Page 56 of A City of Flames

Whistles, along with venators strolling nearby signal for Lorcan to join them. As Lorcan turns his head again to us, he excuses himself along with Rydan and Link explaining how they are heading back to patrol the city.

I watch as Lorcan strides past the moving carriages and people chattering, their bright orange dresses swishing across the flooring. For the slightest second, I carry on staring; Lorcan looks over his shoulder, a subtle glance my way but gone is it when they’re all no longer in sight.

I face my brothers again, hoping they didn’t hear the sigh that’d come out under my breath, and walk up to Iker’s still pouting expression.

“What’s wrong with you?” I grin, ruffling his chestnut curls. He shakes away from me.

“He’s just annoyed that Idris gave Dimpy over to Miss Kiligra to look after,” Illias snorts, and Iker jabs his arm.

Of course, he’d be annoyed at that. Miss Kiligra would likely run away the second the rabbit hopped around her cottage. “Come on.” I jerk my head to the side. “Let me show you around the city.” Or what’s not been destroyed.

We spend the entire evening walking through the city, entering Salus district. Thankfully, the libraries were salvaged here, and Illias smiles at each narrow path I take him down where the paintings embellish the walls before setting down for food at a tavern.

Illias had subtly mentioned how Ivarron had grown keen on them visiting me. And I knew then he was hoping for some sort of news on Darius.

I’ve seen him enough times now, and each one, he’s escaped one way or another. I’ve become tired of it, hating the idea of admitting defeat because I never have over anything before.

“Gosh, I’ve missed Nara scuffing down her food like there’s no tomorrow,” Illias remarks as I finish my stew.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, laughing. “At least here I don’t have to fight Iker over the table for the last piece of bread anymore.”

Iker furrows his brows, tsking at that, and I turn to Idris on my right, expecting him to be laughing, except he’s not. He’s stayed quiet for the majority we’ve caught up.

“Where’s your carving?” He taps sturdy fingers against the wooden table, staring at my waist where my sheath strap would usually be.

“Back at the barracks. I’ve not felt the need to use it as luck,” I mumble, drawing my brows together as I shift to look at the tankard in front of me. Something like guilt ripples through me. Even if the carving is a small thing that others at my village categorized as a joke and unimportant, it’s been my source of luck for so long.

I’d stopped carrying it around since... since the night Adriel and Oran were attacked.

Idris places something in front of me, wrenching me from my thoughts.

I lean closer, grabbing what seems to be a hilt made of sleek ebony wood, but no blade is attached. “What’s this?”

“A gift.”

I throw him a look of suspicious edge. “A gift for what?”

He rolls his eyes and huffs. “A gift because I know how much you’ve needed a new dagger, and despite this one not being useful for carving, I thought it’d be a good time to upgrade to something more... venator suited.”

I jump as he presses something underneath the hilt, and two blades shoot out at both ends, barely a forearm’s length.

“There are no designs to the hilt since, knowing you, you’ll want to personalize it yourself.”

I stare, gob smacked at the sheen of the newly sharpened blades. “How much did this cost you?”

“He made it himself,” Illias says, as my eyes shoot up at him as he sips on his mead.

Instantly I return my gaze to Idris. He’s shaking his head at Illias as if he wasn’t supposed to admit that. Idris’s modesty never fails to impress me.

“You did?” I ask, my tone relatively soft. I remember Idris carving and working on weapons since the moment I’d learned to walk. He’d befriended our village blacksmith, and I’d questioned why he never took on that role instead of a woodcutter.

For him, creating weapons reminded him too much of father.

“It took a few sleepless nights to get the device working, but I got there in the end.”

That’s why he looks so fatigued.

“Idris.” I take a sharp inhale, not knowing where to start. “Thank you... for everything you’ve done for us, for me. You didn’t need to do this.”

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