Box-like buildings stacked one on the other towered over Vel. They weren’t taller than the trees, but tall enough that every building was the size of the temple in Evamyn, if not larger. They were much darker in color, like mud, yet the locals used walls like canvases, murals painted across them. Some were of the most beautiful creatures Vel had ever seen. Grey monstrosities with large ears and a trunk for a nose, then stripe white cats with large faces, an allure in their green eyes.

  And the people. Oh, the people. Vel gaped.

  Dark skin like she’d never before seen, lush and seemingly flawless, but the hair. People here had the most beautiful dark blue, purple, and black hair with hairstyles more vast. She put a hand up to her own hair, touching lavender frizz.

  “I know you told me they had hair like this, but . . .” she started, looking up at Sigurd.

  “Yeah,” Sigurd said.

  “Fascinating,” Amalia commented.

  “Eh, seen it before,” Aden shrugged. “So are we just gonna stand here with our jaws danglin’ or are we gonna do somethin’?”

  “Yes, doing something would be wise,” Amalia said. She stepped forward, Vel tentatively taking pace behind her as the singer moved to a food stall. The merchant there, however, put his hands over the oblong yellow fruits he sold, and glared at the two of them.

  “I don’t sell to Kylnors,” he hissed, “no matter what color you dye your hair.” He looked directly at Vel, who furrowed her brow.

  “Excuse me?” Amalia asked, blinking.

  “Dye?” Vel asked.

  “Yeah, what are you, a blonde?” he sneered.

  “Do I look like a blonde?” Vel sassed, crossing her arms.

  The blue haired man opened his mouth, pointing a finger that he dropped when Aden shoved his way in front of Vel and Amalia.

  “Two mangos, please,” he said.

  The middle-aged man stared for a long moment. “You got coin, islander?” he asked.

  “Three Ayns, sir. Is that enough?” he asked.

  Amalia stepped back, tugging on Vel’s arm. She furrowed her brow, moving away from the stall and back to Sigurd. “What did he call us?” Vel asked.

  Sigurd, who stood with his arms crossed, said, “Kylnors. It’s a slur.”

  “Rude!” Amalia gasped.

  “You didn’t think so when he first said it,” Sigurd said.

  “I didn’t know what it meant!”

  “A slur for?” Vel asked, slowly putting the pieces together. She touched her hair again. “They don’t like Alnonors here, do they?”

  “After the wars? No. Despise us. You have to request asylum to get on their good side, and even then,” Sigurd noted. “They’ll respond to the kid. He’s Medien.”

  “What does that mean?” Vel asked.

  “From the Medi Isles,” Amalia answered, then looked at Sigurd. “But you’re part Ymrillian, aren’t you?”

  Vel gasped, looking up at Sigurd. “Is that how you know so much about Ymril?”

  Sigurd gave Vel a suffering look, then scratched at his beard, now getting a little more scruffy than was appealing. “Yeah, but I don’t have enough in me to get by without a slur every now and then anyways, and my citizenship papers were destroyed when I married an Alnonor,” he said.

  “Of course,” Amalia said.

  Vel watched as Aden returned from the mango man, holding a mango in each hand. He pocketed one, then pulled a small knife from his pack, starting to cut the skin from the mango he still held.

  “Did you get anything out of him?” Sigurd asked, nodding towards the vendor.

  “Yeah, a bit. Says an Alnonor guy was arrested some weeks back. Figure we go to the city jail and ask some questions,” Aden said.

  “You got directions for that, right?” Sigurd asked.

  “Course I did. What do you take me for? A stupid street rat. Nah, I’m a pro,” Aden grinned. “This way.”

  The teenager turned, starting down the cobblestone road. Putting the edges of the jungle behind her, Vel followed, reveling in the extra time she had to take in the new sights. Everything was so different, and the further in they went, the more condensed the buildings became. While a part of her felt like living here would be cramped, another part didn’t mind that idea, so long as her neighbors were more friendly than mango man was.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  After hours of walking, mostly stalled by traffic, they came to a large important-looking structure near the city’s center. It was symmetrical, and had a fountain that set directly in front of it, bigger than the fountain she frequented in Evamyn, yet not unlike it, perhaps save for the building material. It wasn’t gray so much as it was brown. It did, however, have a smally ocean mural pointed at its base, little boats painted atop that water.

  “Stay here,” Aden instructed, leaving them at the fountain and walking past lines of palm trees. After he entered the three story building, Vel turned to the fountain. She ran a hand over its rough surface, the texture similar to granite.

  She sat upon its edge, legs relieved for the rest. Dipping her hand in the crystal clear water, she stared at the square coins that sat beneath it. Most of them were green, some were copper, but all of them had a round hole in the center.

  A silver coin from Alnonor caught her eye, glinting in the harsh sunlight. Vel, against her better judgement, reached in, plucking the coin up. Pulling it from the water, she started at the solid round currency, then sighed, imagining the wish that Edard maybe tossed in the water.

  What would have he wished for if he thought I was dead? she wondered, then smiled as another thought came to her. The wonderful thing about wishes was that they didn’t have to be realistic, but rather fantasy. He could have wished to see her one last time, or to hold her hand. He could have wished to have her back. He . . .

  What if he’s dead, a thought shocked her, though it’d been there before. She stared at the coin, then looked back into the water, letting it drop back in. He’s not dead, she tried to convince herself. All along her journey, she’d had clues to his aliveness, but now how long had it been? No one could tell her where he went, except that he had come to this kingdom. She didn’t even know if he’d come to this city either.

  What would I do if he’s dead? she thought, staring at that coin.

  “Bad news.”

  Vel whipped her head around, her stomach dropping as she looked at Aden. “Bad?” she asked.

  “Yeah, the guy they arrested is still in prison, and he’s got a dozen piercings, so . . .”

  Vel released a breath she’d been holding. “It’s not him.”

  “Kid, we need to work on your definition of ‘bad’,” Sigurd noted.

  “What? It means we don’t know where her boyfriend is,” Aden pointed at Vel.

  “It’s alright,” Vel said, leaning on a hand and looking back at the coin in the water. After a moment, her eyes wandered from it, then froze on some faded paint beneath her hand. She lifted it, reading the words that sat there. It wasn’t a wish, but instead a name, reading, “Myrra Malo, my lost song of joy.”

  There was more paint, each holding something similar.

  “Lian Maar, feisty like a swordstorm.”

  “Ula Lynar, dancing in Myamor.”

  Vel ran her fingers along the words, ignoring the conversation the others had until Sigurd said, “Vel?”

  She didn’t even look at him, only asked, “What are these?”

  “Memories,” Sigurd said.

  Finally looking up, she looked into his eyes. “Memories of who?”

  “The lost. It’s a tradition, normally done in carving, but paints have become popular here. Whenever someone passes, carve their name into stone and they’ll never be forgotten.”

  “Really?” Vel asked, looking back at all the names painted, the lettering small. If the paint didn’t fade at least a little bit, it would be hard to find the most recent ones, but . . . If Edard was here and thought her dead, and someone told him about this, then maybe, just maybe he’d put her here.

  She stood up, rounding the fountain, looking over the brightest and darkest paints. Then, she froze, seeing her name written down for the very first time.

  Velmira.

  She knelt, looking at the words.

  The princess that gave everything to the world.

  There was . . . regret in those words. Loss. Pain. Pain that Vel reflected now, eyes glossing over. Did he feel betrayed, thinking that she gave up her life for the world? Was he mad at her? Why hadn’t she listened!

  “He was here,” she said, her voice breaking. “Holy retribution,” she said, the word coming out with ease. “Sigurd, I let him down.”

  “Stop that,” Amalia responded, Vel choking. She looked up at the ex-priestess. “You did not. The world let you down.”

  “For once, I agree with her,” Sigurd said, Amalia giving him a fighting look, which softened. Both of them softened, and for a moment, Vel swore she could see them intentionally putting their differences aside.

  “So we find him. He’ll know then that you never gave up your life,” Amalia said.

  “And if he’s dead?” Vel asked.

  “It’s not prudent to worry about the unknown,” Amalia noted, crouching down beside Vel.

  “Why are you all here?” Vel asked, sniffling as a tear escaped her eye. “Why are you all helping me?”

  “Because I got nobody else,” Aden spoke up, Vel looking past Amalia and Sigurd at the sandy haired boy. He looked at the other two, then shrugged. “What?” he asked, like being alone was perfectly normal.

  “You’re not the only one, kid,” Sigurd nodded, and looked back at Vel. “None of us have friends or family.”

  “Or what family we have sold us to the church,” Amalia added.

  “Basically everyone’s down on their luck, so . . .” Aden trailed off, “we found ourselves a new family.” A warm hue came to his cheeks. “But you never heard me say it!”

  “I won’t tell a soul,” Vel said, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She stood up. “Fine, then I’ll get over myself so as to not need your consolations anymore,” she stated, wiping dirt off her bloodied dress. Fat lot of good that did. “I am with family, even if we don’t always behave so.”

  “We’re a work in progress,” Amalia stated, also standing.

  “Yes, well, let’s find the rest of our family,” Vel blushed. Edard. Family. She had it all, she really did, and looking at all the names on the fountain, particularly her own, reminded her of that. “We know that Edard traveled to a port city. Which one?”

  “Likely this one,” Sigurd said. “We got lucky we ended up stranded close to here.”

  “So we ask at the dock if anyone has seen him and where he headed,” Vel said.

  “We?” Aden asked, shaking his head. “I ask.”

  “Right,” Vel nodded. “Then let’s head that way.” She pointed, following the smell of salt.

  [Scent Memory level 2]

  Oh . . . I forgot I had that, Vel thought, blinking at the new notification.

  Aden led the way, Amalia following after. Sigurd, however, just smirked at Vel.

  “What?”

  “You,” he said.

  “What about me?”

  “Being a leader. Giving directions. You didn’t even need me for all of that.”

  “Don’t be silly, of course I needed you. Someone needed to tell me to stop crying,” Vel humphed and turned. As she did, she couldn’t help the smile that formed upon her face anyways. She was growing and changing. Almost like she was a new person, bold and . . . unbendable? Well, she couldn’t change too much, not if it meant she was an entirely different person when she saw Edard again. No, she just wanted to be an improved person.