Page 71 of Spark of the Everflame

He grinned. “Don’t do anything too risky. If you can’t get information safely, just get out alive, understood?”

I nodded.

“I’ll be right outside the whole time. If anything goes wrong, yell as loud as you can.”

I started to remind him that, for the Descended, killing two mortals was hardly more of an effort than killing one, but I thought of the murders that brought me here, and my lips snapped shut.

I’d chosen this. I couldn’t show myself as a coward at the very first trial.

I inhaled deep and turned back to the stone-paved road that wove through the residential district. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t this.”

Henri laughed, tucking me into his side. “They certainly arecolorful.”

That was putting it mildly.

What the Descended lacked in physical individuality, they made up for in their extraordinary clothing. The main thoroughfare was like strolling through the finest textile market after nibbling on the wrong kind of mushroom. Every color competed with the next to be the most flamboyant, some so bright I nearly shielded my eyes. There were fabrics I’d never seen before—some shimmering and liquid-smooth, others stiff and coated with glassy beads or jewels. Some seemed almost alive—a skirt cascading like a misty waterfall or bouffant sleeves curling and crackling with pale blue flame.

While the Descended in the palace dressed as if they expected a ball to arise at a moment’s notice, here on the street, it was a sartorial free-for-all. There were men in ruffled robes and skin-tight suits, women in barely there lace and head-to-toe feathers.

But what truly stopped me in my tracks was the casual use of their magic. In the handful of times I’d seen it, it was always as a weapon—something designed to do harm.

I’d never seen—never evenimagined—that I’d witness a woman whose corset glowed with spun twilight or a man cloaked in a fog of wispy darkness.

All around me, light and shadow were being crafted in unimaginable ways. Two children pranced among illuminated ribbons woven by an older companion. A woman floated past with limbs outstretched, carried on a bed of solid dusk. I nervously avoided the intense glare of a bare-chested man whose tattoos were not tattoos at all, but a living ink that seemed to shift in time with his thoughts.

The city itself was a glittering jewel of its own. The streets were spotless, unlike the dusty, trash-filled alleys I was used to. Every bit of foliage was flourishing and expertly trimmed, most dotted with fluffy-petaled flowers that perfumed the air. Magnificent estates with gold-tipped gates and bubbling fountains stretched for miles down every street, some so enormous they looked as if they could house the whole of Mortal City.

And then there was me.

I’d naively hoped my grey eyes might allow me to pass among them unnoticed. I’d even taken the time to fashion my hair into a milk-white braid that circled my crown, and I’d snagged a handful of wild berries from the woods to tint my lips. It was the closest I’d ever come to looking pretty, and for a brief moment, I’d actually been quite proud.

What I hadn’t prepared for was the scorn directed at my worn, hole-ridden boots. My rumpled clothing, irreparably stained with dirt and blood. My calloused hands and dry, chipped nails.

My pride insisted I hold my head high, but beneath my armor of feigned confidence, I cringed, feeling every bit the imposter I was.

“I should have at least dressed the part,” I said quietly.

“Don’t let their nasty looks fool you. They like it better when we mortals look dirty.” Henri’s expression was jovial, but it was cut with an edge of bitterness. “They get suspicious if we look too clean or put-together. Makes them think we don’t know our place.”

“Have you ever been in one of their homes?” I asked.

“They never let me go further than the front door. You have an advantage—they’ll trust you more, as a girl and as a healer.”

I winced.As a healer...

I hadn’t entirely come to terms with my decision to break my sacred vows. I’d tossed and turned all night, jousting with my conscience and trying unsuccessfully to ignore the imagined scolding of my mother’s voice.

Today, I was crossing a line that could never be uncrossed. I prayed that everything I was sacrificing would be worth it.

I blew out a breath and tucked all of my hesitation into the recesses of my thoughts, an act that was becoming disturbingly frequent. “How did you know his daughter would be sick, anyway? And how did you know he would send for a healer?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “We have eyes on all the key Descended. We look out for these things. You know, just in case.”

“You watch out for their children falling ill?”

“We look for any reason they might invite a mortal into their home.”

I arched a brow. “Isn’t it strange that he called for a healer two days after I told you I was willing to help? That timing is—”

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