Page 65 of Fate of Echoes and Embers
“Gyorians have little respect for Thalassari sailors who are unable to navigate these cliffs using magic alone.”
Issa had changed, re-braided her hair, and looked every bit like the human warrior I had first met. I’d wanted to kiss her all morn, but it wasn’t until the ship was docked and I gathered my belongings that I gave into the urge. Emerging from below deck, she was waiting for me, leather satchel in hand, staring at the harbor. It was quite a sight, I would admit. As elsewhere in Gyoria, many were dressed in deep greens and browns, often embroidered with patterns of vines and stone. Buildings with intricate stone carvings that told stories of past battles and legendary warriors surrounded us. The scent of earth and damp stone filled the air, mingling with the occasional waft of roasted meats and spiced ale from nearby taverns.
“We’re no longer in Aetheria, aye?”
She spun around at the sound of my voice.
“I’ve only been along the human Gyorian border, in the midlands. This is… incredible. But scary too.”
I reached out and took Issa’s satchel. “You are safe with me.” Leaning forward, I was pleased Issa did not rebuff my kiss. Each time she allowed me close, it felt as if I’d been given a gift. One I had no intention of wasting. Her lips were soft and welcoming, like coming home after a long journey.
“I would say this is unusual for you Marek, but…”
Groaning inwardly at the words, if not the voice, I broke the kiss and stood back from Issa. Not surprising, she gave me a look of disappointment. Encouraged that she cared, but cursing the interruption, I introduced the two.
“Ilyas, meet Lady Isolde of Hawthorne Manor. Issa, this is Ilyas Rho.”
With a fist over his heart in greeting, Ilyas was clearly surprised. Admittedly, Issa was not typical of the women who could be found in this port, or any like it. Even for a human.
“A noblewoman,” he said as Issa greeted him in kind, a sign of respect in Gyoria.
“You evidently received my message?” I asked, picking up my satchel and carrying both off the ship as Issa followed. The dockworkers had secured the gangplank we walked across, and not surprisingly, we were eyed with suspicion. It had been some time since I’d visited this port, and though a network existed for me here, it was less used than most others.
I preferred to avoid Gyoria whenever possible, as most Elydorians had begun to do these past years.
“I did. And have alerted Adren to your arrival.”
I watched as Issa look upward in awe at the massive fortress built partially into the mountain.
“The Warden’s Hold,” Ilyas told her. “Local leaders and their families live there.”
“Wardens,” she murmured. “They enforce Gyorian law.”
“And oversee trade here.” His eyes narrowed on her. Though I trusted Ilyas with my life, having saved his once, he was Gyorian. And always had an ulterior motive.
“What is that?” she asked, indicating the market’s entrance to our right.
“The Veiled Market,” Ilyas responded.
With his classic Gyorian traits, dark hair and deep-green eyes, he was unusual in this clan for the approachable warmth in his gaze. Smaller than most Gyorians, he was wily and strong, but not overly intimidating, with exception of the battle scars etched along his arms.
“It continues underground. Rare minerals, magical stones, and earth-infused weapons, among other things, are traded there. Marek can take you but I’d not venture into the marketplace alone. It would not be entirely safe for a human.”
Issa’s grimace was warranted.
“Don’t take offense,” I said. “The Veiled Market isn’t a safe place for any Elydorian not accustomed to its more… unusual dealings.”
Issa opened her mouth but I stopped her, knowing every word we spoke was being overheard. Gyorian smugglers were notorious for their ability to blend with a crowd while gathering information. “I will explain later.”
Gyorians were not normally a talkative bunch, but Ilyas was an exception. Born into a noble family, he was less war-mongering than his parents and thus an outcast to them. Preferring to operate on the fringes of society, he had lived more than two hundred years learning, over time, to navigate the tricky business of being a friend to all despite the growing anti-human, and Aetherian, sentiment.
As we walked, he explained the origins of the port to Issa, who seemed equally enthralled and a bit in awe of the town built into a mountainside. When she stopped to inspect a patch of flowers growing from the side of the cliff, with a wave of his hand, Ilyas doubled the number of flowers, an easy trick for a Gyorian, but one Issa seemed to enjoy.
“Here we are,” he announced as our unusual group that had garnered more than a few sets of stares arrived at our temporary new resting place. If not for Issa, I’d have remained on the ship, but she deserved a real meal, bath, and a bed.
“Virdelan’s Rest,” she read on the wooden sign hanging from the inn nestled into the side of the cliff overlooking the sea below. “A strange name.”
Made from dark stone, with heavy, wooden doors and narrow windows that let in little light, it was set apart from the port town, as private as we could get in Grimharbor.
