Chapter Ten
The coins felt heavy in the pouch on her side. She'd never even held a single piece before. Now, there were at least thirty tied to the belt loop on her hip.
She was alone on the streets of Velaris, dressed in a peach colored sweater that belonged to Elain. It was warm, but not warm enough to block out the dropping temperature as the sun slowly disappeared behind the mountain's peek.
Rhysand had given her the money. Payment, he said, for the job she was to do at the camps. She had tried to refuse, said he had given her enough already, more than enough, but he had made a valid point in that she didn't have any clothes of her own for the two-week-long excursion she would be taking to the camps.
The problem was, no one seemed to want to accept her money. Each shop she entered had quickly turned her away, barking that her kind wasn't welcome and she could crawl back to where she'd come from.
No matter how much she tried to explain that she didn't belong with the fae Under the Mountain they refused to listen. Lies, they spat, dirty lies.
Naya was growing desperate. She didn't want to fail the first task Rhysand had sent her on, something as simple as buying clothes. She couldn't face returning to the mansion-sized estate Rhysand and Feyre lived in by the Sidra empty handed, having to explain that she couldn't even get shop keepers to listen.
Naya pulled hard on her white hat, completely concealing her ears and half her forehead. She would march right back in there and demand to be heard.
Head high and chin pointed forward, she stomped back through the doors and made her way to the front counter. The shop owner didn't so much as flit her gaze to Naya. She stared straight ahead as if she didn't exist.
"I'm here to buy clothes." Naya said forcefully, crossing her arms.
The shop owner was a small woman, a head shorter than Naya and so thin she looked like a heavy breeze could lift her right up and carry her away. Her brittle hair was grayed from age and the lines etched into her forehead could either have been made from a lifetime of frowning or smiling.
Naya really hoped for the latter.
"I know you think I'm from the Hewn City, but you need to hear me." She tried to keep her tone unbreaking. "I am not."
The shop owner didn't react, not even a blink.
"I've been trying to tell you The High Lord sent me." Naya pulled the bag from her hip and shook it. The coins jingled inside. "To buy clothes for a trip I'm to make in the morning. I need to purchase them now."
"We're closed."
Naya scoffed. "You close at sundown? In a big city full of people on the streets?"
"We're closed to you."
Naya threw her arms in the air in frustration, defiantly ignoring the pull of pain in her back. It was much healed from when she had first arrived, and the bandages only had to be changed once a day rather than twice, but she knew, without looking, that the skin was still not pieced together fully. Blood still stained the white linen each night.
"Would you like me to bring Rhysand here myself? Have him tell you?" Naya demanded.
The shop owner called her bluff. "That would be fantastic, thank you."
"I can't just go and get The High Lord." She huffed. "Please. My name is Naya. I belonged to an Illyrian camp. I've been staying in the House of Wind for weeks to heal because I was hurt. I know Azriel and Cassian and all the others."
"Anyone can know them." But she finally met her eyes, and they didn't seem as hard.
"I can tell you more." Naya felt hopeful for the first time and in a rush, she spit, "Mor is blonde and stunningly beautiful. She's got a mouth on her that could rival any of the male's from where I come from."
The owner raised a brow in interest, so Naya continued hurriedly, clinging to the chance.
"Elain splits her time between the House of Wind and the house by the Sidra where Rhysand and Feyre stay. She's small and kind and never says a bad word about anyone."
The other faeries in the shop had even stopped their browsing to listen. Naya tried not to let their stares frighten her. Though she wanted the owner to hear her out, she had much preferred the others' attention away from her.
"Cassian is very blunt and he has long, black hair that he often keeps tied back. He's almost never at the House of Wind because he's at the camps working for Rhysand.
"Azriel keeps a blade at his side called Truth Teller and he's spy to Rhysand. He spends time in the Mortal lands and at the camps to get information…"
The shop owner held up a hand, silencing her effectively. "I've heard enough."
"Please." Naya begged, driven by the image of returning to the house with proof that she couldn't even convince a shop keeper, let alone an entire race she was supposed to spark change in. "Please. You can send word to Rhysand after if you need. For confirmation."
She scrutinized Naya with the fullness of her blue gaze, sweeping up and down her body multiple times. Her lids lowered in a glower, a test, Naya felt, so she kept perfectly straight, kept her expression completely open as she stared back.
She lifted the pen she was holding and jabbed it at Naya's chest several times. "If I find that you're lying…"
Naya's shoulders sank as she released her breath, the weight lifting suddenly. "You won't. I promise. Thank you."
The show over, everyone around her returned to their shopping. Naya was thankful to join them, worried only for a few minutes about how she could possibly choose things she liked out of so many options when she'd never so much as had to pick out socks before.
She had done it. It was a small victory, but she had to fight the corners of her mouth from lifting in a triumphant smile in case it offended the shop owner.
OOO
Her wardrobe consisted mostly of greens and yellows and oranges, along with the basic colors of white, black and gray. She had chosen warm wear for the camps, and was thankful for it as she stood in the harsh weather, staring down a line of tents and cabins half buried in snow.
Azriel said Cassian would be here, in the final camp of his journey, and Naya felt a pang of pity that he would not get to return home after his week of visiting camps, and would, instead, have to return to several of them a second time with a new order.
Naya tried not to let Azriel see her gloved hands shaking as they waded through the snow. She was terrified, a marked outsider in more ways than one, the most obvious being her lack of wings.
No one at these camps would be able to tell she was born Illyrian at first glance without them, and the prejudices that would set in from that would only deeper when they discovered their absence was because she had been punished for disobeying.
This camp didn't look much different than her own, alight with the same energy hers had possessed. Males fought hard in the ring, shirtless in the cold, but still somehow managing to sweat as they went after each other again and again. Red was the color painted over the trampled snow as flesh was torn and noses broken from relentless jabs and kicks.
No females stood on the sidelines waiting their turn. None even watched the fights. Exactly as her home had been.
Naya knew where she would find them, doing grueling chores that never seemed to end and raising children that would one day look down on their mothers and sisters as the fathers who had spawned them did.
Love for the woman who raised you never won out against tradition and the pride of a father who wanted warriors.
"Let's settle in first." Azriel stirred her away from the ring, and ducked them through a gigantic, canvas tent in the middle of camp.
Naya was awed. Not only had she never been granted the privilege of staying so close to the camp's heart, but she had never even dreamed the tents could get this luxurious on the inside.
Honestly, she shouldn't be shocked, knowing now how the High Lord provided for his friends and employees, but she couldn't help the way her lips parted and a shallow gasp escaped.
The colors were dull, she supposed, tan and brown being the brightest in the open space, but every item in there had to amount to more than the entire camp was worth.
A giant rug, somehow clean of mud and grime, spread the length of the canvas floor, ornately decorated in swirls of winding flowers and twisting vines. Two couches sat atop it in the very center, large enough each to fit four males. Wooden side tables held tall, white vases, although they were missing any flowers she had gotten used to in her time with Elain.
There were several beds scattered about the edges of the tent, small, but with thick comforters that would have no trouble keeping out the cold alongside the fireplace that sat beside a large sink and expanse of numerous counters.
The beds each had a frame with long, flowing curtains that would allow for privacy if wanted. A wash bin rested on the ground of each as well, ceramic with a pitcher of water within reach.
"Wow." She breathed, and Azriel chuckled.
"It's more than I had before Rhys's mother took me in, that's for sure." he carried their bags in, one for himself, and two for her, and tossed them onto separate beds.
Naya could tell which Cassian slept in. The sheets were tangled and draped over the sides. Muddy boots sat at the foot of his frame.
Now that she wasn't completely distracted by the extravagance of it all, she saw the tent wasn't as clean as she had initially thought. Dishes filled the sink, empty bottles and glasses strewn in its depth. A few waylaid knives littered the coffee table and a chair was pulled out cattycornered, lifting the edge of the rug.
It made it feel more comfortable, like someone actually lived here amongst all the untouchable, pretty things.
Naya made her way to the bed Azriel had chosen for her, one that was across the tent from both Cassian's and his own. She chalked it up to chivalrous behavior instead of exclusion, and sat on the edge to face Azriel.
"What now?"
He was unpacking blades, and setting them atop the table beside his bed, tucking one under his pillow, another between the mattress and the frame. She wondered if more were hidden around the tent, believed it likely, and smiled.
"We prepare to meet the camp lord and his commanders." He replied.
Azriel, himself, was covered in blades as well. Truth Teller, the one Naya had asked Elain about because even when all others were removed, that one always stayed loyally at his side, was strapped to his thigh. More than ten others were strategically placed over his entire body, tucked into sheaths built into his Illyrian leathers.
His cobalt siphons emitted a strong glow, more powerful and more deadly than any steel. He bled the truth of what he actually was, a warrior, and she couldn't help but stare a little longer than was necessary. He was beautiful. It wasn't difficult to admit because it was so obvious. You only had to look.
"And when do we do that?" her voice was only slightly unsteady, and she was thankful for it.
The shadows around his person pulsed, lifting like smoke to reach his ears. He paused to listen to whatever they were telling him.
"Now."
Her eyes darted wildly to where his had rested, the tent flap of their temporary home, and her heart slammed against her ribcage, pounding a wild beat she was sure could be heard from where Azriel stood.
So soon, she thought, shooting to her feet as the flap lifted and Cassian entered. She could hear footsteps behind him, several pairs of angry marching that set the mood as four, war-hardened males followed behind and took up more space than she could have imagined. Their gigantic tent now felt small.
When each pair of glowering eyes skirted over Azriel and then herself, she made sure to meet them glare for glare through her fear and tossed her shoulders back in defiance.
Though they were not the ones who had tortured her, had stolen from her, had caused her so much agony and turmoil, she knew they would be no different, proven from the lack of females in the ring when she had arrived.
Swallowing her terror, she faced them off, determined to hide every ounce of cowardice pulsating under her skin.