Finally, Lucia had the answer she’d been seeking for so long. And it only made her feel emptier than she ever had before.
She had no real family. And she never would.
• • •
Kyan followed her outside. “Lucia, stop.”
“It’s funny, really.” Lucia laughed, but it sounded as humorless as it felt. A storm was brewing inside of her, one she couldn’t wait to unleash. “What was I expecting? To discover a nice, normal family, with a mother and father and siblings who would be happy to have found me again? How ridiculous.”
Kyan took her by her shoulders. “I know your frustration and disappointment very well. You need to use it to make you stronger. Use everything you feel—both the good and the bad—to give you power.”
“I’m utterly alone. In a world that I hate. I hate it so much.”
“You’re not alone, little sorceress. You have me.”
Her eyes stung, but she refused to cry. Instead, she looked up into his face. “I do?”
“Of course you do. You think you and I are so different, but we’re exactly the same. I want all the same things you do—a family, a home. A real, passionate life. But those things are always just out of reach for us. And because of that, we both harbor an uncontrollable rage that needs to be released. And when we release that rage, others join in our suffering. Do you know what that means?”
She neither nodded nor shook her head, instead keeping her gaze on him steady and resolute. “What?”
“It means we’re family.”
He said it with such certainty, such confidence, that she knew he meant it. The heavy weight that had settled on her heart lifted just a little. “You and I. Family.”
Kyan smiled. “Yes. And once we reunite with my siblings, we’ll be a fearsome sight for these flawed, lowly mortals.”
“But I’m a mortal.”
“Oh, that’s nothing but a bit of a hindrance, a small dose of fragility that we needn’t think about just yet.” He stroked her dark hair, tucking it behind her ears. “Now, I’m going to go see a witch about a wheel. You stay here and explore the market. Clear your mind. Enjoy yourself until I return.”
“My mother used to do that—go to the market to make herself feel better.” Lucia frowned. “The queen, I mean. Not my mother. The queen used to take me to Ravencrest to buy me things she thought a proper Limerian princess should wear. Dresses, slippers, jewelry. But all I wanted was books.”
Kyan smiled and nodded toward the busy market. “I’m sure there are all sort of books over there. Go. Buy whatever pleases you. And I’ll see you soon, all right?”
“All right.” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, and the unexpected gesture made her smile.
Lucia walked to the market in the center of the village, immersing herself into the crowd buzzing around hundreds of vendors selling their wares from colorfully painted stalls and tents. Anything she could have wanted—wine, vegetables, dried meats, beaded jewelry, embroidered gowns, beautiful quilts—was available to buy.
A man seated behind an easel called out to her. “Lovely young lady! Please do me the favor of allowing me to draw you. It would be my pleasure. Only five silver centimos.”
“I have only limmeas.”
“Very well. A portrait for only ten silver limmeas, then.”
“You would ask for twice the price in Limerian currency? That doesn’t make any sense. I’ve used my coins in Paelsia without problem up until now.”
The man spread his hands, as if to suggest he had no control over his prices. “Centimos are accepted everywhere in Mytica without question, but limmeas are not. That is just the way it is. But all right, how about eight silver limmeas?”
“Your work is not worth that price,” she scoffed. She continued on, leaving the foolish artist behind. What a lowly, peasant-like thing to do—bargain with customers to make a sale.
Next she passed a stall strung up with small, skinned animal carcasses hanging. The seller waved at her. “Come, sample my spiced warlag shavings on some freshly baked bread. Or perhaps some chaeva seeds, just the thing to relieve one’s dreaded monthly cramps?”
Lucia caught a whiff of the strongly spiced warlag, a common animal native to Paelsia that looked like a cross between a rabbit and a rat. Her stomach lurched.
“No, thank you.” She quickly passed the stall.
Having escaped the vendor and the overpowering warlag odor, she came to a stall adorned with scarves, all hand stitched with elaborate floral patterns. She stopped to run her hand along a pretty blue and violet one.