Page 7 of Ruby & Onyx

The unspoken question lingers in my mind: Am I safe here?

The man charged directly at me, chasing after gods know what. If he would risk his life trying to breach the barrier, then who’s to say there won’t be more just like him, ready to charge through the barrier despite the risk of disintegrating into sawdust? How many attempts would it take for just one of them to be successful?

Carcera is a safe place. It’s protected magically from outsiders and guarded by soldiers on the inside. Nothing bad ever happens here. But what if that’s about to change?

“Hmm,” he mutters while stroking his chin with his thumb and pointer finger in a way that seems practiced. “I will order the increase of patrols along the border. Stay clear of the woods and stay inside if you hear the dogs howl. You can do that, right?”

“Yes.” I decide to ignore the condescension in his tone to allow room for the other question to claw its way forward. It’s been itching my brain ever since this happened. “How is it that traders can pass through the barrier, yet nobody else can?”

We never speak of it - of how the barrier came to be. What choice did we have in closing off our borders and locking ourselves inside this cage? It never seemed important to ask such questions until now. But the mere mention of Umbra – of a life that exists outside of these confines – awakened something in me. The outside world may scare me, but it should be my choice whether or not to face that terror.

A hint of pride gleams in his eyes as he adjusts his gaudy trousers. “When I cast the protection charm around Carcera twenty years ago, I needed a provision to allow our trade to continue. I couldn’t let our village starve, you see? And so, I created rings designed to bypass all enchantments – like a key of sorts. Once I grant a trader permission to conduct their business in Carcera, I give them a ring. Like this one.” He raises his hand to flaunt the golden ring on his right ring finger. A small, blood-red ruby rests in the center, encircled by an illegible engraving.

“And that ring allows you to pass freely through the border?”

“Quite right. It took a few rather unfortunate tests to be sure that it would work, but we got there in the end,” he says, wrinkling his ruddy nose at some grim memory.

“How do the traders get these rings?”

“All vendors go through a formal vetting process.”

“What do you need to get approved?” I know that I’m testing his patience by pestering him with questions, but I can’t seem to stop myself.

“They submit things like recommendations from approved traders and a list of suppliers. Then they undergo an interview with my Hand of Commerce, the usual. If approved, we negotiate a fixed price before granting them their ring. And voila, our economy continues.” At this, he lets loose a hacking cough so grotesque that I shudder. He reaches for the handkerchief in his pocket and wipes his face, smearing phlegm across his cheek.

I stifle the urge to excuse myself as that swipe of bodily fluid catches the sunlight. “How do you know that they will not pass the rings onto strangers?”

“The rings, like the rest of the border, are made from sophisticated magic. Removing the ring from your finger would break the spell on it. And if you lose your ring even once, you will not receive a replacement.”

“Could I apply for a ring?” By the gods, I wish that I could stop myself, but it’s proving impossible. That yearning for something more is eating me alive.

He leans in to ask, “Why would you need a ring?”

“Well, I don’t need one.” It’s a hunger, an ache, to be somewhere else, to be someone else. “I’d like to know what lies beyond this village, on the other side of the forest.” If we were dancing, then that question would have stepped on his toes. He recoils just the same. “And if you have to go to such great lengths to keep trade moving in and out of the village, then why create the barrier at all?”

“Those were dark times. We needed protection from the Umbrian armies because of our proximity to the border, and the barrier did just that. Nobody, not even these men in the woods, will be able to penetrate its magic.” He raises his hand to wave at someone in the distance. “I must get going, but stay clear of the barrier.”

Was that a warning?

“I promise nothing,” I say to his back as he scurries away.

His vague answers do little to satisfy my curiosity, but I won’t chase after him for answers. Not now, anyway.

I achieve a distance of nearly two steps when Tana rushes to my side.

“Did you get a chance to nab a tart before I snatched the last one?” She smiles triumphantly as if it was some great feat.

“Lord Myles gave me one,” I say, keeping my gaze fixed on the path to the bread cart.

“Of course, he did,” she says as she wags her brows suggestively.

I know what she is insinuating, given that it’s no secret that my father’s pension continued far past its expiration. It would be impossible to ignore the filthy rumors explaining its continuance, but I try my best to bat away any suggestions of the sort. I will not allow ‘mistress’ to be added to the list of insults hurled my way, especially when the mere suggestion makes my stomach curdle. She is not the first to hint at such foul things, nor will she be the last.

“I see where you’re going with that – stop it. I won’t entertain such vulgarity.”

Her mouth snaps shut, clearly hurt by the direct slap on the wrist.

Amelia comes to the rescue, piercing through the tension with her delicate grace. She gives me a polite smile and then grabs Tana’s hand in the affectionate way that close friends do.

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