Chapter 9

Seraphina.

Somehow Ivy has taken to this like a duck to water.

Here she is, crying out in the largest market in the largest city in the realm like it’s nothing. No embarrassment. No fear. Even after all we’ve been through. Even after last night.

She shouts gleefully into the throng with no hesitation mentioning that we’re selling artwork by the winner of the Celestrian Guild of Arts medal.

With all that’s happened in the past day, I had nearly forgotten.

“Paintings, wovens, handicrafts, by the best artist in Celestria! Perhaps the world!” she cries into the seething crowd. She sings improvised tunes about paintings in her sweet voice. “Kind sirs, good women, come and see beautiful art!”

I shrink away at the notoriety but Ivy has keenly recognized my win as a selling point. I see heads turning at the sound of her voice. Groups of townspeople murmur to each other and come to see what the fuss is about. Soon we have a small crowd gathered around our stall.

This morning everything was better than last night. The sun shone into our little hut and Ivy was her same childish self. The midnight matron had thankfully gone away, replaced by my vivacious sister. Ivy deserves to have a real childhood. None of this caring for weeping sisters.

I was readying myself for the market — gathering our wares, loading up the bags on the little pushcart — when Ivy bounded out of the front door of our humble abode.

“Please let me come today! I know I could help!” she said excitedly, dancing around the cart. With great effort, she lifted bags and helped fasten them down. “I know I could tell the people how wonderful your art is.”

“Ivy, the market is very busy and very dangerous. Plus, it would be boring,” I said.

“Not more boring than sitting at home all day waiting for you,” she retorted.

“Hush, and leave me alone to pack,” I said briskly and turned away from her.

“Seraphina,” she said somehow sounding much older. “Let me come. I need to look out for you.”

So she did remember last night. I swung round and crouched to meet her gaze. Her face looked so terribly serious. I grasped her by the shoulders.

“Alright. I’ll let you come. Keep close to me and follow my lead,” I said sternly.

“As you wish,” she replied solemnly.

Now this bubbling and vivacious girl is drawing in customer after customer.

It’s true that I shy away from the public. This puts me in quite a predicament since I need to go out into the market and sell my art. I somehow have to be a public face while keeping mine hidden.

I always hoped my art would speak for itself. It usually does enough for us to eat and keep a roof over our heads.

I paint what’s in my heart. Sometimes tall portraits of mythical figures or the old gods. Sometimes landscapes, carefully bringing trees and streams to life. Sometimes pictures that can’t be described in words very well, just shapes interacting in space. These in particular tend to draw people in. Sometimes people will stare for hours at a picture I’ve made.

I really do hate to call out to strangers. All these years of having to keep myself hidden have taken their toll.

And perhaps these years of hiding have ended with last night. That was the only time I have ever wanted someone to see me…

“Good sirs, come closer! Come and see the astonishing paintings of Seraphina Darkwater!” sings Ivy to two cloaked men who are quickly approaching the stall. One is very tall and wide-shouldered. The other is also tall, only shorter in comparison to the first.

“What a beautiful voice you have girl,” says the bigger one. His forest green eyes sparkle with delight. He looks awfully familiar.

The big man stoops down to get eye level with Ivy. “What’s your name?” he asks.

I rise from my perch at the back of the booth to get closer and keep an eye out for Ivy.

“Ivy,” she says suddenly shy. I am almost certain she is doing this for effect. She is becoming quite adept at using her charm to make sales.

“Are you the sister of Miss Seraphina Darkwater?” asks the green-eyed man.

“Yes I am. Now look at these paintings,” replies Ivy as she grabs the hand of the big man and drags him deeper into our stall.

The companion of the big man inches closer to the stall as his friend is taken in. A cowl obscures most of his face, which is caked with dirt in an unusual way, as though he’d put it on like makeup.

His hood obscures his eyes. His head is downcast — is he embarrassed? But then he tilts his head up and I see two ice-blue orbs appear from behind the gloom.

I am taken by a strange feeling. Not dissimilar to how I felt last night. I am hot behind the mask I wear.

My whole life I have wanted to stay away from people, from men. Men have only hurt me. Love is out of the question.

No man could really love me looking the way I do. As soon as he saw me he would be consumed with lust. He would not be able to contain himself. He would hurt me, even if he claimed he loved me.

Then why these light blue eyes? The shock of dark hair falling gently over the forehead? Why do I get the feeling that this would be different?

Was it the lights dancing in the water, purple and light blue, that make me feel different? Last night feels like a dream.

The man with the light-blue eyes stiffens and hangs back. Though I am covered from head to toe, I feel self-conscious. The heat within me rises from below my navel.

“Sir, you must stay and help us sell our wares. It’s too busy and we’re short-staffed,” pipes Ivy behind me.

The green-eyed man smiles even though he knows he’s being played. He is genuinely enjoying his time with Ivy. “Absolutely, young lady. Let me confer with my associate,” he replies.

The big man takes his friend aside and I watch them talk. The green-eyed man seems delighted and is gesticulating wildly. The blue-eyed man hangs back and gives a small nod.

“We are at your service Misses Darkwater,” says the big man upon returning.

The rest of the day is a blur. Customers crowd along our stall all day long. By the end of the day, Ivy is hoarse from yelling her sales pitch. The jovial green-eyed man is also hustling, showing customers my paintings and collecting money. We are completely sold out.

The two men help us pack our stall into our cart.

“Miss Ivy, this is the most fun I’ve had in a while,” says the big man grinning. He puts his hands on his hips and gives a satisfied sigh.

Ivy runs and hugs him. “Thank you sir!” she chirps. Her hug catches the huge man by surprise but he bends down to reciprocate, beaming.

The big man gives me a nod as well. “Thank you as well Miss Darkwater,” he says.

“It should be I who is thanking you Mister—” I reply, hoping to get his name.

“Humpston. Elias Humpston.”

Of course. It’s Sir Elias Humpston, the one who had intervened for me before the wrathful King yesterday. That must mean that his blue-eyed companion is…

“Would you mind not sharing that we were with you today?” says Sir Humpston

“Certainly. You have our utmost discretion,” I reply. “Goodbye, sirs.”

“Excellent. Farewell ladies,” says Sir Humpston with a smile. His companion with blue eyes simply look at me and then the floor. I can’t look at him either. I stand awkwardly before I remember to start pushing the cart.

With the cart far emptier than it was this morning, Ivy and I make our way quickly through the woods. Back to our meager hut, but now somewhat richer.

Ivy, singing despite her hoarse voice, suddenly stops. “Seraphina!” she cries in fear.

From nowhere, a man on horseback has appeared in our path. Ice goes down my spine. I turn around to find another man, this one wielding a knife.

I turn to the left and see another menacing man. At the right, another.

We are deep in the wood, far out of earshot. And we are surrounded.