A shadow cut across the doorway—broad shoulders, still and dangerous. I didn’t need his face. Solid as stone, his presence steadied the room the way the tide steadied a rocking boat.
Hayat.
Hayat’s gaze slid from the guards to me. “Is there a problem?”
His voice was soft with certainty. I admired that—the calm I’d never quite managed to hold.
The guard’s free hand clawed at the floor before I released him, letting him roll to his side. He clutched his arm tight, teeth bared in pain. “No problem,” he gasped.
Hayat’s stare followed them until they vanished into the thinning market crowd. Then he looked at me, one brow raised.
“I didn’t need help,” I said, straightening my coat.
He smiled. “What good would I be as your trainer if you couldn’t handle two drunk guards when I’m not around?”
Hayat was one of the few who still treated Aeryn and me like people instead of a problem to be managed. Over the years, he had become my closest friend—my only friend, if you didn’t count my little brother. Most people kept their kindness tucked away where it couldn’t be spent on us. Hayat, for reasons I’d never asked him to explain, spent his freely.
Officially, he served as personal protector to Synnex’s town leaders—a job that required patience enough to stand by while spoiled men congratulated themselves in warm halls. Unofficially, he made a habit of stepping in when trouble found us. Most were smart enough not to cross him. The town leaders let him stay close only because they’d tasked him with keeping an eye on us. They’d meant him to be a leash on the Moirae siblings. Instead, they’d handed me a friend. We left Colette’s shop and stepped into the heart of the market.
The apothecary was built into the old seawall, its stone threshold forever dusted with remnants of the sea and petals that drifted in from the flower stall nearby—a narrow shopfront wedged between vendors selling fruit, candles, and salted fish.
Outside, the noise of the market pressed close again: vendors calling last prices, carts creaking over cobblestones, gulls shrieking above the harbor. The scent of brine and spice clung to everything.
Lantern light spilled gold over pale stone buildings and the climbing vines that wound their balconies. A single stall lingered open near the square, its table crowded with tallow candles, jars of lemons, and wine dark as blood.
“Three coppers for the wine,” the vendor said, gesturing lazily to the bottles lined up beside his candles. “One for the candles, two for the lemons. Or fivefor the lot.”
“Two,” I countered lightly, tilting my head as though it were a game. “End of day discount. Seems fair, doesn’t it, Hayat? Plus, your lemons will be black by tomorrow.”
The ones near the edge had already begun to spot—soft patches darkening beneath the yellow skin. Another day and they’d sour in their jars.
I could almost taste them warmed into water—mixed with monk fruit and honey, sharp and sweet against the evening chill.
The man’s mouth twitched, ready to argue—until his eyes slid past me. Hayat stood just behind. Whatever retort the merchant had been shaping died in his throat.
I smiled and let my hand settle near the dagger at my hip, expression never faltering.
He looked down first. I paid him two coppers, not five, and thanked him.
Hayat said nothing, but I felt his amusement in the silence between us.
We passed the square. The Patron Ceremony would take place there in a month’s time—Darkfrost’s last night, when those who had turned eighteen this year would stand before the goddesses and speak their vows before the new year claimed them. Banners in crimson and gold already draped the columns, fluttering like veins of flame against the dusk.
At twenty-three, I had yet to be granted permission. My bloodline was tootainted—the polite word for unworthy. Synnex still whispered my parents’ names like a curse, their deaths a reminder of what faith does to those who question it.
The priests called it divine justice. The rest called their fate proof that corruption ran in blood.
That shadow of judgment had followed Aeryn and me since childhood, written into our skin in a language only this city could read.
Somewhere, a lute played a sad song. My stomach turned. I fixed my stare on the cobblestones until the square was behind us.
Hayat’s fingers closed around mine, grounding me before I could slip too deep into thought.
“Look at me, Aurelia.”
He pulled me to a stop and tilted my chin up with his free hand. I met his warm brown eyes—eyes that could comfort or kill depending on the mood you found him in. I had only ever known the comfort.
“They may let Aeryn participate,” he said. “I’ve been speaking to Draven. He’s willing to grant it… if certain conditions are met?—”