Page 79 of Beneath a Shattered Sky
Selfishly, I don’t want her to go back to Elatha. She deserves better than to return to a life where she was the barely tolerated daughter of a traitor. Especially if I’m not there to have her back.
I’ve chosen team fae, whatever my fate. Prae… Prae is still heavily undecided.
The two females walk in silence, sharing the nuts as they walk through the thickest parts of the crowd—as if they’re making it hard to follow them on purpose. Prae makes it easy for fucking Gryffin when she stops to coo over some strange, colourful enchanted spectacles that magnify everything seen through them by varying degrees, depending on the lenses used; but the little queen takes no such pity on me.
Rose looks ateverythinglike it’s the most wondrous thing she’s ever beheld. From silk scarves with flower patterns that bloom at the touch right down to winged dolls for children that take flight when wound up.
When the stupid fae prince drops his glamour and returns to their side, I start to sweat a little. When he starts asking Rose’s opinion on this and that, I turn away in disgust.
I don’t need a stupid fae prince to help me find the perfect gift for her. I just need to think.
What does Rose want?
I pass a stall full of singing flowers and cringe at the sappy lyrics, then another covered in colour changing jewellery and shrug that off, too. The only piece she wears regularly is that necklace from the dullahan.
It doesn’t help that none of the fae merchants look eager to offer me their business. The people of Illidwen know who I am, and they shun me in little ways.
“Danu’s tits,” Bree murmurs, his voice breaking through my frustrated thoughts. “Just find her something meaningful, you idiot, and stop wasting time.”
“You’re being so helpful,” I retort, sarcasm dripping from my words, and making several fae look around in disgust.
Oh right, they hate sarcasm, too, since it’s usually technically a lie.
I turn on my heel, five seconds away from just storming off, when I see it.
A small stall, tucked out of the way of the others. The seller is a goblin female, her green ears so heavy with silver piercings that they droop as she carefully arranges tiny glass spheres containing glittering sand atop their velvet covered plinths.
The sign on the table runner is written in careful fae, but the lettering is faded, and I can’t make it out until I get closer. “Memory balls?”
“Yes, yes,” the goblin titters, apparently uncaring that a Fomorian is approaching her stall. “You pick up the ball while thinking of a memory, and it paints it into the glass forever. See?”
She picks up one of the ones closest to her, and immediately a scene forms in the glitter within. Goblin children dance, caught in an endless loop.
“My best ones can store sound and emotions, too.” She points a finger at a selection of slightly larger balls towards the back, containing two colours of glitter rather than just one. “Extra for those, of course.”
Of course. I barely resist the urge to roll my eyes.
What good are my memories to Rose? I doubt she has any use for the joyous scenes of my childhood, learning to become a soldier. And it’s not like we’ve made any romantic memories together…
I turn away, then stop. Turning back, I murmur.
“Two of the good ones.”
“Sixteen gold pieces.”
“Sixteen?” I hiss through my teeth.
“What? Nicnevin’s Guard can’t afford it?”
Frowning at her, because I’m sure she’s charging me at least double what they’re actually worth, I hand over the money silently.
There are enough fae watching the transaction to make me wary. If I insult the goblin, no doubt I’ll just give them more ammunition against me later.
The goblin grins gleefully, then does me the insult of chewing on my coin as if to test that it’s real, before waving her hand over the colours in a gesture for me to pick.
I pick one black and silver, and the second in red and blue, and she boxes them up carefully for me before waving me away from her stall like I’m a bad smell she can’t get rid of.
Not that it matters. I have a gift for Rose. Now I just need to find somewhere quiet enough in this stupid festival that I can think, and then I can return victorious.
