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My throat tightened.

Raphael toed the ball with shoes he’d stolen from some poor fool, and it landed easily between the boy’s hands. The boy giggled, clutched his prize to his chest, and ran off in another direction in search of fresh amusement.

“We’ll get supplies while we’re here,” Raphael announced.

I eyed his stolen items. “We have no money.”

He reached a palm out to me, a small leather pouch in it. I took it and startled at the sound of coins clinking together.

“Where’d you get this?”

His face was hidden by the cloak, but I knew he was judging me for my silly morals. “I found it with your cloak. Do you need more detailsthan that?”

I didn’t.

“Use that to buy what we’ll need to make it to the City of Answers. Better shoes and clothes than what you have now. Some food staples, if they won’t slow us down. And cards. I’m not sure what the peasants might have here but try to barter wisely.”

I frowned. “Where will you be?”

“Concerned, dove?”

I scowled. “Hardly.”

He chuckled, low and smooth. “I have other matters to attend to. There’s a tavern at the edge of town. I’ll meet you there after dusk.”

Raphael disappeared with ease into the crowd. I headed for the market. A strange pit filled my stomach. People looked at me, curious who the new face was. A village this size surely got occasional visitors, but likely the same ones over and over. I was a new face.

I didn’t dare become a memorable one. Not if the soldiers came looking for us after Nelson’s murder.

The cards were the most daunting, so the first items I took care of were more mundane. A new blouse and skirt cost me a coin each, but I was ashamed to admit, after all my years of forced asceticism, I couldn’t resist. Not when I’d finally washed away the grime on my skin. Wearing the worn, dirty clothes, the same ones I’d worn for several years, was like wearing a set of iron shackles.

Raphael’s constant comments about my clothes smelling hadnothingto do with my decision.

Food was… overwhelming. My memories of the palace lingered like hazy waypoints, telling me I shouldn’t be impressed with the meager offerings from the baker, the hard cheeses and dried meats. But years of rat and stale, moldy crusts had turned those simple options into the most luxurious foods I’d ever seen. I wasn’t sure exactly how long the rest of our trip would be, but I didn’t let myself spend too much money. It was safe to say Raphael wouldn’t take kindly to his “hard-earned” money disappearing into spoils he couldn’t appreciate, and I didn’t need a lecture from a vampire.

Or for him to bite me in retribution.

It was uncomfortable, walking between the stands, making small talk with the sellers and villagers. In Greymere, I would go weeks without speaking. With Raphael, our conversations were also brief. But this was my chance to gather information. I gave a fake name of course, and made vague allusions to the husband I was traveling with. As benign as the village appeared, I’d be foolish to let anyone think I was alone or unclaimed. We were two days’s journey by horse from the City of Answers, closer than I would’ve guessed. That was likely closer to five days if we went on foot.

I asked in a roundabout way for gossip on the capital, but there was little that reached this village. King Vaughn the Storm-blooded still reigned; that was hardly surprising—if anything had happened to him, it would’ve reached even Greymere.Prince Marcel the Bountiful is thelight of the kingdom, added a girl my age, winking as she told me of his latest feats in a tournament.

I gave her a tight smile and asked for directions to the enchanted card dealer. She shrugged and pointed me towards a shop a few doors down.

The door chimed as I walked in, though no bells hung from it. A sure sign I was in the right spot.

Witches each had their own specialty of magic, like King Vaughn, who commanded the weather, or Marcel, who created abundance as he wished. They could use their magic, or store it with intricate spells in the form of cards. If someone wanted to access magic from others, they could do so using the cards, which led to a thriving trade industry across the kingdom. A pyromancer might make cards for someone in the winter with enough heat to keep a fireplace burning without wood for several weeks, or just a few hours, depending on their strength. All witches paid a tithe of magic to the king through their cards.

As a void, I had no magic and had to rely on the cards of others to use magic. And since I had none to trade, my only choice was to buy it.

“Greetings, traveler,” the shopkeeper said from behind the desk.

The woman was melting. That was my first thought upon seeing her. Every part of her body seemed to sag. Her ears dropped, her chin dipped towards me, highlighting the hanging skin on her neck. Her hair was silver, with darkstrands interspersed, her mouth half open as she regarded me like she couldn’t quite be bothered to close it.

My mother would’ve had a fit if she’d ever looked like that. She’d have used every beautifying card in the kingdom to avoid that.

But then, my mother would never grow to be that old.

“Hello,” I said, rushing to get the word out before my memories took over. “I need some cards.”