Page 17 of To No End

I’d been told they were imbued with blood magic, but I didn’t recall ever knowingly granting my blood for my medallion. But the blood magic rumor often kept people afraid of attempting to imposter anyone. This is why they were more commonly referred to as “blood” medallions.

The male across the table almost got up to bow, but instead dipped his head low in respect. I would never get used to that. It seemed ridiculously formal. Only the Royals expected everyone to bow.

“I’m sorry for even questioning, my lady, but you know I have to be certain. I can’t have a reputation for dealing in stolen goods.”

“I understand,” I replied and pocketed my medallion.

The dealer began to gently pick up each piece, inspecting it from every angle in the candlelight.

After taking his time, he said emphatically, “Do you wish to sell immediately or consign and wait till I can find buyers? The latter would bring you more coin but will take time.”

I appreciated his guidance, but time wasn’t something I had. “I need coin, today.”

A small hint of concern flashed across his face. After all, what was a young High Fae lady doing disposing of this much jewelry?

“I can give you five hundred Lorcs for all of it today, but it’s worth double or more if you consign.”

I was shocked at how much he was offering in exchange, and even more shocked by its worth should I choose to consign. Gods, we were spoiled, I thought to myself. Five hundred Lorcs would be more than enough to make a huge impact on the people of the town who needed it most.

It pained me to know I was letting go of it for less than half its worth, but I reasoned with myself that it was mine to do with as I wished, and I refused to let it collect dust in my absence or be added to the heaping pile of jewels already in the Blackthorn household.

I reached my hand out across the table, “It’s a deal!”

He placed his soft wrinkled hand atop mine, sealing the arrangement. He must be very old; hundreds of years, to have any signs of crinkles on his skin. The Fae aged very slowly, and it made me wonder just how many jewels, trinkets, and treasures had crossed his desk over those years.

As our hands parted, he introduced himself, “Wendell’s the name. It’s a pleasure exchanging with you.”

I knew he was waiting for me to offer up my name, but when the long silence continued and I looked away, I think he understood I wasn’t going to share. He had already seen my house emblem on the medallion, and that was risk enough. This entire endeavor was meant to remain a secret.

Wendell disappeared behind the counter to gather my payment from his safe. He graciously counted each Lorc in front of me in small piles to show that I was not being cheated. I appreciated his professionalism and scooped all of the coins into the bag that I had carried the jewels in.

“Please be careful with that coin, my lady, someone might do very bad things to take it.”

He looked at me with the warmth of a father, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he had children, or perhaps grandchildren. While I appreciated his sentiment, I knew that by the end of the day, there weren’t going to be any Lorcs left to steal, and the thought of what was next brought a smile to my face as I quickly exited his establishment.

Before shutting the door, I gave him a tiny smile and said, “Thanks, Wendell, it was nice knowing you.”

When I re-entered the bustling streets of town, the scene had shifted as shops and food carts began to prepare for the early lunch hour. Smoke from the chimneys billowed across the sky, and for a brief minute you could ignore the stench of the streets and instead be enveloped with the scent of freshly cooked meats and savory stews on the open fire. A burning campfire has always been a soothing smell that engulfed me in nostalgia.

As I slowly meandered along the road, I thought back to the times my sister and I would make a firepit in the garden and curl up with a book while we waited for the sun to set. My mother had no doubt lectured my father incessantly that we were going to accidentally burn her rose garden to ash. My father never entertained her exaggerations, in favor of letting us have these small moments. We were daughters of a High household, it’s not like we were living the life of a wild huntress.

My father encouraged us to gather our own wood and taught us how to make a kindling without magic. Just like our professors at the academy, he lectured us regularly on needing to have our own skill sets based on knowledge and practice, not magic.

Now with the weight of so many Lorcs weighing down my cloak, I reminded myself to stay focused and seek out the various alleyways that would lead to the backhouses and residential establishments that encircled the town center.

Passing through one such alleyway, I encountered a young female. Her clothes were tattered and her hair was in a disheveled bun. She was wringing out wet clothes and preparing to take them to a clothesline. It was pretty obvious she was likely the servant of one of the nearby residents who could afford staff.

I didn’t know exactly how to approach someone without giving them cause for alarm. Especially since I was very clean and neatly dressed, despite my attempts to blend in. My skinwas clear of dirt and soot, my clothes pristine and pressed and looking freshly dyed.

I quietly greeted her with a “Hello,” and she briefly glanced up at me. Then she looked side to side down both directions of the alley to make sure I was actually addressing her and not someone else.

When I paused in front of her, I noticed what terrible condition her shoes were in. I had never really done anything like this, and I couldn’t help the well of sadness building within me or the tight lump in my throat at just seeing the complete and utter inequity just a few miles from my home.

My home stood like an untouched fortress in the solitude of a beautiful forest, sprawling with lush green. Such a contrast to this place, shielded from the hardship and decay of lands piecing themselves back together after years of being war-torn. A mere matter of chance was all it was. The difference between me and her. That she was born into this life, and I was born into mine.

I prodded her with more questions, trying not to be overly intrusive. “Do you work nearby?”

She nervously answered, “Yes, I work—I mean, we, my family and I, we work for a nearby household...”

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