Chapter 18 Glitch in the matrix

Chapter 18 Glitch in the matrix
NYX

I freeze. Words dissolve on my tongue and the world narrows to a single point. 

All I taste and feel is fear. My legs give up function.

The bald guard’s grip is tight around the sword’s hilt, and his eyes burn through me, impatiently waiting for my mistake. 

He’s all armored up, tall as a beast, and reeks of carcass. The others stand at alert too. “I’m—”

Sable, saving the day, loops her arm through mine, facing them. “Servant. Do you know who I am or would I have to call your superiors to answer that for you?”

The guard bows immediately. “Of course I do, you are Lady Sable. Daughter of Great Gamma Leon.” His curious glance flicks to mine. “But her, not so much, I’m afraid.”

“Lira of House Veyne,” Sable lies smoothly. “From Moonglow Pack. Wife to the Beta. She’s my cousin, visiting. Thanks to your insubordination, we are now late for the silversmith.”

“Oh. My apologies. I mustn’t have been on the watch when her carriage arrived. Forgive me, my lady.”

“What’s your name?” Sable asks, threats coat every word as she closes in on the guard and studies his face. “I am sure the Alpha would like to know.”

The poor thing goes pale, shaking in his boots like she’s just pronounced a death sentence. I hold back a laugh. 

“My dear,” I call out to her, faking the accent. I either sound like a spoiled brat or a dying old woman. I hold on to hope that it’s the former. “Forgive the peasant. His wretched life is worth nothing to me.”

Sable makes eyes with me. A shade of pink descends over her cheeks as she struggles to separate a laugh from mixing with words. “Are you sure, cousin?”

My gaze drags over the frightened guard. “Yes. Come on now, we have other important things. The carriage is waiting—”

“At the moon’s eye junction, yes. I know, little dove. You are far too kind! You should teach him a lesson. “She exhales deeply, giving him the stink-eye. “Lira is way more generous than I am. Be grateful you could keep that meaty head of yours.”

“I owe you my life,” his panicked voice carries as he bows to me. “I apologize for my stupidity.”

“Stupidity is what gets people killed.” I huff and turn, and we paddle down the narrow way, fighting snickers until we are out of their line of sight. 

“House Veyne? Really?” 

Sable barks a laugh. “Saw the thumping veins of his forehead and immediately got the idea. Creative, aren’t I?”

“Oh my goodness!”

“Are you sure you’re not royalty?” Sable doubles over, clutching her belly, drowning and choking on her hearty laughter. “You had me completely fooled.”

“Maybe I was royalty in my past life.” I shrug.

“Poor thing, he looked like he was going to piss himself.”

“Might have under all that metal.” I pause to catch my breath. A part of me doesn’t want to admit that I am having fun.

I can afford anything but.

“This is so hilarious.”

I roll my eyes, “I make a perfect clown, don’t I?”

Sable intertwines our fingers, leading me down the rocky steps in the middle of the forest. “You make a damn beautiful clown.”

The market waits at the end of the path. It comes alive right before my eyes.

Noise. People. Life. It’s the most beautiful thing.

Sable squeezes my hand. “Breathe, Lira. You’re free for the afternoon.”

“It’s Lady Lira,” I fake the accent and flip my hair. “Shall we?”

“Thought you’d never ask!” She beams. 

I follow her into the chaos.

The market explodes around us the moment we step beyond the grass. I have seen markets, worked in stalls, stolen from most but none beats the vastness and fullness of this one.

Children dart between our legs, some hawking flowers while others are just plainly mischievous. It’s all so different from the Alpha’s desolate manor.

This. This is where the people are. The people of Blackhollow. Not monsters with horns, not men carrying swords.

Workers. Mothers. Fathers.

It’s simple and true. 

Somewhere, a fiddler saws a wild reel, and the crowd parts to let a circle of dancers spin with bare feet rhythmically slapping against the hot, stony ground.

Sable drops a ridiculous amount of coins in his box, then she eagerly grabs my hand and pulls me straight into the circle.

“Come on, Lira!” she laughs, already kicking off her slippers. “Royal ladies don’t stand still!”

“Absurd! I don’t dance!” I protest, but I am already in the circle. The crowds are already clapping and the player instantly changes his tone to match the rhythm to which Sable spins me.

“Come on!” Her lower lip is trapped between her teeth, her hair flowing wildly as she tugs my arms, twirling my stiff body forcefully.

Some older women join in the circle. I don’t know how it happened. The emerald dress swirls around my thighs as I spin.

I let loose, let myself drown in the symphony. 

Commoners cheer when Sable links arms with a baker’s boy and drags him into the circle. 

His face goes scarlet, but he keeps up. Another tall, aproned man with flour in his beard offers me his hand with a shy grin. I take it.

For the first time since I was a child, I dance without looking over my shoulder. 

The fiddler’s bow screeches higher, turns the ring into a blur of skirts and laughter. Sable whoops, steals a honey-cake from a passing tray, and shoves half into my mouth before the vendor can blink. 

The sweetness bursts across my tongue. I moan without meaning to.

“See?” Sable spins past. “Told you market cakes are magic.”

We weave through the crowd seamlessly. Sable lifts a ribbon from a stall, drops a coin, and ties it around my wrist. “Your gift for coming with.”

I snatch a sugared violet from a basket in retaliation and pop it between her teeth. She grins at me, sticking out her tongue to reveal the purple stain.

“Thief,” she accuses, delighted.

“Takes one to know one,” I shoot back.

She drags me to a fountain where children toss copper coins and make wishes. The water smells of moss and pennies. 

Sable cups a handful and flicks it at me. “Do you think the moon goddess hears our prayers?”

I shake my head. “She’s deaf, blind, too. Most likely amputated. Does nothing but the wrong things sometimes. I have a love-hate relationship with deities.”

“You make a good point. Tell me a secret, Lira,” she says, leaning close so her breath tickles my ear. “Something no one in the manor knows.”

I hesitate. The lie comes easier than the truth. “I used to set off fireworks in my village square at midnight. Just to watch the guards panic.”

Her laugh rings out. “I knew you were trouble. My turn. Uhm. Once my father remarried, I swapped my stepmother’s face powder with itching powder. She scratched for a week. Left him after and I was delighted.”

I snort so hard I nearly choke on my own spit. “You are crazy!”

“But so are you! I felt bad after, when I was older.” Sable starts walking and I trail beside her. “She didn’t deserve that.”

“You were a child.”

We walk further, pricing and looking around. Sable buys skewers of spiced meat from a grinning old woman who insists we’re sisters, with the ‘same fire in the eyes.’

It’s delicious. She licks sauce from her thumb and tells me about the time she was twelve and convinced Alpha Kane to help her steal the pack’s sacred moonstone.

“We buried it under the rose garden. He still pretends he doesn’t know where it is.”

I try to picture Alpha Kane as an awkward, uncertain, mischievous kind of boy, but I fail spectacularly. My mind is convinced he came into the world with that big head, a baby’s body, and dark, red horns.

The afternoon slips by in a golden haze. I forget the poison, the vial hidden in my apron, the weight of Zephyr’s blood on my hands. 

I breathe. 

For a few hours, I’m just Lira, some merchant’s daughter, dancing with a girl who makes life feel lighter. 

Reality crashes in as I crash into someone while being lost in conversation with Sable. My shoulder hits a solid chest and the impact jars my teeth. 

A startled apology tumbles out. “Sorry, I didn’t—” before I look up at who it is.

Time stops. Sable’s voice is in a distant echo.

The man I bumped into freezes too, because we know each other. Those wide-rimmed spectacles. Fat sweaty head. Piggy nose. The same mortar and pestle were still clutched in one of his fat hands. 

The apothecary stares back at me like he remembers exactly when I stole from him and where I did. He’s the same man who almost had me burned to death in the market on the outskirts.

“You—” he starts.

Like clockwork, a horn blast splits the air, calling everyone’s attention. The crowd surges, but parts like water around a stone. Countless Heads turn toward the main thoroughfare, but they all know what’s coming.

I don’t. 

Until I hear someone yell from behind us, “The Alpha’s carriage is rolling through! Stay as you are!”