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Chapter 12

A Kindness Unbound

Marda’s errands, Wren decided, were less about the tasks themselves and more about forcing her and Orzen to endure each other’s company. The bright sun and the hum of pre-festival cheer only made the silence between them louder.

She tried to match the rhythm of the crowd, weaving between baskets of sun-dried fruits and heavily scented herbs, but her thoughts snagged on the nightmare, the prophecy, and the man walking behind her.

Orzen moved with a stillness that made people step aside. For someone who claimed he carried the sword for protection alone, he stalked like someone who’d never stopped expecting a fight. It didn’t help that he was scowling at the cobblestones like they’d personally wronged him.

“Are you always this pleasant?” she called over her shoulder. “Or am I the lucky one?”

“Lots on my mind.” He dragged a hand down his jaw. “Sorry. Told you—my face is just like this.”

Wren snorted. “Honestly, if you keep sulking like that, people are going to think my magic’s cursed you.” She huffed, trying to lighten the bitterness rising in her throat. “I don’t need your help in that regard.”

“That bad, huh?” His gaze flicked over the market stalls where people pretended they weren’t watching as she passed.

“Let’s just say,” she muttered, her tail flicking behind her in agitation, “there’s a reason I only come to town when I have to.”

Wren caught the quick glances, the sort that cut deeper when they pretended they’d never looked at all. One man turned his back as they passed, muttering curses under his breath. Heat prickled up her throat, half shame, half defiance.

Her teeth worried at the inside of her cheek, a quiet anchor against her desire to shout back at them. She lengthened her stride, tugging her sleeve down over her forearm in case the mark showed. Orzen quickened his steps to keep up.

“People like that don’t deserve the air they waste.” His tone was flat but edged with quiet conviction. “Plenty of things more dangerous than Spirit.”

She shot him a sidelong glance. “Guess I’m not the only one who knows what it’s like to have people staring after them.” They turned down a less populated side street, and her steps eased again. “You speak like someone who’s experienced the same thing.”

“I have,” he said simply.

The way he said it made her look over, but his expression had shuttered again. Whatever memory lived in that line wasn’t one he wanted her to see.

The shrill, eager call of children’s voices caught her ear. Ahead, in a patch of grass, two kids in grubby tunics sat cross-legged, the material worn thin at their seams. A wrinkled scrap of cloth lay between them, painted stones scattered across its surface. Beside it, on a bit of broken board, someone had scrawled in thick black coal: Luk Stonez.

It happened every festival, children doing what they could to catch the coins of passing travelers. Heaviness settled in her gut—it reminded her how little kindness the world had left for children like that, and how hopeless she felt in changing it.

A bright, piping voice broke through her thoughts. A halfling girl with a tangled braid smiled up at Orzen as they approached. “Can’t pass up these luck stones, sir!” She nodded eagerly. “Sure to make the gods smile on you.”

He slowed in front of them. Wren shook her head, smiling politely as she tried to move past, but Orzen didn’t budge.

“You can’t honestly think they’re real,” she whispered when he drew a silver coin from his pouch.

He flipped it onto the cloth with mock solemnity. “Now, I need your finest one, ma’am. I’ll know if you’re cheating me.”

The boy grinned—several gaps where teeth should’ve been—and considered the assortment before him. After a moment of careful thought, he lifted a stone the size of an egg, its surface streaked with a clumsy orange line meant to represent a flame.

“This’un, sir.”

The boy pressed it into Orzen’s palm like he was afraid the man might change his mind. He weighed it in his hand, eyes lingering on the painted swirls with a quiet gravity that didn’t seem feigned.

“You’re not seriously buying that, are you?” Wren asked.

“Could use a little luck.” His voice was calm, but his thumb brushed the stone’s surface as if it weighed more than it should.

The girl observed him closely and nudged her brother, whispering frantically, “He hates it. Get another.” The boy looked stricken, already scrambling for a replacement.

The shadow in Orzen’s face softened. “Now don’t you go trying to pawn off a lesser trinket on me.” He tucked the stone into his belt pouch. “I asked for the best.”

They beamed up at him, relieved, nodding vigorously as they slipped his coin into a threadbare pouch between them. “You won’t regret it,” the girl said proudly. “Guaranteed. But don’t drop it. Luck leaks out. No returns if you ruin it yourself.”