Chapter 12

“Between morality and loyalty, the test lies in walking through the thorns to reach the stars.”

Direct quote from High Chemist Sulien, page 88 of Callanth’s compendium

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My heart shoots to my feet at the sight of Kaida, her dark hair emphasizing the sharpness of her light eyes. Just as I’m about to offer a greeting, those sharp eyes lock onto me as if I’m a target. I don’t get to exchange any greeting. With haughty defiance, Kaida turns abruptly on her heel and strides away, her hair flipping like caramel flames behind her.

I don’t think I could’ve expected anything else honestly, but I had still hoped I could’ve had the opportunity to apologize. The depth of our friendship only goes as deep as serving her bowls of food throughout our youths. We’d chat or share a quip here and there, but I didn’t think I’d miss it till now.

Kyrell watches Kaida stalk through the crowd, his shoulders sagging in a sigh. He silently takes the two bowls I extend to him.

“Thank you,” he says without eye contact.

He’s probably upset with me too. Can’t blame him. Him and Kaida trained for the Trials together.

“No problem,” I reply curtly, eager to retreat to the kitchen and force Nex to switch tasks again. I’ll break his ‘sore’ arms if I have to.

But Kyrell lingers, bowls still in hand. “l mean, thank you for helping Kaida. She’ll never say it, but I want to. Thanks for saving her.”

Then I see it. The slightest tilt of his brows, the way his eyes glaze over just for a millisecond as if he’s back in the storm again. He was scared for Kaida.

I offer a tight-lipped smile and nod, watching as Kyrell disappears into the crowd in the direction Kaida fled.

A woman carrying a child walks up before I can process more. “Two bowls please,” she says so quietly I have to lean in. She pushes two small bowls onto the window sill, the edges chipped, two smoky Tiles resting inside. The child whines against her mother’s chest, and I nearly gasp at the sight of the pale, lose skin and the yellow where the whites of her eyes should be. She holds a different version of fear in her eyes than I had seen in Kyrell’s a moment before.

“Of course. One moment,” I reply quietly, scooping the bowls up and making my way to the kitchen.

Nex is stirring dutifully, so dutifully that it’s obvious that he’s been watching everything. He fills the bowls, barely sparing me a glance although I can tell he wants to ask about the interaction. I’m back at the window with the two bowls, ribbons of steam snaking into the air.

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“Here you go. The cauliflower in the broth should help,” I say to the mother, nodding to the child.

“Thank you,” she sighs, gently brushing the child’s hair with trembling fingers. “We’re out of salve. It’s been hard to find any in stock lately, and the prices have gone up. With the recent paranoia in Helios, everyone is testy and hoards supplies. It’s made supply chains unpredictable. This will have to do for now.”

I wish I had any certainty, any reassurance to gift her, but the child’s eyes appear sunken in and its pallor almost translucent. I’ve only seen that appearance once before, and the image of my mother on her last day still leaves my tongue numb.

“Thank you,” the mother repeats, a small smile breaking through her worry. She cradles the bowls close, as close as her child, as she turns to leave.

As the woman moves off and I grab the bowl of the next customer, I turn back to Nex, who had noticed the quiet scene unfold.

“Have you heard any rumors about the storm growing in Ocassus?” I ask, placing the bowl on the cutting table and wiping my hands on my apron, a sense of unease creeping back in.

He’s staring into the pot like he’s reading the answer there. “Just that some believe the possibility is there and we’re not prepared. People are worried.” Nex’s expression grows serious, lines etching on his forehead. “I’ve heard whispers. There’s been talk of strange occurrences too, but you know how people can be—anxious and prone to exaggeration. But… I wouldn’t dismiss it entirely. The storm is as unpredictable as any human being.”

I feel a chill run down my spine, a residual shadow from my eavesdropping on the king making my pulse quicken. "The whispers must’ve reached Helios, because any medicinal salve comes from there. If there’s a shortage, that means Helios might be slowly cutting everyone else off.”

Snippets of the conversation between the king and his advisor slither to the forefront of my mind, as do the implications. Nex fills the bowl, his face drawn into one of concern. “They’re scared. Chances are they feel ill-prepared for the devastation if the storm should grow.”

I bring the full bowl to the customer and return with another empty one. “But it hasn’t grown since it was born,” I quote the king’s own words.

“No,” he admits. “There haven’t been any plagues in the field either. But we still till sulfur into the soil to prevent root rot. Having precautions make people feel safe.”

He fills the bowl and I walk it to the window. Nex had essentially made the exact same observation as the king’s advisor, Zenor, had made. Part of me pauses on the fact that part of me agrees with Zenor and Nex.

I return with two new bowls, and Nex raises the ladle out of the pot to inspect it. “How do you get the broth to not stick to the ladle? Every time I scoop some into a bowl, half of it sticks to to the metal of the ladle.”

I place the bowls on the cutting table. “It might be getting too cold. When broth bases get cold, they stiffen. Turn up the heat and stir it for a bit. Heat keeps it at a workable consistency,” I reply expertly.

I watch Nex turn the knob on the stove, intensifying the Stormglass-based fire licking the bottom of the copper pot. He makes a handful of rotations with the ladle, then nods with a surprised look on his face.

“There it goes. Back to normal. I swear it’s like an entire science cooking right,” he quips and quickly ladles broth into the waiting bowls.

I grab them, then halt. My fingers feel the heat of the bowls penetrate my fingertips, but my mind doesn’t register.

Heat. Too cold. Stiff. Heat. Normal. Heat.

The words loop in my head, but I can’t see how they connect. It’s like a puzzle that’s scattered before me, and I’m certain the pieces belong to the same puzzle, but they don’t look like they should fit together.

“Uh, Ryn? Everything alright?” Nex asks, but I don’t respond.

Science…