Page 31 of The Last Dragon
“Praise The Mother! In the shadows, she sleeps while the darkness consumes those who have not followed her path. Sacrifice! And she shall shield you against chaos! Turn away, and you will feel her wrath! Banished to the void. In darkness she dwells, whispering for you to join her. One day she shall rise, herpower awakening like the black dawn! Praise The Mother! Praise The Mountain! The reckoning is near!”
Acolyte.
It annoys me knowing they let these religious scum into the Market. They often mingle in the Center, but every now and then, they crawl their way to the Front, only to spread the word about something as make-believe as Divines and The Mother—the deity they’re obsessed with.
In the crowd, I notice Nida standing by one of the stalls, exploring the jewels crafted by Middlers. She turns and meets my gaze and my chest twists as I realize I’ll be limping my way through the Market. She gives a soft wave, and I glance to the side. She’s waving tome. I let out a sigh, straightening up in an attempt to conceal my next few steps. I hope I won’t be limping too much.
“I thought Faith is frowned upon,” Nida says when I’m close enough. We both turn toward the cloaked man chanting his sermon to ears that do not listen.
“It is.”
Raumen stands next to his father by a small stall that’s barely holding together. His father waves his hands, breaking the freshly baked bread to lure the townsfolk into purchasing. I’ll give them a couple of hours before that bread is completely sold out. It’s the best you’ll get in Karalia.
“I’m surprised to see you at the Market,” Nida’s voice rings, soft red curls cascading over her face. “When I saw you here, I thought I was seeing things.”
I shift my legs to the side as we walk, rolling my eyes. “As if anything could stop me,” I say, attempting to hide my smile.Of courseI’ll be at the market. No matter how much it hurts.
She turns to face the crowd, people rushing from one stall to the other, baked goods in hand.
“Wow,” she whispers. “I don’t remember seeing so many people here before.”
“After eight years, I assume everyone has something to sell.” I look around, slightly disoriented. Every move I make feels like I’m walking on uneven ground. “It’s safer now—with Defenders manning the battlements and ballistas, and Scouts still patrolling the outskirts.”
She smiles. “I remember when we used to go to the Market. You with your father’s steel, me with my mother’s herbs and plants.” She nudges me, causing a deeply buried memory to resurface. A painful memory. But there’s laughter in her voice. I exhale slowly. “I remember that,” I say, glancing at her curls. “You used to weave through the carts like you were racing time.Anddragged me into it.”
“We got into so much trouble then.” She laughs.“At least the red hair made it impossible to lose you.”
“I had to wear a large hat to cover it up whenever we’d play hide and seek!”
“It made you look silly.” I pause. Try to. But the memories don’t stop. Even though there were market days without her—without my father—the ones that stayed with me are the ones where we ran between crates and stalls, laughing, chasing shadows, and causing more trouble than we could ever explain.
“That’s rich coming from you—you tried to bribe a merchant with a button!”
“And a beetle.” I chuckle.
“Oh, right, the beetle.” She giggles, slamming her hand into my back.
A scoff escapes me, and I shake my head. Her laughter only grows louder. Why does it…feelthis way? Why does it feel like I can let go of things so easily? Like we’ve never been apart? Like words just come out of me without having to think.
I let out a breath that might almost be a laugh. “He accepted the beetle.”
She grins. “Out of pity.”
There’s a pause. Just long enough for the laughter to settle into something quieter. Long enough for the silence to be tainted with shouting merchants and the clang of metal striking metal. Someone’s selling knives. Someone’s arguing over the price of bread.
I blink, and the memory is gone. I’m back here. Back to reality. And the subtle twitch in my fingers ensures that Istayin reality. She doesn’t say anything. Maybe she feels it too—that sharp edge beneath the noise, beneath the laughter. The idea of never being able to go back.
“Come on,” I say quietly, nodding toward the path forward. Before I remember more than I should.
A faint yell of my name comes from across the yard. Raumen waves at us. Nida dashes toward him, with me trying to keep up with her pace.
“This smells absolutelydivine,” she says, sticking her nose close to the bread Raumen is holding in a red and white checked cloth. A small crowd gathers near the stall. The smell envelops the entire yard. Townsfolk yell out praises, and I can’t help but smile again. For a second, I don’t feel like I need to strain myself about my duties. But only for a second. The metal clanging from the Defenders on the battlement snaps me out of this trance.
I can’t.
I can’t let my guard down. I can’t let my deeply tucked-in desires resurface. Not even for a second. Not again.
Nida and Raumen continue to converse about the bread’s origin, how it’s made, and the process of the yeast. How he sometimes sneaks in bread for us during midday meals. His father offers a small taste. Nida shoves a piece close to my nose, the aroma filling my senses.
