Page 16

Jules

North Village—The Market

The North Village Market smells like spices and bread and something sweet I can’t name but absolutely want to try.

Sunlight is filtering through the emerald canopy hanging over the outer fringes of the square. The forests here are wild.

But that sunlight? It’s gold and red and it glimmers off everything, making even the worn cobblestones look magical.

Shade walks beside me, her luminous gray skin catching the light in an ethereal way.

She is vibrant and the village is bustling, filled with sound and scent and color, and she walks beside me like she owns the place.

Her long red braid sways behind her, gleaming like firelight in the sun, and her steps are confident, her chin lifted with quiet pride.

“This way, Lady Jules,” she says with a sly smile, pointing out a row of covered booths arranged in a crescent.

“That one sells flamefruit —don’t eat the seeds unless you like breathing smoke. And those are chitter melons . Sweet, but they hum when they ripen.”

I blink at the pink-striped orbs stacked in perfect pyramids.

Sure enough, they vibrate faintly, giving off a musical, almost giggling sound as we pass.

“Try this,” Shade says, pressing a tiny square of something golden into my palm. It smells nutty and sweet, like a baked good and a candy bar had a baby.

I pop it in my mouth and close my eyes, humming in pleasure.

“Oh my God.”

“It is the cream produced after pressing baoba beans and grinding the paste together with nuts and fruits for sweetness and flavor,” she says, proud as punch.

I nod, mouth still full.

“I’m not going to lie, this is incredible. It tastes like a peanut butter cup.”

I moan a little, missing all things Reese’s with the kind of bone-deep ache only sugar withdrawal can cause.

I reach for a second sample. This one’s a pretty lavender cube from a fancy tray on the other end of the cart.

“What does this taste like?” I ask, holding it up for inspection.

Shade gasps, smacking the cube from my hand so fast I stumble backward.

“No! You mustn’t eat that, Lady Jules!”

“What? Why?!”

“That,” she says gravely, “is poison.”

I blink at the fallen cube like it’s a snake.

“Poison?! It’s just sitting there!”

“Indeed,” she nods solemnly. “The scent keeps rodents and wing-thieves away. It is safe to touch, but even the smallest bite would kill you— and me —within seconds.”

“Geezus. Okay. No purple poison cube of death. Got it.”

I wipe my hand on my dress and glance nervously at the shopkeeper, who looks somewhere between horrified and deeply apologetic.

Shade bows quickly and mutters a few words in what I think is the local tongue.

The woman relaxes, offering me a brittle smile and a free pouch of baoba cream.

Shade takes my elbow.

“Come. There is a flower stand just beyond the fountain I think you will like.”

I follow, still shaken, but curious. The air here smells like bread and herbs and morning dew.

Soft flute music plays from somewhere I can’t see, and despite the near-death by cube, this market is kind of magical.

The flower stand?

Absolutely blows me away.

I gasp, actually gasp, at the sight before me. “Are these real?”

Hundreds of flowers crowd the wooden stall and its shelves, spilling onto baskets and crates in every imaginable color—and then some.

I see familiar blooms like tulips and roses, but also others with glowing petals or pulsing centers that change hue with the shifting breeze.

A hanging vine shivers as I approach, and one of its fuzzy violet fronds reaches toward me.

“Is it waving?” I whisper.

“They are curious,” Shade says. “And not technically plants, though we call them flowers for ease. That one enjoys warmth. Offer your wrist.”

Tentatively, I extend my arm. The frond curls around it gently, tickling my skin.

“Oh wow. This is weirdly soothing.”

“It likes you,” she says, clearly amused.

“Okay, note to self: don’t eat the poison cubes, but make friends with the sentient flowers.”

Shade laughs, and it’s the most relaxed I’ve seen her all morning.

“You adjust quickly.”

“I don’t think I have a choice.”

Everything is alive here.

The colors are brighter.

The air is sweeter.

The sky stretches wide and crystalline blue above us, ringed by the towering spires of the mountains surrounding the Eyrie like ancient guardians.

And the people?

They look mostly human. But Shade’s words keep echoing in my mind.

They’re not.

“They remind me of regular boys back home,” I murmur, nodding toward a group of teens loitering near a jewelry stand, their gazes locked on me like I’ve sprouted antlers.

Shade follows my line of sight and tsks. “Some of the young ones are changelings. You must be wary, Lady Jules. Spies for the SoulTakers come in many forms.”

I go still. “Spies? Kids?”

“They are not children,” she says simply, voice going cold. “Not truly. SoulTakers twist what they touch.”

I nod slowly, not fully understanding, but not ready to question her either.

She leads me to a fabric stall next, where bolts of shimmering cloth ripple in the breeze like living creatures.

I run my fingers across one the color of moonlight and gasp at the way it shifts with my mood— turning faintly lavender when I smile.

“The market is safe today,” Shade says gently, as if sensing my unease. “But it is not wrong to encourage caution. Nightfall is beautiful, yes. But it is also layered. Dangerous. And ever changing.”

“Like its people,” I murmur, watching a woman with eyes like flame barter with a merchant whose skin shifts between ice and coal.

Shade hums in agreement. “We call ourselves Demons, but we are not, as your world defines the word. No more good or evil than the average human, I suppose.”

“Have you been reading about my world?” I ask, having found some volumes about Earth in the library.

I’m delighted she’s taken an interest since, really, I could use a friend here. Alaric has many duties, and we can’t be together all the time.

Even that worries me.

My desire to just be with him. I’ve never felt anything like it before.

“Yes, I have read some volumes in order to better understand you,” she says and blushes.

“I hope that’s not the only reason. I don’t need you to be my servant,” I begin, going for it. “I’d rather you be my friend.”

“Friend?” her eyebrows go sky high. Then she narrows her gaze and nods solemnly. “I would like that very much, Lady Jules.”

“Just Jules,” I reply and grin, bumping her playfully with my shoulder.

She doesn’t know how to react, but when I smile, she does the same and we start walking again.

“Tell me about your people,” I say, pausing to admire some pottery for sale at another stand.

“Okay. Well, some among us are born with gifts. Magic. Power. But that is mostly seen in the Highborn, like Lord Alaric. Others— like me —have limitations to what magic we can use. We simply serve Nightfall, work to survive, and try to stay out of the wars of greater things.”

“Alaric is Highborn?” I whisper, the name slipping from my lips like a secret.

“Indeed, he is more than just Demon,” she confirms. “He is also Dragon. An ancient kind. And powerful beyond measure.”

“I’ve seen his Dragon. Can everyone do that here?”

“You’ve seen Lord Alaric’s Dragon?” she says, stopping in her tracks head tilted.

“Yeah, we went out the other day. I rode on his back, or neck, I suppose,” I mumble.

“He let you ride him?”

She seems stunned and I don’t know if I’ve said something wrong or told a secret I shouldn’t have spilled.

“Um, it’s no big deal, Shade. He just took me for a ride,” I murmur and shrug.

“It is a very big deal, Lady Jules,” she whispers and drops her gaze and her head. Almost like she is bowing to me.

“What are you doing?”

“You really are his fated mate, aren’t you? The true viyella to our Lord,” she says, bowing again, and this time when she raises her head, her cheeks are wet with tears.

“W-what do you mean?”

“I apologize, my lady. It is for Lord Alaric to tell you. Come, let us continue to stroll,” she says.

I swallow hard, that little thrill of fear and wonder tangling in my chest again.

It’s overwhelming. This place. These people. Him.

And me? I’m just a girl from Earth.

But as I trail my fingers over a lace shawl that shimmers like frost and listen to Shade hum a lullaby in a language older than anything I know, I feel it again.

That whisper of belonging.

Frightening. Strange. And somehow impossible not to want.

There are so many people out, and after the whole bowing thing, many of them are staring.

And I don’t know why, but today feels important.