Page 6 of Of Flames and Fallacies

As I turn toward the voice, I catch her wicked, angry stare. Cole’s younger sister: Vivian. Like her five younger sisters, her long raven hair shadows her pale skin. Cole was a stark comparison with his tousle of flame-red hair and soft hazel eyes. The girls look like their father. And I wish I could have met the woman Cole resembled.

His mother died during childbirth with their youngest sister, Rosetta. And since then, their father spent most of his time working to provide financially for his children. Cole naturally assumed the role of guardian and protector of all his younger sisters.

“Viv—” I blurt. Somewhat relieved to see her, and anxious to ask how Cole is.

“He went to see you before he left, you know. And you couldn’t even bother to answer the door.” Her voice is laced with an extra layer of venom.

She had never been a fan of me. Cole always assured me she was naturally standoffish. But I always suspected it was because she thought I would take Cole away from them. And then they would have no one.

The realization dawns on me, my mouth falling open. The only day she could be referring to was the one where I fell asleep by the river for nearly half the day. I wouldn’t have ignored a knock at the door, especially if I knew it was Cole. Not when part of me still yearned for any opportunity to see him again.

I reach out to her with a hand. “I...I had no idea, Vivian—”

“You’re a bitch, Kat. He loved you,” she snaps, recoiling from my grasp. “And one day, he’ll find some pretty girl in Blackfell and forget all about you.” She swivels away from me to storm back into the crowd.

My shoulders sag as I watch her fade into the crowd. Part of me is tempted to follow her, and to explain it was all a mistake. But the other part of me knows it’s no use.

Someone else bumps into me, and I reflexively clutch my satchel. The movement reminds me of my objective.

Walking down the main street, I pass by the battered awning where I met Cole ten years ago. The merchant there had been the go-to for selling honey. That fateful day was my mother’s birthday, and she had been sick with a nasty cough. While she told me very little of medicines growing up, I remembered her mentioning honey coated sore throats. But the merchant declined my offer of a freshly caught fish for a bottle of honey. It wasn’t until Cole offered to trade me a fire poker for my fish that the merchant changed his mind.

“What the hell am I supposed to do with this?” I had asked, feeling awfully skeptical of Cole’s intentions.

To think Cole would try to lead someone astray was now laughable.

He had smiled. Slowly, until it was wide, warm, and welcoming. “Well, some of the nobles use it to stoke their fireplaces. But I say it doubles as a weapon. Or if you needed a toothpick for your horse, I guess that’d work too.”

I didn’t need any of those three options. Surprisingly, though, the merchant did. That day I walked home with honey, Cole left with my fish, and the merchant got a brand new fire poker.

It wasn’t until years later Cole admitted the fire poker was valued well over the fish and honey combined. Could have fooled me.

I cut away from the main street and down an alley. The same locked door I pounded on yesterday opens with ease. Ducking my head, I slink through Willard’s arched doorway.

I’ve been coming to Willard for years after Cole introduced us. While some pin him as a little crazy with radical practices and beliefs—I find him endearing. He’s become as familiar to me as if I knew him my entire life. Willard is kind and fair, even when others aren’t. Maybe it’s because I’m one of a few who actually listens when he goes off on his rambles.

“Willard?” I call as I lower my hood.

Candles of different shapes and sizes scattered across the room illuminate the cozy shop. An old withered chair seats half-haphazardly stacked books, and on the ground next to it is a bucket collecting drips of water from the ceiling. A collection of odd-shaped bottles line multiple shelves layered on the stone walls. Some glasses are half-full, and others have only drops left. I avert my eyes from the jars with animal parts floating in them. A mixed scent of must and smoke hangs in the air.

“Willard?” I call out once more. I pause after taking a few steps into the room, not wanting to venture further if he isn’t here.

“Comin’, comin’!” a call comes from the corner of the room. Willard backs out of the curtained room he calls his study. When he twists to face me, he greets me with a lopsided grin. His eyessoft within the deep wrinkles etching his face. His shoulders curve more than his usual posture, arms full of books. Before I can scold him, his knees buckle from the weight.

I jolt forward, catching him before he can fall face first. A few books clatter to the ground.

I gather the books, piling them onto a table with a frown. “Willard, didn’t I tell you not to carry this many on your own?”

Willard turns a grateful smile toward me. “Ahh, Katerina! I haven’t seen you in a week. I was startin’ to worry about you.”

“I dropped by yesterday, but your door was locked. Did you not hear the Carnyx?”

“Ahh, ahh. Yes.” He uses a pinky finger to swipe the innards of his ear. “Sorry, I mustn’t have heard you knockin’.”

If it were anyone else I might have been frustrated. I could have died. But I believe him—the years haven’t been kind to his hearing. And if he did hear me, he wouldn’t have hesitated to let me in.

I pat his shoulder forgivingly. “Look, I came by yesterday because the fish have either been getting smarter or something else has been catching them. I wanted to ask if there was any way I could get some medication now, even if it’s only a few days’ worth.”

“Katerina, I can’t—”

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