,” I said, a small smile slipping out.
“Don’t die,” Demitri croaked.
“Stop it, Demitri.” Colette flicked a finger at his wing. “Ignore him. He thinks he’s funny.”
“I am,” he croaked again, smug.
Hayat leaned on the counter, a faint smile playing at his mouth. “Birds. Clever creatures…”
Colette’s gaze went sharp and warm in the same breath. “What is it you two need this time?”
“Dried meat,” I said. “Warming salve. Thread. Candles.” My tongue pressed to a molar. “And…”
Her hands stilled. “Planning a trip?”
She already knew. She always knew. There was no use softening it.
“Etherblooms.” The word dropped heavy between us.
“In this cold?” Her voice went sharp. “Darkfrost will eat you alive.”
“I’ll be fine,” I said, because fear was a luxury I couldn’t afford. “Stories meant to frighten children. I’m not afraid of shadows.”
Colette’s hands stilled. “Stories start somewhere, child.”
They were always worried—Colette, Hayat—always looking at me like I might crack if the world pressed too hard. It stung in a place I didn’t like to touch. Wasn’t I the one still standing? The one who kept us together when everything else came apart?
“Mm.” Colette bundled supplies and pushed them into my hands, closing my fingers with hers. Her voice gentled, bite intact. “Take care of our girl, Hayat.” She reached up and patted his cheek—the same small, absent tenderness she’d given me a dozen times—and smiled.
He dipped his head, eyes lingering on me. “Only if she’ll letme,” he said, and tugged me into a two-armed hug—his way of trying to make the air lighter. It worked for a breath.
“Get a room!” Demitri cawed.
Colette swore, and I laughed despite myself.
We stepped into the square. Lanterns were strung between columns. Crimson and gold banners twisted in the wind. “Hayat.”
Draven Navarro’s voice cut across the stones. I knew that voice like the ache before rain.
I hated him. His very tone had always made my teeth ache. He stood near the steps—broad and sweating, his fine cloak pulled tight to contain him. Rings flashed on every finger like they wanted to distract from the meat of the hand beneath.
“We have a guest,” he said, gesturing to the cloaked man beside him. They came toward us. The figure kept his hood low, shoulders easy, steps unhurried.
They stopped just short. A hand emerged. Large, veined sigils inked along the wrist pulsed faintly when the light caught them. It reached for me.