“Are you all right?”
The quiet words came not from Caldon or Tipp, but from Jaren.
Kiva stiffened and kept her eyes straight ahead, focusing on a shirtless man dancing with a collar and chain around his neck as she answered, “Of course.”
There was a weighty pause, before Jaren said, “It helps if you don’t look too closely. This is their world, it’s their normal. They don’t see it as we do. And we’ll be out of here as soon as we can.”
He thought she was struggling with the Markets — when really, she was struggling with her memories.
“I’m fine.” Her tone was as detached as his had been for weeks. “Caldon said this is where the worst of humanity resides, but I spent ten years with the worst of humanity. This isn’t just their normal — it’s mine, too. I’m used to it.”
That was a blatant lie, especially when she recalled what she’d seen in that bloodied jar. But the last thing she needed was Jaren feeling obligated to worry about her due to some misplaced sense of duty. Or worse, guilt.
Another weighty silence came from him, before he tried, “Ki —”
“There you are!” Naari’s voice cut him off, with her approaching from a side alleyway they’d just turned down. “We found Zofia. She’s only a short walk from here.”
Kiva sent a silent thank you to the guard for interrupting whatever Jaren had been about to say, then followed quickly after Naari as she led them through the narrow alley and into another large thoroughfare almost identical to the one they’d just left. This side, however, smelled fresher and sloped upward, with a slight breeze and the distant sounds of music indicating that it led straight into the outdoors section of the Midnight Markets, where the revelry took place.
“Where’s Cresta?” Caldon asked as they passed yet more suspicious stalls.
“Trying to convince the Mystican to hand over the ring,” Naari answered, sidestepping a man and woman haggling loudly in the middle of the road. “Zofia refused to negotiate until we were all there. Somehow she knew there was more than just the two of us.”
A chill crept over Kiva as she considered the strange magic of the woman they were about to approach, and that chill only grew when Naari guided them down another dark alleyway and pushed open a jade door etched into the sandstone, the sign above it in scripted Hadrisan.
“Enter in if you dare, but do so being fully aware, there is a payment to prepare: the heart will tell what you most care,” Caldon read.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” Jaren muttered, but even so, he followed Naari over the threshold, with the rest of them at his heels.
“Oooh,” Tipp said as soon as the door closed behind them. “It smells m-much nicer in here.”
Kiva could barely breathe from the overpowering scent of incense, and she had to waft a hand in front of her face as she squinted through the smoke haze to take in the room. Candles, not luminium orbs, illuminated the space, at the center of which was the only piece of furniture: a wooden stool, upon which sat the most beautiful woman Kiva had ever seen. Her skin was as dark as the sandstone surrounding them, a rich ebony covered with silver tattoos in an unrecognizable rune language, the ink traveling from her hands up along her arms, even circling her neck, before disappearing beneath her simple homespun tunic. Her hair and eyes were also the same remarkable shade of silver, the latter shining with an unnatural glow as she smiled and beckoned them closer.
Cresta was already standing there, her arms crossed, her face set into a scowl, indicating she’d had no luck retrieving the ring while Naari had been gone.
“Welcome,” the Mystican said, her soft accent unlike anything Kiva had heard before, lulling and melodic. “How may I be of service?”
Cresta grumbled under her breath about how she’d repeatedly said what they were there for, but the gentle smile didn’t leave Zofia’s face. Kiva wondered how old she was; she appeared young, but there was an agelessness about her, something in her unusual gaze that spoke of untold wisdom.
Caldon gave Jaren a hearty shove forward, prompting Jaren to turn and glare at his cousin before clearing his expression and approaching the beautiful woman. “I’m —”
“Prince Deverick Jaren Vallentis of Evalon,” Zofia said, her smiled widening. “It’s a pleasure, Your Highness. Although I suppose that’s not your title right now, is it? Still, that is undoubtedly who you are.”
Jaren looked at Naari and Cresta, but they shook their heads, their solemn faces indicating they hadn’t shared anything about him with the Mystican.
Another chill snaked down Kiva’s spine, this one causing her to shiver. She hung back as the others edged closer to Zofia, instinct telling her to keep her distance.
“If you know who I am,” Jaren said, unwavering, “then you know why I’m here. King Sibley gave you a ring that was never his to give. It belonged to my ancestor — and now it belongs to me. I’d like it back, please.”
Zofia cocked her head to the side, her silver hair tumbling smoothly over her shoulder. “I sympathize with your plight, princeling, but I cannot hand it over for free. I have a reputation to uphold.”
“We w-won’t tell anyone,” Tipp said, staring at the woman as if she were an ancient goddess.
Her eyes gentled, and her tone softened even more as she looked at him. “You have a kind heart, dear one. Your mother would be proud.”
Tipp jerked, and Kiva moved unconsciously forward, stopping only when she saw that Jaren was already reaching out to place a comforting hand on the young boy’s shoulder.
“What do you want in return for the ring?” Jaren asked in a voice that made it clear the woman was to leave Tipp alone. Even words said with care could still cause damage — Kiva knew that more than most.
Zofia looked thoughtfully at the prince, pressing a finger to her lips. She then turned her musing gaze to Caldon, then Naari, then Cresta, before finally glancing past them all and finding Kiva. The silver in her eyes flared, her lips tipping upward as she declared, “You have a tortured soul.” Her smile widened. “Come with me.”
Kiva’s heart skipped a beat when Zofia stood and moved toward a door at the back of the room.
“She’s not going anywhere with you,” Jaren stated in an unyielding tone.
Zofia didn’t even turn around. “She is if you want your ring. Your beloved is going to provide the payment for it.”
Your beloved.
Gods, that hurt. Pain tore through Kiva, enough that she had to close her eyes against it, but they shot open again when she felt a hand on her arm, a gentle, achingly familiar grip.
“You don’t have to go with her,” Jaren said quietly, urgently. “We’ll find another way.”
Kiva yanked her arm free and moved backwards so fast that she nearly stumbled. Her reaction caused his face to tighten, but she quickly turned away, unable to bear being so near to him and the mixed messages he was sending.
I don’t even know who you are — and frankly, I don’t want to.
She couldn’t afford to forget what he’d told her, how he truly felt when he wasn’t being the Jaren who was concerned for her welfare. It was in his nature to protect her — something he couldn’t help. But it was an instinct, nothing more.