Page 62 of A City of Flames

I lift my gaze to the mirror, lightly touching the violet crystal pins as they shine on each side of my hair, pulling it back into a half updo. Waves plunge down, resting by my waist as I inhale at how she’s made my hair go from a matted mess to... well, delicate.

I turn to her, almost gaping. “It’s yours I—”

She lifts her palm. “Keep it. I can always find myself a new favorite hairpiece—trust me,” come the words when I frown skeptically.

Recognizing Freya’s constant habit of changing her likes and dislikes as well as her hobbies, I mouth the words, thank you, and smile as I stand.

“Nara?”

I turn with a hum as Freya’s gaze focuses on the window, the golden sunset caressing her dark bronze skin like glistening jewels.

“Do you think the sun ever wants to stay up there in one place?” She asks, taking in steady breaths. “Or do you think every time it scorches its heat down on us, it’s saying how badly it yearns to reach the moon?”

I’ve never thought of it that way. “Are you saying that for the sake of Solaris and Crello or because of you?”

She lifts a shoulder. “Maybe both. I’ve always loved the history behind our religion. Sometimes I pray to both Solaris and Crello over my future and what it holds.” She draws in her lower lip. “If I have a purpose or not.”

A long moment passes as she never takes her eyes off the window. It’s something I consider that I used to do when I was young, wishing for something greater to come for my brothers and me.

“You don’t need to try out every hobby to find your purpose,” I speak, making her snap her gaze to me. “Sometimes it lies within oneself and in parts of our minds where we’ve not dared search before.”

Freya doesn’t smile, doesn’t respond, doesn’t move. But her hazel eyes glisten with appreciation before returning to look outside the window.

I falter on her part, and then I leave the room with my words echoing inside my head as I walk down the hallways towards the stairs. I wonder if I’ve found my purpose. If whether being a venator is that purpose. It’s been my dream for so long, yet things are so different than what I thought they’d be.

“Lorcan,” I say, breathing a smile as I take the last step of stairs and clutch onto the banister. He stops talking to another venator, dismissing him as he strolls over. His eyes drift over my hair, the crystals, and then he smiles.

“Permission to compliment, Miss Ambrose?”

“I can’t promise I won’t roll my eyes.”

He chuckles, holding out his palm. I hesitate before puffing a breath and taking hold of the scars and his calloused touch.

“Then I’ll take my chances,” he says as he leans in and whispers, “you’re exquisite, Nara.”

Swallowing the wild warmth of his words, I do manage to roll my eyes, but the smile making its way onto my lips betrays me once he leads me out of the barracks.

* * *

Never in my life have I seen a feast so grand as what was layered upon the long table. If I’d felt discomfort entering the palace as it beamed with gold and white marble décor, then I most definitely am on edge now.

Lorcan’s demeanor had changed almost in a snap of a branch once we’d entered the dining hall, and the queen and general took me in silently. The queen politely showed me to a chair of delicate oak. Then for a half-hour, it was silent, wordless, no form of communication with one another.

“Are you not hungry, Naralía?” The queen finally asks, sitting at the far end in an oversized red velvet chair. No paintings or anything to accompany the vast room or any of the hallways I’d gone down, only mirrors and filigree ceilings.

I run my hands over my knees a little too vigorously as I stare at the queen sipping on her wine. The fine goblet, gold just like her dress, just like the pearls in her gown, and just like—the pendant.

Inhaling at how impossible it is to get it, I answer with, “I am always hungry, your majesty.” And bow my head, ignoring Lorcan and the general’s eyes on me from across the table.

She laughs, her obsidian curls bouncing with the rhythm of her voice. “Then eat. No need to be afraid of us.”

Afraid, no, wondering how to steal from you, yes.

I paste on a weak smile, turning to the food in front of me as I begin helping myself to all sorts of meat, bread, platters of cheese, and tarts. Without much thought, I pick up my fork and eat, ravaging each bite.

“Solaris,” The general mutters. “Child, if you carry on eating like that, you’ll choke. Did you never learn table manners?”

I gulp a piece of chicken down and slowly look up at the general’s face twisting with aversion. Setting my fork on the side, I say, “No, I did not, but I’m sure I’d learn quicker than you have with how to be a father to Freya.”

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