Page 78 of The Heart of Nym (The Twisted Roots Duology #1)

Being in this part of Yaar never got easier.

While the market square was decorated with large homes with tall iron fences and fancy townhomes and flats, the Saorach was only a few blocks away, but an entire world apart.

Dorid’s negligence to his people was not seen in the bustling parts of the city, but they were everywhere else.

Years ago, when her anger and her mourning had a chokehold on her sensibility, Nymiria would frequent these parts.

Run down buildings filled with families living in cramped spaces, with barely enough room to breathe, loomed over her head.

Babies cried loudly, mothers rushed to rip their linens from drying lines, and men laughed loudly on their stoops—exchanging jokes and stories to help ease the pain of their reality. A reality that their king created.

Very few people in Yaar were able to afford those large living spaces in Market Square. The rest of them either lived in thatched-roof homes outside of the Square or here.

Nymiria had visited the establishments in Saorach—the gambling hall, the brothel, the pubs—they weren’t necessarily dangerous if one knew Dieve.

After the old cook had found Nymiria gambling away every granite in her possession, Dieve made it known that she was not to be harmed.

After that, no one wanted to gamble with her anymore.

Some places wouldn’t even allow her entry.

Though their eyes gleamed at the amount of treasure she flashed them, one look at her face had their features turning grim.

She didn’t know what power Dieve had, but seeing as this entire portion of the city heeded to her commands, it seemed as if she was a leader of some sort. One that no one wanted to cross.

Nymiria tugged at the hood of her cloak, pulling it closer to her face as she followed Desi through the damp, narrow streets.

Aziel hadn’t come back yet, but it was still only lunch hours. And as foolish as it seemed, she wished that he could be there. If not for being a distraction, but just to have his warmth nearby.

You fool.

She shook the thought from her head and pressed on, sidestepping puddles of unknown origin.

“I’m surprised Dorid let me out of the palace.” She heaved, quickening her pace to fall into place beside Desi. “I was sure he’d lock me away forever.”

Desi only smirked, her purple eyes sparkling in the grey lighting. “You won’t have to worry about that for much longer.”

No, she wouldn’t. And while there was a part of her that was elated when the Rune Witch sent for her, Nymiria could not shake the fear of having her Grace, at its full potential, in her hands once again.

She never learned to wield it—no one believed she would need to.

Then again, she was only twelve when her Grace started to show.

And at the time, the greatest show of her power she could muster was growing flowers from the palm of her hand.

Parlor tricks, her mother would say. She always called her a little garden fairy. And while Nymiria would have liked to believe that her mother hadn’t known the truth of her power, there was an impatient thought that crossed her mind, telling her that Inasha knew more than Nymiria was aware of.

She didn’t often think of her mother. She found it better not to.

Inasha wasn't an attentive parent, and Nymiria spent majority of her days being herded by Thorn. Her mother, on the other hand, acted as if she couldn’t be bothered with Nymiria.

She was harsh, cruel and demanding of perfection.

Thorn always made excuses for her mother, claiming that the fae queen was busy, stressed, and overwhelmed with “Queen Things”, as he called them.

She once believed that Inasha did not love her.

But it was always said that Inasha had given herself to her captors to protect Nymiria.

Who would do that for someone they did not love?

Unless Inasha was aware of something Nymiria was not.

Perhaps it was not an act of love, but an attempt to rid herself of a child she did not want.

The same way she’d discarded Raven on Thorn’s doorstep.

There must have been plenty of things Inasha had not told her. For example, the fact that the man she’d known as her nurse was actually her father. She did not doubt that Inasha could have known she was a goddess, as well.

Nymiria frowned at the thought, her brow furrowing as she tried to push it from her mind. “Is it normal for me to feel slightly afraid?” She asked.

“Certainly. You’re a goddess. There’s always a chance your Grace could explode and your flowers will kill us all.

” Desi laughed, only trying to lighten the mood, but she’d planted that seed of an image in Nymiria’s mind already, a shiver creeping up her spine as they approached the single house at the end of the street. “I’m joking. You’ll be fine.”

She was terrified of how much power was lurking in her core. She hadn’t seen it yet, but if it was anything compared to what Aziel could do, she was sure that it was terrifying.

Nymiria forced a smile, curling her fingers around the cloak as they stepped into the lamplight that bled onto the street from the parlor window.

She could see Dieve’s shadow wobbling around through the sheer curtains, a tired look on her face as she pulled the curtains back just enough to wave at them.

She let them fall back into place, the distinct sound of her cane knocking against the floor growing close to the front door.

It opened on squealing hinges, Dieve’s head moving into view in the crack, peering in every direction before she opened it just enough for Nymiria and Desi to squeeze through.

The door closed with a bang, causing both young women to jump and turn to the old crone, watching as she walked past them and crooked her finger as a motion to follow.

“So the little flower has finally figured everything out.” Dieve sighed, shaking her head. “They really did a number on you, didn’t they? I thought you would have figured it out years ago.”

Nymiria’s brow furrowed, eyes scanning the dusty townhouse and taking in every inch.

Dried herbs hung from lines along the ceiling, dangling just low enough for someone to reach up and pluck at if needed.

Shelves lined each wall, filled with brown leather tomes that had gathered dust and cobwebs over the years.

The sconces, probably once a gleaming copper, had oxidized and were speckled black and brown, flickering candles sitting inside each wax-coated glass orb.

The floors had large holes in some places, creaking horribly, sagging and soft in others.

There was a room at the end of a dimly lit corridor, the smell of sage and bay leaves seeping out from under the crack at the bottom of the door.

She’d smelled that scent before. Her mother was a ritualistic pagan and for the majority of her childhood, her mother had smelled strongly of herbs like patchouli and pepper clove.

Inasha told her that the herbs would ward away negativity and protect her from evil forces, but Nymiria never really believed her. Evil still found a way in.

She drew in a deep breath, giving Dieve a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. “Unfortunately, being trapped in my own mind has made it difficult for me to see the truth sometimes.”

“I fear majority of the world suffers from the same ailment, little flower.” Dieve looked thoughtful for a moment, staring at the wall to her left and placing her hand on the knob of the door.

“But that is what makes the world interesting. A life without surprises seems fairly dull. Plot twists make for a wonderful story.” Dieve beamed a toothy grin in her direction. “Don’t you think?”

A very true statement, but even with all of the twists and turns she experienced, what sort of twisted person would be interested in the story of her life?

She just hoped that whenever acolytes decided to transcribe her memoirs, they would leave out the parts where she stared at a wall for three weeks.

Perhaps… fluff things up a little so her tale was not so depressing.

Could she even request something of that nature?

Before she could deign a response, Dieve was lightly rapping on the door, turning the knob and opening it just enough to peer inside, the smell of herbs grew stronger.

“Are you ready, my dear?” The old woman asked.

There was a light rustling from beyond, a muffled grunt and a thunk of something loud landing on a table. “Bring her in.” The voice said.

Nymiria and Desi exchanged twinning expressions of surprise, for when Hilla and Lorelei claimed the Rune Witch was young, Nymiria believed her to be in her early twenties, at least. But this voice sounded much younger.

Dieve opened the door the rest of the way. The nerves that were tangled and fussy when Nymiria arrived were being replaced with something far more violent, her stomach threatening to empty itself.

Phyona, Owen’s little sister, glanced at them from her place at her table, flicking through a large tome as they entered the room.

Nymiria felt like hiding her face. She felt like turning and running, but instead she pressed a shaking hand to the enchanted item tucked into the bodice of her dress.

As if sensing the object, Phyona’s eyes lifted to her immediately.

She observed Nymiria closely, with narrowed eyes and a pensive stare.

If she was angry at her being here, Phyona did not show it.

The first and last interaction they had was tense, but Nymiria should have guessed there was more to the girl than what could be seen.

She had exuded a fierceness that only a skilled witch could.

And while Nymiria hadn’t met many, she knew enough of them to recognize their power.