Chxpter 13

Where the hell am I?

Intaadan falin ka fiirso

Look before you leap

Chxpter 13

I swung sideways, held now by only my left hand, my body slamming into the stone wall. The impact knocked the breath from my lungs. My left arm screamed with the strain.

“Ancestors—” Zaago’s curse was half prayer. “Gaabi! She’s outside! Get to the west courtyard—now!”

Below, I spotted the first ledge—maybe six feet down, part of those decorative bands I’d seen from the window.

I let go.

The fall lasted a heartbeat. My feet hit the ledge and immediately slipped on wet stone. I dropped to a crouch, hands slapping the wall for balance. The ledge was barely eight inches wide.

Above, Zaago was pulling back from the window. I heard movement inside, then rapid footsteps—he was heading for the stairs.

“She’s on the ledge!” His voice, carrying through the building. “She’s going to get herself killed!”

Other voices responding. Movement inside. They’d be on the ground in seconds.

Another ledge below this one—ten feet down. Then another. The path I’d seen from above.

I had to move. Now.

I climbed down.

Hand over hand, foot searching blindly for the next hold. The stone was slick with rain, but fingers had more strength than before—the tea, maybe, or just adrenaline. The silver cloak stayed wrapped around my neck.

Halfway down, my foot slipped.

I fell another 10 feet before my hands caught another ledge. The impact jolted through my shoulders. For a moment I hung there, feet dangling.

I might actually get myself killed.

The last ledge was only five feet below me now.

My arms were shaking but they’d hold just a little longer.

I let go.

The landing drove the breath from my lungs and sent a spike of agony through my ankle. I collapsed forward onto my hands and knees in cold mud. Rain plastered my hair to my face. The oversized uniform clung to my skin.

Footsteps pounding around the building’s corner.

Get up. Get up. GET UP.

I pushed myself upright. My left ankle protested but took weight. Not broken. Just twisted.

The forest was twenty yards away. A figure came around the corner—Sarah, skidding to a stop when she saw me.

Our eyes met.

She opened her mouth—

I bolted.

Twenty yards became fifteen, became ten. Behind me, Sarah’s voice: “She’s heading for the treeline! West side!”

Another voice—deeper, closer—”Stop! We’re not going to hurt you!”

Zaago.

But I couldn’t stop. It wasn’t me getting hurt I was worried about.

Five yards. The first pine branches reached toward me.

Then the forest swallowed me whole, and I ran.

The silver cloak unwrapped itself from my neck and I caught it, throwing it around my shoulders properly now. Pine branches whipped my face and roots tried to trip me. The ground sloped downward and I let gravity pull me forward.

Thunder rolled overhead though it had stopped raining already. Something massive moving through clouds.

Behind me, voices fading.

I kept going until my legs gave out. I collapsed against a tree trunk, chest heaving. My vision swam with lingering fever and exhaustion but not as badly as before. The tea had helped. Whatever magic was in it, it had given me just enough strength.

Through the trees ahead, distant lights flickered. A town.

I forced myself back to my feet using the tree for support.

Just keep walking. Just walk.

So I walked, following those lights like fallen stars, wrapped in silver that somehow stayed pristine while everything else burned, leaving behind nothing but rain and thunder and the fading scent of sandalwood and lemongrass.

Each step was an effort, my body still recovering from everything, exhaustion clung to me like a second skin. I leaned against trees for support, gulping air. My left ankle throbbed, and the scrapes on my shoulders from the stone still burned beneath the too-large uniform.

Zaago’s uniform.

The thought made something uncomfortable twist in my chest. I’d stolen his clothes, drunk his tea, and repaid his kindness by running. But what choice did I have? Stay and let Command—whoever or whatever the hell that was—lock me away? The scouts had talked about Command like it was something to fear, something that would contain me, study me.

I didn’t even fully understand what Command was. Some kind of authority? Military leadership? The way Thunder squad had spoken about them—with that mix of resentment and wariness—told me enough: they weren’t people I wanted finding me.

Or worse, I repay their kindness with hurting more of them.

The image flashed in my head: Kiriin , the light flaring brilliant around her, then—nothing. Her cry of pain. Sarah’s scream. The dark corruption rising between them like a wall.

I shook my head, pushing the memory down. Focus. One foot in front of the other. Find information. Find a way back to Levi.

“Trust me,” he’d begged.

And I’d listened. I’d run and left him there.

Guilt twisted in my stomach. I’d saved myself and abandoned him.

He told you to run, I reminded myself. He made you.

But that didn’t make it hurt less.

My chest tightened. He’s not dead. He can’t be.

The forest opened suddenly onto a clearing. I stood at the edge, hidden in the shade of a tree, observing in silent wonder.

Before me stretched a bustling marketplace, alive with color and sound. Between stalls draped in fabrics of crimson and earthy teal, beings moved with a grace that spoke of time experienced differently. The entire scene looked slightly medieval—cobbled paths, worn wood carts, open-air vendors bartering with gestures and coin.

I blinked hard, trying to make sense of what I was seeing.

I wasn’t on Earth, that was certain. Magic saturated this place like humidity, beneath the surface of everything—a constant, undeniable presence unlike anything in the reality I’d known.

Toto, we’re definitely not in Kansas anymore.

“Where the hell am I?” I muttered under my breath.

Nothing about this place screamed my world, everything here shimmered with impossible clarity.

Then the scent hit me—roasting meat layered with spices and the smell of freshly baked bread. My stomach clenched with violent need. I doubled over, one hand braced against rough bark, the other pressed against the hollow ache that had become my center.

When was the last time I’d actually eaten? Not counting Nokomis’s magical tea. Before the warehouse?

Hunger transformed from abstract concept to living creature, clawing at me from within. I swallowed hard against the saliva flooding my mouth. The dizziness came in waves.

I forced myself to straighten, scanning the market for threats. Were the scouts searching for me? Would Zaago have sent Thunder squad after me, or would he let me go?

“We’re not going to hurt you!” his voice echoed in memory.

But Command would. The scouts had made that clear. Command would want me locked up or worse.

No. I couldn’t be caught. Not before I found answers. Not before I found Levi.

Standing there, I felt small. At five feet and five inches, I was dwarfed by beings who moved through the market, most standing at least five-ten or six feet. Their speech carried the refined cadence of Old English. Their eyes came in colors impossible in my world—deep violets, and midnight blue.. Their hair—strands of turquoise and lavender, deep crimson and forest green, some changing hue with their emotions or the angle of light.

They were unmistakably humanoid, but the grace to their movements spoke of bodies evolved in harmony with magic. They wore garments that seemed to shift slightly with each movement. A woman passed wearing a translucent scarf that rippled with actual light; a merchant drew sigils in the air, causing inventory to reorganize itself on shelves.

Exotic companions accompanied many. A merchant’s shoulder bore a small dragon-like creature with scales of midnight blue that occasionally jumped for joy when its owner completed a sale. A child trailed a floating orb that sang softly. Two women conversed while a pair of winged serpents danced in spirals above their heads, leaving momentary trails of sparkling dust.

Looking down at my clothes, I realized I stood out. The storm-gray uniform with its lightning insignia marked me as clearly as a beacon. Division 7, they’d called it on the wagon. Thunder squad. Anyone looking would know I was a scout—or pretending to be one.

And Genevieve’s silver cloak, still wrapped around my shoulders, untouched despite everything. Not a thread burned, not a stain. I’d watched it stay pristine through fire and blood and the white light that destroyed everything else.

I wrapped it tighter, using it to partially obscure the uniform’s insignia. I needed to blend in, to become invisible until I could find my bearings.

I moved cautiously along the market’s edge, staying to the outer ring where the crowd was thinner. Voices drifted toward me as I passed:

“—three coppers for that? Highway robbery—”

A merchant’s laugh. “Quality costs, friend. You want cheap, go to the River quarter.”

“—told him the roof needed fixing before winter but does he listen?—”

Two women arguing over fabric prices, their voices sharp with familiar domestic irritation.

“—heard there was trouble at the eastern ridge again—”

My heart stuttered. I slowed, pretending to examine a display of carved wooden figures while I listened.

“Distortion activity,” another voice confirmed. “Triple the usual count. My cousin’s in the military—says they’re send more of the Levy.”

The Levy? Taxes? They’re sending taxes? I must’ve misheard that.

“Ancestors preserve them. Those things are getting bolder.”

I moved on before they could notice me eavesdropping. The eastern ridge. They were talking about what I’d done. About the rift I’d torn.

My foot caught on an uneven stone. My arms pinwheeled. I crashed into a display of fabric with all the grace of a drunken elephant. The table wobbled. Several bolts of shimmering material cascaded to the ground, unfolding like liquid across the cobblestones.

“Perfect,” I muttered, heat crawling up my neck. Absolutely fucking perfect.

My ankle screamed in protest.

“Careful there,” came a voice like dark honey.

I looked up, mortified, into eyes that shifted colors as I watched, moving from deep forest green to amber and back again. The merchant studied me with an expression that wasn’t quite amusement and wasn’t quite concern.

“I’m sorry,” I stammered, dropping to my knees to gather the fallen cloth. My hands shook too badly to be of much use. The world tilted slightly, darkness gathering at the edges of my vision.

The merchant knelt beside me. Up close, I could see that his deep umber skin was smooth though his eyes held wisdom that seemed to stretch beyond a single lifetime.

“Leave them,” he said quietly. “You look as though you might join them on the ground at any moment.”

I tried to stand, to prove him wrong, but my legs betrayed me. He caught my elbow, steadying me with surprising gentleness, and guided me to a stool tucked behind his counter.

“I am Myral,” he said, studying me with those ever-changing eyes. “Purveyor of garments and gems and, occasionally, guidance.”

I opened my mouth to introduce myself, then hesitated. Names could be dangerous. Zaago and Gaabi had talked about Command tracking things, tracing signatures. What if they could trace names too?

“Names can wait,” Myral said, tone easy. “Don’t worry, traveler.”

“You are new to Silverhaven,” he added—not a question, which drew my immediate suspicion.

How did he know? Was it that obvious? Or had word spread already about the breach at the Eastern Border? About the girl who tore rifts and destroyed distortions with flame?

My pulse quickened. “I—”

“You’ve reached Silverhaven—the capital of Faerel, home to the Fae. Well mostly,” he added quietly, meant for me alone.

Fae. Like Genevieve, like Levi.

“Four quarters: Market, River, Canopy, and Archive,” Myral continued. “Keep to the Market ring until you learn the streets. Guest-right holds here—no blade drawn, no true names traded. Beyond the ring, custom shifts with the courts.”

I listened carefully, filing away information. No true names. Good to know my instinct was right.

“The Crown sits beneath the living canopy. Law is oathbound and witnessed. Trade uses leaf-marks and favor as much as coin. If someone asks your true name, offer a road-name instead.”

“Market is trade. River is ferries and craft. Canopy is Crown and courts. Archive is study and records.”

My stomach chose that moment to speak with a sound so loud it cut through any pretense. Heat rushed to my face.

Without comment, Myral reached beneath the counter and produced a small loaf wrapped in broad leaves. “Please,” he said, offering it without ceremony. “Hunger makes poor company for conversation.”

My fingers hovered near the gift, suspicion wrestling with need. “Why would you help me?”

Myral’s eyes settled briefly on a warm amber. “Because once, long ago, someone helped me when I was far from home. And something tells me that coming across you is not ordinary fate.” Something lived in his gaze—a knowledge deeper than our brief interaction should allow. “Take it. There are no strings attached to bread, only flour and kindness.”

I accepted the bread, and the first bite filled my mouth with flavors both strange and familiar—honey certainly, but underneath, spices I couldn’t name. Two more careful bites, and the worst of the dizziness receded.

Myral busied himself with rearranging his fallen wares, allowing me this small dignity. When he turned back, he gestured toward my uniform.

“Those garments speak too loudly,” he said simply.

I looked down at the storm-gray fabric, at the lightning insignia near my shoulder. Then my hand drifted to the cloak still draped over me, partially hiding the uniform beneath.

My fingers traced the intricate silver embroidery along its edges. Several people had glanced at it with expressions ranging from curiosity to what seemed like respect.

The realization settled like a stone in my stomach—the cloak had value here. Magical value.

“I...” My voice caught. I swallowed hard. “I have this. The cloak.”

What choice did I have? Survival now meant the possibility of return later. Of getting back to Levi.

“Would this be enough for new clothes?” I asked.

Myral’s hand shot out—startling, fast—and stopped just short of the cloak. Actual alarm crossed his face. The colors in his eyes spun faster.

“Not that.” His voice cut sharp. “Never that. Its protection is worth more than this market in gold.”

I held it out anyway. “Elven weave,” he breathed.

Green and red swirled through his irises as he studied the silverwork. Admiration there, edged with want—the look of a man who’d happily take it off my hands. When he smiled, his teeth flashed like polished bone. Small gold hoops hung at his ears. His skin showed no weathering, no scars. His beard carried gray only at the edges. He wore bright colors—crimson, saffron, jade—and a belt thick with stones and gems.

“Some things do their own bargaining,” he said. “Best not to haggle on their behalf.”

The relief hit me like a blow. My last thread to home, still mine. My throat closed. I turned my face so he wouldn’t see how close I was to breaking.

He knows too much for a stall merchant.

“I have nothing else to offer in exchange,” I said, keeping my voice level.

“Consider it investment rather than transaction,” he replied. “Something tells me our paths are not finished crossing, young one. The patterns have hinted so.”

“On your feet if you can bear it.”

The little stall was immediately shut in with curtains. I sighed in relief as I stood up, wincing as weight hit my twisted ankle.

I stood still as he selected garments—a forest-green undergown. Then he worked with his back to me, giving me privacy. The relief of shedding the uniform left me momentarily vulnerable. Seeing Zaago’s clothes pooled on the ground made guilt twist in my stomach.

I should have explained. Should have—

No. I couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t risk hurting them.

Myral hung an amber and russet robe on a clothes wire. It was meant to be layered over the undergown and tied at the waist with a cord woven with tiny metallic threads.

“Protective sigils,” he murmured. “Minor barriers against casual sight.”

Against being tracked? Against being found?

When I was dressed, Myral turned back and gestured to the pooled uniform on the ground. “I’ll dispose of those for you,” he said simply. “Better they’re not found.”

I hesitated, staring down at the storm-gray fabric. Zaago’s uniform.

But he was right. If anyone found it, traced it back to me...

“Okay,” I said quietly.

“Do you know how I can find my way back?” The question slipped out before I could stop it.

The colors in his eyes settled on that warm honey-gold. “There is knowledge in Silverhaven for those who know where to seek it.” From beneath his counter, he produced a small crystalline leaf. “The Great Library, beyond the central fountain. Present this to the Keeper of Records. Tell them Myral sent you seeking knowledge of the crossroads.”

“Crossroads means old paths where all places brush,” he added, seeing my face. “The Library keeps rules and maps. You don’t need more than that today.”

Crossroads. Paths between worlds. Maybe answers about how I got here. How to get home.

“Follow the ring until the fountain finds you; the paving stones marked with leaf sigils will guide you.” He pressed the crystal into my palm. “Wardens patrol—you’ll know them by blue hood. If they pass, step aside and keep your eyes level. Courtesy is a currency here.”

I nodded, tucking the crystal into an inner pocket. “Thank you.”

“Follow the flow toward the center,” he advised, voice lowered. “But be cautious. I am not the only one who senses the difference.” His eyes darkened. “There are those who hunt what they covet and crush what they do not understand.”

Like Command. Like anyone who finds out what I did at the Eastern Border.

With renewed strength and clean clothing, I gave Myral a nod and slipped into the market’s flow. Each step still required calculation, my ankle protesting.

I glanced back at Myral’s stall. The curtains were gone now and he was attending to another customer.

What were the odds?

Stumbling into the one merchant who would help rather than exploit me. Maybe whatever force had ripped me from my world had nudged me toward safe harbor. Or maybe I was desperately searching for patterns in chaos.

I shook my head, pushing away the spiral. I wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.

The crowd chattered around me. I let it carry me forward, observing. The market’s inhabitants moved with natural harmony—bodies slipping past one another with instinctive grace.

A woman glided by, midnight-blue hair cascading with what looked like fragments of starlight. On her shoulder perched something birdlike with translucent fins in place of wings.

Nearby, a merchant with sunset-colored eyes welcomed customers. A creature curled around his wrist—serpentine but covered in soft, iridescent fur.

I followed the path Myral had described, keeping one eye sharp. A faint tingle crawled up my spine—the sensation of being watched.

The scouts. Did they find me already?

I paused, scanning faces. Just marketplace chaos. Merchants hawking wares, children darting between stalls, couples arguing over prices.

I dismissed the feeling. After everything—the battlefield, the escape, the climb down three stories—my nerves were shot.

Then I swayed. My body betrayed me. The ground rippled like water. I stumbled sideways, catching myself on a wall. A few passersby gave curious glances. I stayed there, waiting for the world to stop tilting.

Guess magical tea and bread isn’t enough.

The central fountain was in the distance—an enormous structure that looked grown from the ground itself. Water spilled down its tiered stone face, glowing faintly, shifting from clear to soft blue to deep amethyst.

I paused, letting myself rest. Then the sensation hit again—stronger. An unmistakable prickle up my spine.

I scanned the crowd carefully, for faces I might recognize from Thunder squad.

There. At the fountain’s edge. Someone was watching. A figure in gray robes stood too still, their gray hood pulled low. They were turned fully toward me. That is not a blue hood.

Shit.

A cold weight sank in my stomach. Not the scouts. Someone else.

I slipped into the crowd, using the flow of bodies as cover. But I could still feel the eyes on me.

I needed distance. Now.

Then—divine timing.

A cart tipped nearby with a wooden crack. Fruit scattered. The merchant cursed. Shoppers swerved. It created just enough chaos.

Through the gap, I caught a glimpse of someone helping—tall, young, apologizing profusely as he helped scoop up fruit. The merchant’s fury waned as the boy pressed a coin into his palm.

I slipped through the opening.

I tried to turn with subtlety but managed the opposite, elbowing a wind chime. Ethereal notes sang out.

Smooth, Waris. Real fucking smooth.

Three stalls ahead, a narrow path opened and I veered into it.

My ankle rolled on uneven cobblestone a rush of pain pooled at my ankle. I stumbled into a mossy wall, slapping it for balance and leaving behind a perfect green handprint.

I picked up speed. But the sensation didn’t fade. Measured footsteps followed.

My heart thudded against my ribs. Not now. Don’t pass out now.

The alley curved, opening into a small courtyard between stone buildings.

I stopped cold.

Magic brushed across my senses. Foreign—yet I recognized it. The kind that made my teeth ache and my skin prickle.

Like the power at the Eastern Border. Like what’s in my veins.

I turned slowly.

Standing there was the same boy from the cart. He regarded me with clear, watchful green eyes.

He followed me? Why?

He stood at least six-two, lean and composed. High cheekbones, sun-warmed skin, straight nose—carved more than born. Seventeen, maybe eighteen.

What held my attention was the creature draped across his shoulders—a serpent of impossible white, scales catching light and reflecting it fractured into a rainbow of colors. Its head rested near his temple, eyes half-lidded yet aware.

Then its eyes opened.

They met mine with force, and something inside me opened.

A perfect note rang through my skull. Its mind touched mine—

“I haven’t seen that cloak in a century,” the serpent’s voice materialized in my mind, crisp and carrying an edge. “Interesting.”

I felt her consciousness recoil suddenly, as if she’d touched something that burned. The mental connection wavered. “And you... you are the white flame.” Her tone shifted to shock.

The white flame.

My stomach dropped. She knew. She knew what I’d done.

The connection was drawing me out of myself. I swayed, half-conscious, awareness split between this world and the vastness behind the serpent’s eyes.

I even manage to freak out magical mind-reading snakes. Fantastic.

I felt myself waver forward, losing balance.

“Hey—are you alright?”

The voice snapped me back.

The boy stepped closer, concern etched across his face.

I’d seen that look too many times lately. Levi had worn it. Edna had worn it. Zaago...had worn it. It’s starting to piss me off.

The serpent held my gaze, unreadable.

“What was she—” I tried to speak but the words stuck. I reached my hands to my temples. Whatever had just happened, it left a mark.

He blinked in awe. “You heard Lyra?”

“Maybe,” I hedged. “Depends. Are mind-reading snakes normal around here?”

“Lyra hasn’t talked to anyone. Ever.”

“Lucky me,” I muttered, tucking trembling fingers into my robe. “Were you the reason I felt like someone was stalking me across half the market?”

“Stalking?” He said quickly. “It’s just a coincidence we met.”

I stared hard at him. “Really? You’re going to stand there and lie to my face? After I saw you at that cart bribing the owner.”

His expression shifted, guilt flickering across his features. “Okay, fine. Maybe I was... following.”

I flashed him a look of irritation.

“It wasn’t stalking,” he protested. “I saw a shadow warden mark you as a target. The cart thing was a necessary intervention.”

“A shadow warden?” My blood ran cold. “What do you mean, mark me?”

How many wardens are there? Are they working with Command? Did Thunder send them?

“The gray-robed man by the fountain. He was a shadow warden and he was definitely tracking you.” His voice took on a lecturing tone. “I couldn’t exactly walk up and introduce myself.”

“So instead you decided to play mysterious protector and scare the hell out of me?” I crossed my arms.

“I created a distraction so you could escape and threw up protective walls all the way here. No way he can find you now,” he said defensively. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Oh, right, because I clearly needed rescuing,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I was handling it just fine.”

“Handling it?” He looked incredulous. “You left a perfect handprint on that wall back there. And before that, you knocked into a wind chime loud enough to wake the living and the dead. You stumbled through that alley like a drunk.”

I glanced down at my hand instinctively, then glared at him. “I’m having a bad day, okay?”

Understatement of the century.

“Oh, and excuse me for not having formal training in sneaking around,” I shot. “Some of us are new to the whole ‘being hunted’ experience.”

Though let’s be honest, I should probably be better at this by now.

I studied his face. “What do you want from me? And don’t give me some bullshit about helping.”

“Maybe I’m just a decent person,” he said, but there was something defensive in his tone.

“Decent people don’t follow strangers through marketplaces,” I shot back. “Or critique other people’s escape techniques.”

“You genuinely don’t know what you’re doing with that power, do you?” he asked, his voice gentler now. “It’s radiating from you. I’m putting up a wall of protection right now, but I can barely contain it. I have to keep putting it up perpetually.”

The white flame. The thing that destroyed all those distortions. The thing that split the earth in twelve directions.

Another person who knows more about me than I do.

“You’re untrained,” he continued. “Newly awakened, from the look of it. Without proper channeling, that energy will consume you from within.”

“Sounds delightful,” I said, sarcasm my shield. “Any other cheerful predictions, or can we skip to the part where you tell me what you actually want?”

A smile touched his lips. “I’m Kalien. You can call me Kal,” he said. “I might actually be able to help you.”

“Why would you?” Suspicion colored my tone. “What’s in it for you?”

“Because Lyra seems to think you’re important.” He glanced at the serpent who now filled the space between us. “And she’s rarely wrong about such things.”

“I’m never wrong,” Lyra’s voice boomed across my consciousness. “It’s one of my more charming qualities.”

You’ve really got to stop doing that. My head is going to explode.

“Modest too,” I said dryly, then turned back to Kal. “So let me get this straight. You’re telling me I should trust you because your snake thinks I’m special?”

Because that’s not ominous at all.

“She’s not just a snake,” Kal said. “Lyra is—”

I interrupted. “Let me guess—ancient, powerful, mystical creature, probably older than kingdoms and all of man, am I close?”

His mouth opened and closed. “How did you—”

“Lucky guess.” I rubbed my temples where the headache was concentrating.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

“You might want to stay conscious,” he quipped.

A laugh escaped me. “Thanks for the recommenda—”

The world tilted sideways, cobblestones rising to meet sky. Kal’s expression shifted to alarm. He was saying something else, words I could no longer hear over the rising tide of that resonance.

Not now. Please, not now.

The serpent—Lyra—unwound herself from his shoulders, stretching toward me. As consciousness slipped away, I felt the cool brush of her mind against mine once more.

Strong hands caught me as gravity claimed me once again.

Well, this is embarrassing.

xoxo

Until your shadow meets mine again—

Simxn
Author, Crown of Thorns: Desert Rose • Editor, The Alchemxst