The Chronicles of Faylon: Saahira | Chapter 28 (Patreon)

Morning poured through Saahira’s window, welcoming a headache first and consciousness second. She groaned and brushed away the sand in her eyes. Raising her head, she looked across the room to find Nia’s bed empty.

Memories from the night prior returned in short, blurry spurts. Melony had ordered Saahira a fourth ale. There was a lot of laughing and stumbling back to the dormitories through Odalric. Melony howling to the moon with her raspy voice. Cyprus ensuring Saahira’s steps remained steady, following her up the stairs to the Idrian building. A dark, silent room. Nia’s empty bed. Saahira’s face hitting the pillow.

She could be with Lemae. Saahira yawned, and the tiny pop in her jaw ricocheted into her pounding temples. She winced.

Bells chimed in the hallway, and Saahira winced again. Somewhere in the uncomfortable haze, she remembered Cyprus mentioning that the rousing bells in the dormitories and warning bells in the sanctum still sounded on Oriana for the older students.

Cyprus! Another hazy memory stirred her to action. She had agreed to meet him outside her dorm when the bells chimed.

Headache forgotten, Saahira scurried from her bed to her trunk. She whipped away her nightgown, exchanging it for the cornflower blue dress she’d already worn that week. It was clean enough. She made a note to ask Nia or Anya where to wash her things when she returned.

Ale and exhaustion left the braid in her hair untouched when she collapsed into bed, and for that she was grateful. A quick look in Nia’s mirror confirmed that it had stayed mostly intact, only a few black tendrils having escaped here or there. She used her fingers to comb through her bangs, letting them rest to the left as they always did, then replaced the mirror on the desk and grabbed her cloak.

With little time to sort through her things, Saahira unceremoniously dumped the contents of her satchel on the bed, only returning her meager purse, A Brief History of Faylon, and the fairy tale book Basile had lent her. She wasn’t sure what Cyprus had planned for the day—if he’d mentioned it, she couldn’t remember. Regardless, she had plenty to busy herself with should she find herself alone in the afternoon. She swung the strap over her shoulder, then checked to make sure that the hex ward was still in place on her wrist. Satisfied that the stone touched skin, she snatched her shoes.

Saahira stumbled through the doorway, simultaneously trying to walk while sliding the shoes over her feet. Propping one arm against the wall, she leaned back and tugged on the heel until the second strap settled against the top of her foot. She huffed a quick breath and glanced to her right. Lemae’s room was just two doors down. Surely Cyprus wouldn’t mind waiting just a couple of minutes if she checked on Nia first…

Right after being an hour late to dinner, the headache reminded her.

Saahira chewed her lip, looking between the hallway and the stairs. Standing there indecisive was just costing her more time. Resolved, she turned and hastened to room twelve. She knocked three times and waited, shifting anxiously from one foot to the other. Just as she was ready to give up, the door opened.

“Oh. Sun’s greetings, Saahira.” Nia yawned. The circles beneath her eyes were the darkest Saahira had ever seen. Her hair was loose and wild, curling and twisting around her face in a stormy ocean of pink. She took Saahira’s measure with a small smile. “Are you not taking advantage of the extra hours to rest?”

“No, I’m going out.” Saahira fidgeted with her dress. “But, well, you weren’t in our room when I came back last night or when I woke up this morning. So I wanted to check on you…”

“I will be fine. Lemae was kind enough to let me stay.” Nia yawned again. “My apologies. Sleep has not been as caring a companion.”

“I’m sorry. And sorry to wake you.”

“No need to apologize. And…thank you for stopping by.” Nia’s tiny smile bloomed into a grin. “I will return to our room this evening. Enjoy your first day free of classes, and any other firsts that may greet you.” She started to close the door when Saahira caught it on her palm.

“Wait. Let’s spend tomorrow together,” Saahira said. “I don’t want to have too many firsts without you.”

Nia raised her brows, and her grin wavered. After studying Saahira’s face for a time, she nodded. “All right, then. My day is yours.” 

“Great. Thanks, Nia.” Saahira smiled. “Please get more sleep.”

“I will do my best.”

The door closed, and Saahira spun on her heel. She hurried down the hallway and took the steps two at a time. The pulsing in her head returned, keeping time with her feet. One girl dozed on the sofa near the fireplace while another sat at the table, her thoughts deep within the confines of the teacup cradled in her palms. Not wanting to draw too much attention to herself, Saahira slowed her walk to a brisk march until she reached the front door.

The brilliant sun burned her vision, imprinting white silhouettes when she closed her eyes and worsening her headache. It wasn’t her first time feeling ill after a night of drinking, but that never seemed to make the next time any easier. She steadied herself against the door, took a deep breath, and slowly opened her eyes.

Waiting beneath the shade of a tall tree near the Idrian Block was Cyprus, upper back pressed up against the trunk, eyes fixed on the pages of the tome in his hands. He wore a white tunic with a looser fit than his usual attire, though he still kept the sleeves rolled to just below his elbows. An unbuttoned, dark brown vest hung over the tunic, and trousers a shade lighter than the vest were tucked into laced leather boots. Even wearing more casual clothing, he still looked like royalty.

Locking her insecurities deep within her chest, Saahira closed the distance between them. She kept her steps light and clasped her hands behind her back, hoping to sneak up on him. To her dismay, his gaze snapped up when she was nearly there.

Saahira’s cheeks puffed, and her shoulders deflated. “Your hearing must be amazing.”

“You will never take a person from Noctia by surprise.” Cyprus chuckled as he straightened. “Though that doesn’t stop Melony from trying.”

“Then I’ll keep trying, too.” Crossing the last four steps, Saahira peered over his arm. “Is this a new book?” Melony had been the first one to point out that Cyprus was almost always reading, to which he had told them that he finished a new book every few days or so. Now that Saahira had access to more books than she could dream of, she hoped to do the same.

“Good eye. Yes, Poison in the Sands. It’s an alchemy text that focuses on poisonous plants, animals, and chemicals in Aṣálẹ. It’s a fascinating read.” Cyprus pinched the pages and skipped through them until he landed on a page with six carefully drawn plants and their leaves. He traced their outlines with his fingertips. “The author experimented with over three hundred different materials to brew poisons and their antidotes. These six were some of the most difficult to come by.”

Saahira watched him, a creeping unease sliding down her spine. The last book he’d read was about the thousand-year tyrannical reign over the Floating Kingdom. By his own admission, he was willing to read anything, but predominantly enjoyed history, politics, and language. Suspicions surfaced with his sudden need to study poisons. “Did you get that book in the library?”

“I did. Latali recommended it to me after I asked for good books on alchemy.” A wry smile tugged at his lips. “I would have loved to ask Professor Cardaimont for her recommendations, but you already know how that conversation would have fared.” He closed the book and slipped it into his pack.

“Were you specifically looking for poisons?”

“No. However, Latali is an expert in them. If you’re ever curious, it’s worth bending her ear.”

Saahira still felt wary of his reasoning. But when he fastened his pack and looked back up at Saahira, none of the anger he’d carried with him the evening prior remained in his gaze, the tension in his shoulders gone.

“Oh, also.” He slid a hand into his pocket and withdrew a glass vial that held a rust-colored liquid. “This will cure your headache.”

Saahira accepted the vial. “How did you know?”

“Melony drank us both under the table. I brewed one for myself, then an extra just in case you were suffering the same.” His tone turned light and playful. “Besides, I believed it a safe assumption of why you were late.”

Saahira winced, suddenly very aware of every tendril of hair out of place in her braid. “I’m sorry about that.”

Cyprus waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t apologize. We still have the rest of the day ahead of us.” He gestured to the tonic. “Drink up.”

Saahira uncorked the vial and swallowed its contents in two gulps. It had a vaguely spicy flavor that coated her throat on its descent. Warmth filled her chest and stomach, and the pulsing against her temples slowed. The sun’s rays didn’t pierce her eyes any longer, and the weight in her head lifted. “Gods, that’s so much better,” she sighed.

“Good. Now, I thought that we could both use a break from Odalric and the sanctum today. Have you ever been to Endolwyn?” Cyprus asked.

Saahira thought to remind him that if it wasn’t Almaryn or Odalric, she’d never been there, but she bit back the words. “I haven’t.”

He smiled. “A good first for you to tell Nia about, then. Well, I hope, at least. It’s just two hours by carriage north of here, and I’ve already bought us food to eat along the way.” When she raised her brows in protest, he shook his head and said, “I’m covering all expenses. I wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise.”

Heat pinked Saahira’s cheeks. She busied her hands with the cloak over her satchel and nodded. “Thank you, Cyprus.”

“Save your thanks for later. I haven’t done anything to earn them yet.” Saahira wiggled the empty vial between her fingers, insinuating that he absolutely had, and he laughed. “I can do better than that.” He took the vial and pocketed it. “Shall we go?”

Saahira followed Cyprus through the slowly waking streets of Odalric. Merchants and shopkeepers didn’t seem as hasty in the opening of their stalls or sweeping of doorways. They passed a handful of older students making their way to the sanctum, books and parchment in their arms. When they reached the walkway between the fruit stand and bakery, Cyprus turned right, leading them up and around the darkened windows of the Final Bar.

They continued walking until they reached a line of four black carriages stationed just inside Odalric’s walls. Beside them was a building with a single window and a simple wooden door held open to tempt the morning breeze. At its back was a modest stable where four horses grazed the fresh grass and basked in the morning sun.

Cyprus led Saahira inside, where four men played cards at a round table in the room’s center. Two of them smoked pipes, one nursed a glass of dark liquid, and the fourth clutched his cards with the desperation of one far too deep in his pockets. Saahira had seen the man’s wild eyes and the glistening sheen of sweat on his forehead a hundred times at The Laughing Bull.

Fittingly, he was the one to leap from the table first when Cyprus crossed the threshold.

“My lord and lady, might I offer my services?” He rushed forward and bowed at the hips until his back was flat. “I can take you anywhere at half price today.”

“Maurice, you spineless coward. Sit down and lose like a man,” the one with the drink snapped. “Let someone who doesn’t owe me two gold take the job.”

Cyprus raised a brow. Saahira’s eyes widened. The most anyone at the Bull had lost was twenty silver. Two gold would have been the end of a man in Almaryn.

“We need a ride to Endolwyn and back,” Cyprus said, looking between Maurice and the other men. “I can—”

“Ah, the city that shines! Absolutely! This way if you please, my lord and lady! I have the fastest horse in all of Odalric. You will be most pleased!” Maurice sprang for the door like a rat from a trap, stirring the air around Saahira’s dress.

The city that shines? Saahira looked at Cyprus. He shrugged a shoulder with his signature half-smile.

“Slippery bastard.” The drinker sighed and stole a swig from his glass. He eyed Cyprus and Saahira over his shoulder. “How long do you plan to stay in Endolwyn?”

“Only until this evening,” Cyprus replied.

“Fine.” He turned back to his companions and tossed his cards to the table. “Deal us a new hand, Otto.”

They left the others to their cards, finding Maurice leading a black and white horse to his carriage. Saahira had only seen a handful of horses in her life up close—most of the farmers in Almaryn used an ox for their plows, as they were far less expensive—but this one looked young, sleek, and fit. It didn’t have the tired eyes of Maribelle, Barclay’s aging mare, or the distended belly from cheap feed.

“That is a pretty horse,” Saahira murmured as Maurice passed.

“My lady has a fine eye! Tiki once raced for kings! To ride with her is to ride with the wind.” Maurice patted Tiki’s neck with a giant grin.

With a thoughtful hum, Cyprus joined Maurice at the front of the carriage while Tiki was hitched to the lines. Saahira stood near the door, wondering if she was allowed to step inside. Her first journey in a carriage had been to the sanctum. That one hadn’t had a roof, and three other people had shared its wooden plank seats. She’d seen plenty of the nicer ones coming in and out of Odalric in her journey, but never thought she’d ride in one herself.

“Good man!” Maurice clapped a hand on Cyprus’s shoulder before racing to where Saahira stood and opening the door. “My lady, if you please,” he said, extending an arm.

Saahira glanced between Maurice’s hand and the plush cushions inside the carriage. It felt like a dream. She placed her palm in his and allowed him to assist her as she set her foot on the small metal step, then ascended into the carriage proper.

She perched on the edge of one of the velvety seats, running a hand over the soft red fabric. It smelled faintly of expensive brandy and cloves. Jeremi, the owner of the Bull, had kept a bottle of Rhoryn brandy in a locked cupboard that he shared with the servers on special occasions. Saahira inhaled deeply, smiling as the taste of her first sip on the harvest season whispered down her throat.

Cyprus entered next, taking the seat opposite, crossing his legs and arms. He settled in as easily as if it were a well-loved chair, looking perfectly at home while Saahira struggled to decide if she should lean her back against the seat. The black-green stone at his ear glittered in the morning sun as he canted his head, watching her.

Outside, Maurice clicked his tongue and flicked the whip. Tiki skipped into a brisk trot, and the carriage began to move. Saahira dug her heels into the floor to keep her position and watched the coach’s building disappear from view.

“Are you nervous?” Cyprus asked.

Saahira shook her head as her eyes darted around the inside of the carriage. She wanted to remember every line and detail. The smell, the rectangular ceiling, the red curtains that flanked the windows, the golden handles of the door. “I’m excited,” she admitted. “This— well, this is a first.”

“Traveling to Endolwyn?”

She looked at her hands and smoothed out her dress. “Yes, and traveling in a carriage like this one.”

“You didn’t walk from Almaryn to Odalric, did you?” Cyprus asked, bemused.

“No. I took a carriage. But it was built more like…a cart.” Saahira pantomimed the cart’s square shape in the air with her hands. She’d seen many merchants pass through Almaryn with similar structures before, filled with treasures of their trade. But whenever one carried people, her parents called them carriages. “I would have loved cushions like these.”

Cyprus smiled. “You can occupy more of it, if you wish.” He gestured to the empty seat behind her.

With a shy nod, Saahira wriggled backward, resting her back against the wall. As if trying the limits of her embarrassment, her stomach growled an intrusive announcement.

But Cyprus didn’t seem bothered in the least. “Ah! Right!” He reached into his pack and withdrew two cloth bundles like the one she’d received from the merchant’s stall, only larger. He handed one to Saahira, and she carefully opened it on her lap. She gasped.

A pastry much larger than the one she’d craved for days rested at the cloth’s center. Soft cubes of bright red fruit were embedded between the flaking layers, overlaid with strings of white frosting. She touched the frosting with the tip of her finger, then laid it on her tongue. Closing her eyes, she hummed with pleasure.

Cyprus chuckled softly. She could hear the restraint in his tone—there was something else he wanted to ask her. But the question never came.

“I’ve been staring at these all week,” Saahira said, providing what she hoped was an answer to his unasked question. She opened her eyes and picked off one of the flakes from the pastry’s edge. It floated away from the napkin towards the seat, and she reached out, snatching it from the air in a panic.

“I assure you, no harm will come to the carriage from a few crumbs,” Cyprus said.

“A-Ah…” Maybe it was too many nights sweeping the floors of the Bull. Or her mother scolding her and Isa for sneaking cookies into bed. But the thought of dirtying such expensive fabric made her a little uneasy.

Unfortunately for the fabric, Cyprus’s words goaded Saahira’s excitement to finally eat the pastry she’d pined for for so long, and the rest of the flaking crumbs went unnoticed. The first bite was bliss, and she savored it on her tongue, swinging her feet with pleasure. So sweet and soft and buttery. A tiny squeal squeaked from her throat.

Cyprus’s eyes crinkled with his grin, but he still looked as if there was more he wanted to ask. Feeling a bit foolish, she realized what it was that he really wanted to know. Have you never had a pastry before?

Saahira licked the crumbling flakes from her fingertips. Cyprus’s gaze flickered to her lips. “Chester, the baker in Almaryn, only made a handful of pastries once a year. Nothing this big. And they sold so fast.” She took another bite. Her head felt light and fluffy, a wonderful contrast to the ache that had first woken her.

“Is Chester the only baker?”

“Mhm.”

Cyprus nibbled thoughtfully on his pastry. “Do you mind if I ask you more about Almaryn?”

Saahira’s spirits were so high, he could have asked her anything, and she would have answered without question. “Of course!”

Two hours passed by like seconds, condensed in bright conversation and wrapped in the warmth of Saahira’s memories. As they talked, Saahira found Cyprus’s earnestness to learn more about her life…charming. On their first day of classes, she’d been so certain that he was trying to taunt her. To hold her upbringing above her head on display for everyone else to see. But now, with his kind replies and meaningful questions, she understood just how wrong she’d been.

The trees thinned on both sides of the carriage, and the low din of the approaching city reached Saahira’s ears. Brushing the crumbs that had escaped her mouth away from the cushion, she scooted closer to the window and tipped her head outside.

Tall stone buildings with thatched roofs rounded the city’s perimeter. From many of them, balconies extended from the second or third floors, laced with thick vines and fall-time flowers in bloom. What commanded Saahira’s attention, however, were the four grand towers in the city’s center. Their walls were crafted with hundreds of different-colored panes, linked together with silver filament around their edges. It was like stained glass without a unifying image. But, incredibly, the colors didn’t clash. Each one held its own theme, sparkling in the sunlight and throwing its hues on the buildings below.

“It’s beautiful,” Saahira remarked.

Cyprus joined her at the window, his earring adding a green-black sparkle of its own to the towers’ rainbow. “Welcome to the shining city, Saahira.”