Page 8 of Fate

Orma picked at her fingernail, humming softly. “Just where it sounds. Where all the important folk mingle.” She glanced at Firen again, frowning ever so slightly. “Theirs is tonight. I thought you might go after this.”

Firen sat back a little too sharply, her wing catching against the wall and giving a little pain of protest. “I haven’t met everyone here.”

Orma rolled her eyes again. “You saw them up there. It happens, or it doesn’t. If he was here, you’d know already.”

Firen’s throat ached. “Trying to be rid of me?” she asked, trying to keep her voice light but feeling it an all too real possibility.

“No,” Orma disagreed, blinking slowly as if she hadn’t considered the possibility. “You just seem... like a rather lovely person. And if you want this... I should hate for you to waste your time here. Not when you could look elsewhere.”

She cast her eyes about the room once more. She’d do another turn, at least. To be sure. But if there was the possibility of a more efficient evening...

There could be no harm in it.

She did not ask why Orma had no plans to attend. That was her business.

But she did ask for directions.

And when she was confident that this room held nothing more than the possibility of average food and men with becomingly dark wings that would eventually belong to women that were most assuredly not her...

She left.

And was not as disheartened as she might have been.

???

It was a longer walk than she was used to. She might have been there quickly enough if she’d risked the flight, but even she with all her boldness did not relish the thought of appearing at the high towers dishevelled and windblown.

So she walked. And thought of Orma and her frowns and sickly appearance. Of Demezda and her unfriendliness.

It seemed as if fewer pairings were being made at the fetes. Mama would wave her hand and insist it wasn’t so, but it was becoming much more common for bonds to be formed later—if they happened at all.

Perhaps there was cause to grow anxious and mean spirited. If... if one had to rely on...othermeans to find a mate.

Firen crossed her arms over her chest, the sea air chilling. The towers loomed, their lights bright and ever-moving as they beckoned to the merchant ships to dock safely in the bay.

Most were homes. Others were... she squinted, trying to make them out. They all looked much the same. Cut from whitestone, although there was a shift in the intricacies about two-thirds upwards. Simple and clean became decorative, as if funds had suddenly appeared to do away with sheer necessity and allow room for beauty.

Perhaps some knew the history of the creation of the city—she certainly didn’t. Da had stories, of course. Fantastical ones about sea creatures and eggs and that was why the city was white, didn’t she know? And when they’d cracked open and returned to the waters where they belonged, the shells had been made into towers and homes, and he’d build her a tower, if she liked. Only had to ask.

To which Mama would instruct her firmlynotto ask, because she had quite enough to clean without adding so many more rooms all up in a row.

The salt air was thick, and she worried what it was doing to her hair. But if she fussed with it, it would only make it all the more untidy, so she forced her hands to keep away.

The stars were bright, and that was a good sign, wasn’t it? Helped her to ease between the towers. Orma’s directions had been minimal, and after a few twists, she almost wondered if it was a hopeless endeavour at all. The towers themselves were orderly, spaced well apart with rows of modestly sized homes. Or maybe not homes? Perhaps they were shops. Permanent fixtures that seemed wholly unnecessary when there was the market to buy one’s goods.

Most towers were lit in the upper rooms—a warm glow coming from the seams of thick shutters. But it left enough light to keep going. She wasn’t nervous. Not exactly. But it was strange to be out with no one else. She kept glancing upward to see if there was anyone flying overhead, so she might not feel so alone, but there was no one.

She turned a corner, peering awkwardly between her two directions, and felt an immediate sense of relief when shesaw the tower with its open doors, warm light spilling out in welcome.

There were garlands about the doors. Moonstones studded throughout so it twinkled pleasantly. There was a man stationed just outside, leaning against the stoop in almost bored fashion, although he straightened quickly at her approach.

She smiled at him gently, uncertain why he was not inside amongst the rest of them, and made to enter. Perhaps he needed some night air. Perhaps it was full near to bursting with prospects. Perhaps...

“Name and house?” he asked, his tone polite, if not entirely friendly.

Almost as if he had asked much the same for the whole of the evening and had tired of it already.

Firen took a step back. She’d not made it through the threshold, not when he’d moved to block the entrance.

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