Page 42 of Ruby & Onyx

“It’s a great party trick, but it is my brain that makes me special, not my magic.”

“It’s amazing. Really, it is.”

She winks at me and nestles back into her seat. They’re such tiny, simple things to correct – the creator of the barrier and the extent of Lord Myles’ power – but to revise that knowledge forces me to rewrite my own history. It calls into question everything I know, everything I believe. It’s another thread in the fabric of my life being unwoven before my eyes.

Of course, I should be used to that by now.

The farther we get from the palace, the darker the land becomes. Rather than the lush greenery seen on the grounds, the land here appears withered and desolate. Rotting trees, dried bushes, and cracked earth line the path. Weeds sprouting up through the dirt show the only signs of life. How did this place become so ruined?

My eye catches on something moving in the distance, and the back of my neck begins to tingle like we’re being watched. “How far are we from the market?”

“Not too far, don’t worry. This land gives me the creeps, too,” she says as I continue to stare out the window in search of whatever life I thought I found. “Nobody lives in the deadwoods anymore, not since the Mad King destroyed it during the war. He scorched the land with roaring flames. Burned every civilian that lived here alive. Some say that you can still hear their screams echoing in the trees.”

“They made it all the way here?” The chord of terror echoing in my chest is begging me to turn around.

“Some of them, yes,” she says as she begins fiddling with her gloves, pulling on a stray thread. “But we won in the end, didn’t we?”

But if the Mad King could get so close to the palace once, then what’s stopping him from doing it again?

An eerie silence overcomes us as I imagine the people who once lived here. Their lives came to such a brutal end at the hands of the Mad King. The same Mad King who sent the prowlers to my cottage.

Were the tormenting flames the last thing they saw?

Several minutes go by without another sign of movement. Only the sound of the horses’ hooves clomping against the dirt and the creaking carriage drowns out my racing heart. No birds are tweeting, nor are wolves howling. The silence is unbearable.

“Where do all of the people live?” I ask in search of something to fill the emptiness where life should be.

“You’ll see soon enough.”

“How did the palace go unscathed while this land burned?”

“That’s a great question.” She quietly drifts away in thought but doesn’t answer.

As we move out of the deadwoods, the land becomes reinvigorated. The trees transition from the color of death to a verdant green. Nature’s sounds once again echo through the air. And it isn’t long until a group of children come sprinting closer to get a view of the carriage. Each one is covered in filth and bruises, though that is likely the consequence of a rousing game of tag.

They stare at us as we roll past. One child raises a hand to wave, but the older one slaps it down. She leans into a curtsy and lowers her eyes to the ground, beseeching the others to do the same. I nod to them, and they dash off, continuing with their game. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Liliana smiling at me.

* * *

Rows of townhomes painted in all shades of color come into view as the road turns from dirt to cobblestone. Pink stucco homes with bright yellow shutters, staircases painted to match, and climbing ivy decorate the neighborhood. As we move deeper into the town, more and more people appear. Some dress finely, others more practical. A baker sets out fresh loaves of bread in the window of his shop while an elderly couple sits on a bench out front. People are sitting on balconies and others are gathered on the street. Kids are running wild like we caught them mid-game. There’s so much life here, so many people. Is this what a real city feels like?

“Welcome to the market,” Liliana says when the carriage comes to a stop.

As soon as my feet hit the cobblestones, I do my best to take it all in. This market is so much larger than the one in Carcera. Stalls of every sort stretch on as far as I can see, selling fabrics, jewelry, art, ointments, food, and everything in between. People of all shapes and sizes are moseying around with woven baskets filled with goods. Hand-painted tiles line the ground – each one is a unique shape that fits into a larger starburst pattern.

A few people stare at me as I pass, and I wonder if it is my reputation or appearance that piques their curiosity, but I try to shrug off the thought. Liliana, ever the social butterfly, flits from stall to stall to meet with the vendors. Each one greets her with a warm, welcoming smile, and I imagine that a large part of her success is due to her genial nature. Sure, business acumen helps, but an outgoing personality must open a lot of doors.

While she’s busy speaking to vendors, a necklace catches my eye. It reminds me of a necklace that my mother used to wear – a silver chain with a painted sparrow pendant. I reach out toward it with my left hand, but the elderly vendor grabs my wrist, latching onto it with a spindly grip. I choke back a scream as I mutter my apologies. Maybe she thought I was trying to steal?

She turns my hand over and examines the birthmark, showing impressive strength in her crooked fingers. Her beady hazel eyes blacken as if her soul is being pulled into a distant void. I try to loosen my hand from that steel grip as I look around for Liliana, but both attempts prove futile. Liliana is nowhere to be found, nor is anyone else. The whole market - every last person and stall - is obscured by thick fog that appeared out of nowhere. It surrounds us, blocking both vision and sound.

Her grip tightens and pulls my attention back to her.

She gurgles a moan in a voice coarsened by salt and shadow, “You do not belong here. You must return to your throne and unify the nations.”

Chapter 18

Oh, gods. This feels all too familiar.

---