Page 3 of A City of Flames

“They look to be patrolling,” he states the obvious. I give him a severe look, and he sighs. “Maybe a dragon was spotted nearby. It’d make sense since many houses have boarded up their windows.”

A dragon... we haven’t seen one in our village since—since that day, nine years ago.

Whipping my head back around to look at the venators again, the one with the red armband doesn’t step down from his stare. I glower in his direction, hoping he’s the first to look away, and to my contentment, he does but a tug at the corner of his lips has me questioning what he finds so amusing.

I’m ready to go there and ask myself when Illias links his arm with mine and drags me out of a carts way. “Let’s head to Ivarron’s and get this shit over and done with.”

Right... Ivarron.

* * *

Everyone in the village knows where Ivarron lives, in the little district past the market square. But no soul will be found wandering about his street if they can help it. Though some poor unfortunate ones have no choice, living in the few thatch-roof houses flanking Ivarron’s. What a dull sight our village makes.

I sigh, gazing at the busted door, its wooden exterior—much like every place here—starting to get moldy at the sides. A rotting flesh smell rises to my nose when I enter alongside Illias. He shivers next to me as we glance around at slanted shelves filled with jars containing fangs, hairs, talons and then maps spilling across other areas of his home.

Ivarron used to be a trapper, selling creatures off to the city long before I was born. It wasn’t until he caught me trapping a goblin by the woods at the age of thirteen that he used me instead. Young and foolish, I made a deal with him for the money I’d receive after my mother’s death a year on from my father’s. It was the only way to help Idris when neither Iker nor Illias could find work.

“Faerie blood?”

I turn to Illias as he grabs a vial of iridescent red from one of the shelves. “Don’t touch anything,” I hiss at him, and he immediately drops it, raising his arms apologetically as I manage to catch it between my fingers.

I release a breath, shooting him a stern look as the wax candle flickers above us, the only source of light because Ivarron refuses to install windows. I go to place the vial back when heavily padded footsteps approach from afar.

“Naralía,” a grating voice says my full name.

I glance to my side, abruptly putting the vial away into my sheath pocket, and now face Ivarron. His fine, long mousy brown hair is pushed back, showing off one single green working eye, the other a pale glass sphere.

Revealing his crooked teeth, he says, “what a lovely surprise.” He picks off the dust from his navy threaded jacket. “Did you capture the rümen?”

“No,” I state firmly. “Trapping was bad this morning.”

He narrows his single eye and hums. “It’s a good thing I like you, Nara,” he says, moving one of the rings that adorn his withered hands around. “Because you just cost me a huge sale today. Rümens are quite popular in the city.”

“Then perhaps you can catch one yourself next time,” I tell him. “I hear they’re attracted to money-hungry swine.”

My eyes catch Illias as he tries to stifle a laugh, then at Ivarron’s anything-but-amused face. He takes a few slow steps until he stops mere inches away from me. The man is short, at least five inches shorter than me, but even with his small stature he possesses no fear or cowardliness. “Don’t forget your place with me, girl.” He grinds his teeth. “You may be my best trapper, but I still hold more power over you.” His working eye moves to Illias. “And we both know where your weaknesses lie...”

My brothers.

Illias, too, tenses at the threat and moves to make a protective shield of his body between me and Ivarron, but I stop him before he can, slamming my arm against his chest, indicating with a head shake that there’s no need for him to intervene. My brother may not seem like it, with that major loving, nurturing quality to him, but that same quality also makes him fiercely protective. Like a Mother Hen.

Ivarron breathes a laugh, eyeing Illias with disdain. “I expect you to trap something good tomorrow morning if you want your week’s salary,” he says. A grim smile shows up on his face as he looks at me again. “I hear a water pixie from the north side of Undarion has made its way through.”

Oh, how I’d wish to stab you.

I smile tightly instead. “You’ll get whatever there is to catch first thing at sunrise.” And grab Illias by the arm, not uttering another word as I turn us around. Ivarron’s harsh laugh echoes through his house before I storm out of the doors, glad to be breathing actual fresh air.

“I hate him... I really hate him,” Illias says, fuming. I couldn’t agree more, but I also can’t deny Ivarron trained me well from a young age and taught me about most critters. “Damn you, Nara, for getting yourself involved with someone dangerous.”

I huff, not saying a word, and rush him down the streets. Idris once tried to get me out of working for Ivarron. But his roughing Ivarron up hadn’t helped the situation at all. The bastard repaid by sending some of his men to find Iker outside the tavern one day. They’d simply left him barely breathing as a warning.

“Nara, are you listening to me?”

“I am, but what can I do about it now—” I pause when I spot a tall figure from afar, wearing a grey shawl that I immediately recognize. “Shit, Idris,” I mutter, looking up at Illias, who is placing the edge of his hand against his forehead and squinting from the sun.

“What does Idris—oh,” he says casually before realizing what is happening and makes a face, widening his eyes. “Oh...” He drops his voice to a low tone. “He looks pissed.”

Indeed, that is true. Idris’s usual scowl does not falter once as he excuses himself from a few villagers he was talking to and makes his way towards us. His shoulder-length chestnut hair sways with each solid stride. It’s the color all three of my brothers share, in contrast to my golden honey locks—a courtesy of my father’s genes.

---