Page 72 of The Ballad of a Bard

She ducked as a book flew her way a minute later, followed by a second. He was talking to himself as he dug around, creating even more of a mess.

If that was possible.

“Ahah!” He exclaimed and lifted a tin bucket that rattled and clattered. “I found some!” He jumped over a fallen tapestryand pushed the stool back up to the counter as his little legs carried him up it. He set the bucket down on the counter and spilled its contents out for her to see.

Crimson stared down at the five different necklaces with the anatomically correct heart on the end. She immediately dismissed the two closest to her, because there were no chips or dents in them. The third was a golden chain, which was incorrect. As she assessed them all, she tossed the wrong ones back into the bucket.

That left two.

Two that were almost identical.

It had to be one of them.

She picked the first one up, examining the heart on the end with an eagle eye. There were chips and cracks along the carved veins, and the silver chain was tarnished just as hers had been. But as she touched it, there was no sense of pulsating magic that seeped from it. No imaginative heartbeat to rocket into her soul or mimic her very own.

Crimson didn’t put it into the bucket but set it aside for now. There was a seed of uncertainty as she picked up the last one.

But then there was no doubt in her mind.

There was an undeniable shock that charged through her as she held the last pendant. It was a spark of life, of death, of everything between. It was the very existence of love and heartbreak, as well as the power that the Saint wielded like a mighty blade.

She immediately dropped the second one into the tin. Her eyes never left the pendant as she ran her pointer finger over the crimson heart that dangled from the rusty chain that had once been pure silver. Tarnished and ruined, just like the human muscle could be if not treated properly.

“I take it that you found what you were looking for?” The merchant questioned with a sly grin.

“Yes.” Crimson bobbed her chin.

Because she’d found Heartache’s talisman.

ThirtyOne

She made a hard bargain with the man over the necklace, and with her powers of persuasion and just the right touch on his wrist, Crimson walked away without a single coin handed over. He blushed and wrapped it up for her, insisting on tying a pretty little bow around the velvet satchel he offered her with it. She didn’t deny him, allowing his flirtatious administrations whilst her own heart beat wildly.

She’d found it.

Of course that left the issue of figuring out how to use it, how to summon her father back to Tazali. No one knew how to use it, not even the legendary writer Rapscallion Voss himself.

But this was one step in the right direction.

Crimson knew they’d still sail across the Withering Sea and travel through Valkrigge to Belledon, regardless of the talisman or not. There was no guarantee that she knew how to summon him, so facing him in person would be the better chance of calling him home.

Maybe, justmaybeif he saw his daughter again after all theseyears, he’d be willing to come back on his own. Without the threat of control looming over his head.

She exited the shop with a thankful wave to the shopkeeper, and he shouted a few compliments and farewells towards her as she stepped out into the cobblestone street. It was still mid-afternoon, with the sunset only two hours off by the placement of the sun. Crimson shielded her eyes as she looked upwards towards the hill that led to the Gold Gate. An hour back, then she could wait for West to finish his training session for the day before showing him the trinket.

She began her trek upwards, sinking her heeled boots into the waiting mud that made up the glue to hold the stones together. She avoided running into the patrons that made up the Silver Gate, tugging her hood up to avoid the sunburn that would inevitably fall on her cheeks. The downside to being pale, she supposed.

“Crimson?” A sleek voice called to her.

She spun around to see who summoned her, only to immediately feel a jab of panic enter her system.

Prince Altivar was casually strolling through the streets with an orange chiffon scarf loosely wrapped around his braided head. He wore a bronze powder high on his cheek bones, along his eyes, under his brows and a matching belt slung low around his waist. There were emerald pants that were opened on the sides, tucked into his ankles and held together by copper strands of a folded cord. The wind billowed through the slits, adding a puffed effect to them but he seemed unbothered by the amount of golden skin that was on display. His shirt was low cut, and could barely be called a shirt with how much she could see.

“Prince.” She dipped her chin in respect and he lifted it up with a firm placement of inviting fingers.

“Don’t bother with things such as that. We’re friends, yes?”A twinkle appeared in his amber eyes that suggested she say yes.

No,Crimson thought.

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