Dark Light

3. A Mortal in Velaris

Panels of light blinked into existence as you walked through the air, taking your time.

Every now and then, you'd look back to make sure you hadn't been followed — and to watch your little steppingstones fade away.

To get a better view of the city, you'd walked high above the trees. The houses and stores looked like they were all built out of marble, but it didn't surprise you.

The city was, after all, right next to a mountain.

You hummed to yourself as you slowly descended, thinking to yourself. When your feet touched the stone path, you realized you should've asked for shoes, but it was too late to turn back now. And even though you were a decent amount of distance from the mansion, your head still swam with whatever Azriel was going through.

Frowning, you marched forward, entering the outskirts of the city.

Children with and without wings were running around, screeching with laughter. It made you smile; even if this place wasn't real, it was, at the very least, full of good.

The city got louder as you entered some of the markets. Even though you got a few weird stares, you figured it was because of your lack of shoes. And, well — your layered outfit consisting of a nightgown and a sheer babydoll dress.

You pursed your lips as you walked past all sorts of stores, peering into some but never fully entering. But when you came across an array of carts and stalls, all bright and teeming with otherworldliness, you couldn't help but weave through them.

One cart was full of dangling ornaments, all spinning and catching the light.

You grinned as you touched a gold one and its imperfect ridges.

"Pretty, aren't they?"

You didn't realize someone was speaking to you until they cleared their throat.

Blinking, you turned to your right. A male fae stood there, clasping his hands behind his back. He was devastatingly handsome in a cool, sharp way. You noticed right away that he dressed differently, that he probably wasn't from around here.

As you sized each other up, you figured he thought the same thing about you.

"Yes," you said slowly.

You were about to walk away when he asked, "You're not from here, are you? You don't smell like fey, but you're not entirely mortal either."

You raised a brow as you turned to face him. "I'm just mortal, sir." You figured he'd somehow smelled your powers — or sensed them. "You must be confusing my scent with something else."

"Yes, but you see," the male said, "that's just not possible. Mortals don't roam Prythian, let alone Velaris."

Is that why everyone's staring at me? Whoops.

Play it cool.

You crossed your arms. "So?"

The male's eyes widened marginally. He looked you over, something smug dancing in his eyes. "Well . . . How interesting. The last mortal who spoke to me like you are wound up dead."

You weren't sure if it was the male's unexpected threat or that your future was in the hands of a magical harp, but you burst out laughing.

His black eyes narrowed.

You were about to say something smart after catching your breath, but the male chose that moment to lunge. It would've only taken a millisecond to conjure light, but a merchant grabbed the male.