Orion was thankful for the relentless bustle of the afternoon market. The rush of bellowing vendors, shrieking children, and haggling customers welcomed him as he wove between the patrons to keep up with Laurel. Every now and then, the woman would turn to beckon him onwards, but for the most part, she kept moving deeper into the whirl of scattered carts and colourful wares.
He swerved to avoid a particularly active child, smiling as her mother offered him an apologetic smile, and quickly found himself drawn to a pretty stall adorned with yellow and blue flowers. Orion shifted closer, eyeing the last basket of red berries. Beside it, a green, melon-like fruit swayed carefully on its perch, and he was struck by the urge to go over and examine it. Reuna had once enjoyed making jam, and even now he could vividly remember her gentle chastisement when he'd stuck his fingers in the jars to taste the sweet confections.
"You seem rather curious, child; perhaps I can help you."
Orion jumped and spun around to see a stout, grey-eyed woman standing behind him, and before he could say a word, she strode over and held the melon up before his eyes.
"Six copper coins is all I ask for, and I can assure you that my family's produce is like no other."
Orion blanched. "I'm afraid there may have been a misunderstanding; you see, I'm in no position to purchase anything right now. The fruit caught my eye, and—"
"Misunderstanding? No, you looked hungry." The woman chuckled, then paused and followed his gaze. "Ah, perhaps it's not the melon that interests you. "I can sell you the berries for four coppers."
"I really wish I could, but you see..." Orion trailed off, sheepishly scratching his head, before looking around for Laurel. Then cold gripped him when he realised he could not make out her blond head anywhere. He spun around, his breath catching in his throat as he strained to see over the heads of others. All around him, heads of brown, black, and floral headbands moved smoothly like a river, but none matched the elf he was seeking.
He blinked, focusing on the sinking thud of his stomach. Shouting might be effective, but over the rumble of voices, he would have to strain to be heard. His hands balled up, fingers digging into his palms, as he contemplated Romril's many warnings not to attract attention to himself. If worst comes to worst, Orion could return to the inn and face a bitter scolding.
Orion turned, offering the old woman a short apology, and hoped that she would accept that his so-called mother had not trusted him with the money to purchase anything. To his relief, she only chortled and patted him on the arm.
"In that case, you tell your mother that her son already has more sense than mine. I could barely trust them to leave home on their own!"
Orion offered a half-hearted laugh before waving goodbye and plunging into the depths of the crowd. Buildings loomed before him as he weaved his way back towards the edges of the town square, but before he could set foot on the street leading back to the Drunken Dragon, he froze and looked back.
It struck him. Laurel had no idea where he was, and even if he were to return to the inn, there was no telling how long she might look for him. A dull pinch crawled through his mind, and Niamh's sharp voice rushed in to fill the void.
"Time cannot be regained, and because of your actions, this man has lost the good part of his evening waiting for a selfish little boy who has no consideration for others."
Orion flushed at the memory. He had tried to tell his friend's father that he had been held up helping the miller's wife, and yet, somehow, the message had never been delivered. Thomas had refused to look him in the eye. And when he confronted the boy later on, Thomas claimed that he'd forgotten to tell his father that Orion would need help returning home an entire hour later than had been previously agreed upon. That was the last time Niamh let him out of her sight.
Orion sighed and scanned the gradually thinning crowd. It was strange; the numbers were shrinking, yet the sharp sounds of excited chatter seemed to grow by the minute. He swivelled on his toes, following the whispers until his eyes settled on a figure just beyond the other side of the fountain. He squinted, but the low sun glancing off the pale stones made it impossible to make out just who was causing the commotion. Curiosity gripped his mind, and hoping that Laurel might have a similar idea, Orion found himself slowly making his way over.
He tried to linger by the edge, but the people's excitement soon pushed him deep into the growing crowd. Jostled like a fish on a ship, Orion stepped hard on someone's foot, and a sharp retort flew past his ear. He turned to apologise, but the man was already gone. Laughter danced past his ears, and try as he might, Orion could not see exactly who the people were fawning over. And all tiptoeing provided him with was a mop of dark hair, neatly combed to the side.
Laurel's name died within the shouts, and seeing that she had yet to appear, Orion pushed further around the growing circle. With each shove, people shot him withering glances, but Orion swallowed his growing shame and focused on finding his elven keeper.
As he moved, Orion eyed the two men sitting atop dark horses. The animals snorted in the warm afternoon air, seemingly undisturbed by the clamour or the sun's glint off their masters' armor. Orion narrowed his eyes. The presence of two guards might not bode well in terms of staying undercover, but given that he didn't intend to start trouble, perhaps all would be well. But as the people closed in, desperation started to claw its way up Orion's throat. He stopped to cough, his eyes watering at the sour smell of sweat and iron. Then a shadow of a touch danced across his wrist, and when he spun around, a set of mottled green eyes leered back at him. The boy, no older than he was, stared at Orion with his lips curled in contempt. One quick glance down, and cold dread followed by relief flooded Orion's head.
It seemed the Dilid queen's bracelet had remembered how to bite.
Blood seeped slowly from the young man's closed fist, and when he opened his mouth to demand that Orion hand it over, he only shook his head. Orion glanced at the silver ring. Its eyes gleamed cruelly in the dying sun, and Orion felt a bitter laugh bubble up within his chest. If only it could be so easy to lose the cursed trinket.
The young man lunged, his hand flashing before Orion's vision once again, and Orion instantly drew his arm closer to his chest. But it seemed that the bracelet had other ideas as the silver snake unfurled and sank its teeth deep into the young man's palm. He stumbled back, eyes wide, and spat at Orion's face. Orion recoiled and jumped back, only to trip over the uneven cobbles and fall backwards towards the ground.
The crowd parted with an irritated gasp. He stumbled, crashed into someone, and found himself shoved out into the open. The orange sky, filtered with dying purple, rose to meet his vision as he scrambled to his feet. A glint of silver flashed through the air, then a chill settled on his wrist once again.
Orion had no time to catch his breath before a sharp voice broke through the disapproving titters. He turned, his face burning under the people's glares and murmurs, only to find himself facing a golden-eyed young man. Orion blanched and moved to help him up, only to have a gleaming blade thrust in his face by a man who seemed to have learned how to wear a scowl permanently.
"How dare you make an attempt to harm the prince?"
Orion blinked. "I beg your pardon. The prince?"
He slowly turned to look at the raven-haired man, who only smirked and brushed the dust off his crimson jacket. A hundred words crashed through Orion's head; none of them came in a logical order. Romril's threats cascaded through his thoughts, and a strange shame burned at the back of his mind. Like an idiot, he had found the worst way to stay unnoticed.
Panicking, he looked at the guard and, with a nervous chuckle, pushed the sword away from his chest.
"Please, sir, I believe there has been a misunderstanding because I merely tripped after trying to keep my bracelet from being stolen."
The man's mouth pinched, his sword wavering in the air, and Orion braced for the tongue-lashing that was sure to come. Then the so-called prince snorted and motioned for the man to stand down.
"In other words, you are nothing but an idiot."
Orion spluttered. "An idiot? I didn't ask to be pickpocketed."
The prince frowned, pinched his lips in what seemed like mock understanding, and walked towards Orion. "Then why, may I ask, did you let yourself get pushed around by a common thief?"
"He spat in my face. I had expected a knife, or maybe a punch. Instead, I got a gob of mucus fired at my nose."
Orion folded his arms, choosing to ignore the white knuckled grip that the prince's guards had on their blades. But strangely, his behaviour only seemed to intrigue the royal piglet.
"Is that so?"
"Indeed, and if you don't believe that it's unsettling, I can demonstrate."
The prince's mouth fell open, but all smugness vanished from Orion's heart when a small hand clamped down on his forearm and started to pull him away.
It seemed he no longer needed to search for Laurel. But one look at the barely contained panic in her eyes, and Orion felt a pinch of shame. She pushed him behind her, her fingers tightening as she laughed and patted him on the shoulder.
"Your highness," her voice rose to a gentle squeak, "please forgive my nephew! He has a habit of saying things without thinking them through."
The prince laughed. "So he really is an idiot then."
At that, Laurel paused. "My nephew is foolish, but our family has attributed it to his young age and upbringing. So I beg you, please don't take offence."
The prince narrowed his eyes, then shrugged and waved them away. "There's no need to worry; I've decided to take it all in good spirit."
Orion mumbled a quick "thank you" before Laurel grabbed his arm and ushered him away from the crowd. When they reached the dark embrace of a shadowed alley, she whirled around with a barely contained hiss.
"Tell me why you offered to spit in the prince's face? Was it teenage stupidity or sheer brazenness?"
Orion said nothing, only gently brushing her hand aside before moving in the direction of the inn. Silence trailed after his footsteps, then finally, the sound of Laurel's breathing caught up with him. They walked in silence, listening to the sounds of slamming shutters and rattling plates. As they wandered past a particularly pretty home decorated with wooden flowers, Orion caught a whiff of meat stew. His stomach rumbled, and Orion remembered that his last meal had been the stale bread Romril had offered him in the morning.
They reached the Drunken Dragon just as the sun's final rays slipped below the horizon. A slight breeze had picked up, so Orion was glad to find himself enveloped by the warm bustle of the inn and its patrons. He let the door slam behind him, and the innkeeper glanced up from behind her counter with a stern look in her eyes. He mouthed a short apology and quickly fell in behind Laurel's soft bootsteps as she approached the woman.
"I apologise for the inconvenience, but would it be possible to take our meals upstairs? My husband is feeling poorly, and my nephew's injuries are troubling him once again."
The innkeeper glanced at Orion, and he grinned, held up his arm, and said, "The dressings haven't been changed in a while, and it's beginning to feel like I have ants crawling around inside it."
Laurel's head whipped around, but the innkeeper laughed and nodded at the bandages. "It's good to see that your spirits are a little lighter today. So long as you return my bowls in the morning, I don't see an issue with taking the food up to your room."
She motioned for them to wait and returned moments later with three steaming bowls of thick soup. Orion reached out to take two, but Laurel's hand darted out to grab them, leaving him with one. She cracked a smile, thanked the innkeeper, and herded Orion up the stairs. As he carefully climbed the uneven steps, Orion found himself grateful for having been left with the singular bowl of soup. Its steam, thick with meat juice and vegetable stock, set his stomach rolling.
Once at the top, the door creaked open to reveal a spotless room with Romril pacing by the window. In the dim light, Romri's eyes seemed to glow, and Orion was suddenly struck by images of the wild cats his aunts used to feed. The elven man barely looked up when Orion set the soup down on the table next to him, and so, shrugging, he sat on the floor, tucked his legs beneath him, and took a deep drink from the bowl.
Almost instantly, Orion could feel a welcome surge of energy flow through his body. The soup, while thick, was easy to wash down, and he greatly appreciated the chunks of meat that dotted the broth. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Laurel walked over to the bed and pulled three apples, a bundle of carrots, and a leek out of her satchel.
Confused, Orion paused and eyed Romril, who snatched the carrots from the bed, lightly dusted them off, and then began eating him. Laurel caught his eye and shrugged.
"Romril doesn't like to eat meat."
Orion coughed. "That is very unexpected. But surely, carrots and apples aren't substantial enough for a meal..."
"Oh, they aren't. But I was limited to what they had at the market, and your stunt with the prince meant I had to come running."
Silence enveloped the room as Orion grimaced. His response might have been inappropriate, but Niamh had always told him that when faced with those gifted with barbed tongues, there was nothing wrong with standing your ground. He met Romril's eyes; the look of burning curiosity thundered in his stomach, and Orion found it hard to silence his nerves.
They ate in silence until Romril straightened up and cleared his throat. "I don't see any point in us wasting time dawdling, and you never properly filled us in on everything that you saw in the castle, did you?"
Orion flushed, then shook his head. "There's nothing more to tell. I saw three servants and followed them down the halls in hopes of finding a way into the Treasury. They saw me, and I hid behind a painting until the coast was clear."
He trailed off before jolting up with a grin. "I did manage to catch sight of this king you detest so much. And there was this strange blue-haired woman with him, but I don't think that was his wife. She seemed far too removed from the comings and goings of the people around her."
Orion looked up, half hoping for praise. Instead, Laurel choked on her soup while Romril's face shrivelled into another deep frown.
"Did I say something wrong again?" Orion looked between the two elves before him as Laurel slowly shook her head.
"Are you certain that you saw a blue-haired woman?" Romril's voice had lost some of its rough edge as he finished off the apples and set a single core onto the ground.
Orion blinked as another slow chill settled on the tips of his fingers. "Yes, I know I saw her, and besides, she spoke to me."
"She spoke to you? Do you have any idea how this could jeopardise—" Romril let out a short squawk, only to be quickly shushed by Laurel's hand.
The woman leaned forward, her head bent in contemplation, before she looked up with a sharp nod.
"It should be expected that we'd run into old friends while fulfilling this task. But no matter, it seems that even a lizard spell might not protect you now. One mistake, you turn back into a human, and if anyone sees those violet eyes of yours..."
"What's wrong with my eyes? Or eye, now that your queen has managed to take my left one out of commission." Orion shot back, bile rising at the back of his throat as he struggled to keep his heart from hammering out of his chest. He was no fool to expect the task to be simple, and yet, with all these setbacks, Orion found himself wishing that the Dilid had picked someone else to do their bidding.
"It's nothing!" Laurel's voice wavered into a thin giggle as she began to frantically shift through the contents of her bag. Small vials, each filled with a different coloured liquid, tumbled across her palms. She held a blue one up to the light before Orion reached across without thinking and pushed her hand down.
"You look like a stranded goat. Something is wrong, and I cannot properly complete this harebrained task if I don't know how your queen might get me killed."
Romril stiffened, and Orion braced for the incoming scolding that was sure to come. But it never did. Instead, Romril leaned his back against the wall and folded his arms over his chest.
"Your king fears wild magic because of the goddess whose name I am unable to utter and—"
"Romril!" Laurel's voice was sharp against the stillness of the room, and Orion was struck by her sudden reluctance to share new information. He gazed at her for two beats before turning to look at Romril once again. The man paused, ignored Laurel's stares, and continued.
"It is said that this wayward goddess gifted her followers with the fragments of her power, and in doing so, she had to transform the very thing that allowed them to sense the magic around them, and what better thing than the eyes?"
The words washed over Orion, and a dull thud replaced the frantic beating of his heart. He frowned, then stammered, "Not once in my life have I ever prayed to one of the gods; I don't understand how..."
Romril shrugged, and for once, Orion detected a hint of pity in his gaze.
Laurel spoke. "That does not matter. If the king catches sight of your eyes, he will not hear you out. And as for that woman, I would advise you to stay away from her and that witch, whom the king considers his queen."
Revulsion welled within Orion's stomach as he counted off the number of people who either wanted him dead or alone. His soup had gone cold, and his appetite had diminished just like the hope he no longer knew how to hold close to his heart.
He looked up, his voice cracking beneath the wildly shifting waves of anger and fear that boiled freely in the pits of his stomach. And finally, he found the strength to ask the question that had been haunting him.
"Why did your queen choose me?"
Moments passed, but neither of the elves gave him an answer, and Orion let the silence stretch on until he could no longer stand the empty pounding in his chest. He sprang to his feet, spilling the soup, and took a shuddering breath that pushed past the looming stillness in their tiny room. It clogged his lungs, weighing down on his consciousness just like those long nights back at home. Except there was no love between him and the elves, and he would have no silent apologies or warm milk to soothe his pains.
So he turned, ignoring Laurel's cries to slow down, ripped the door open, and raced into the streets down below. Rowdy patrons, drunk from the joys of a cool spring's night, gave him little notice as he pushed past them to get to the wall overlooking one of the city's gates. And there, under the watchful eye of the mournful moon, he retched the contents of his stomach, his anxieties, and the gnawing fear that he would never see his family ever again.