Page 16 of The Last Guardian

Since the memorial service, I hadn’t been able to return to the Old Town to see Lyra. Since her father’s death, I’d tried to slip away from the palace as often as possible to see her, behind the guards’ backs, through one of the little secret passages Uncle Marlon had shown me when I was younger.

It was risky to sneak away during this hectic week, with all these guests and nobles from across the Empire. But I had to see Lyra and make a detour to the herbalist shop.

The mark was still there on my wrist, moving, trying to form some pattern. The pain had stopped, though, after the last ball. I still had to get rid of it once and for all.

With tomorrow’s engagement ball at the palace and the wedding three days away, I needed to take action. I planned to visit the herbalist right after my visit to Lyra. I certainly wouldn’t show him the mark, though. I had to be careful with that sort of thing. I couldn’t risk the herbalist talking about it to the other townspeople, but perhaps a balm or a potion could help make it disappear.

If I couldn’t get rid of it, I would be obligated to show it to Haedeon at some point, and even if I didn’t like the idea at all, he possessed gifts that could probably help me erase it from my skin.

The northern cold had already set in by the end of summer. The light breeze made me shiver. My woolen garment was already damp when I passed through the doorway of the Curiosity Shop—Lyra’s shop.

A warm candlelight cast a cozy glow around the place when I stepped inside, the doorbell ringing. A young boy with golden hair sat on the floor, immersed in a book.

Behind the counter, Lyra’s shoulders moved as she took notes in a small notebook. Her unruly red locks were twisted into a tight bun, secured with a pencil. I coughed to signal my presence to her.

“Stars, Alya!” Lyra exclaimed, with a gap. “I didn’t hear the doorbell.”

I chuckled. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Lyra came out from behind the counter. “I was so lost in my new rock art creation.” She handed me a red rock in the form of a fox. “Isn’t she stunning? It’s an imperial topaz.”

Lyra was always on the lookout for unusual trinkets and curiosities, like her collection of petroglyphs. For the shop, of course. But sometimes—if not every time—she kept the stones for herself.

“Beautiful!” I whispered with a smile.

The Curiosity Shop had belonged to her family for centuries; it had been passed down from generation to generation of the Monteroy family. An old shop, with antique objects and numerous books from everywhere. Recently, she had even set up a small space so that people could have a hot drink while reading a book.

Lyra and her father had run the shop together since her mother, Jade, had disappeared when Lyra was only ten. But last year, her father died, and since that dreadful day, Lyra managed everything on her own. Whenever I could, I would come and help her put away the new stock or clean up, but she rarely accepted my help.

“So what’s new?” Lyra said, taking a box full of new books to put on the shelves. “Everything’s alright at the palace?”

“It’s been hectic and bustling,” I sighed, following her as we walked the different paths of the place where we sorted the stock together, “but things will calm down soon. I couldn’t wait to spend a peaceful afternoon here with you.”

Lyra lived upstairs, in the place she had grown up with her parents, a cozy flat, big enough for three. I loved that place.

“Understandable,” commented Lyra, wiping the dust off a shelf. “I heard what Arthur did. About the Southern Legion.”

I frowned. “How?”

“Some nobles visited the shop the other day. They came in for tea, and while they were chatting, I might have overheard…”

“Might, eh?” I glanced at her.

Lyra shrugged, darting her eyes away from mine with a satisfied smile curling her lips. “Did he tell you why?” she asked. “Arthur?”

“No. I haven’t seen him since the ball,” I answered in a low voice, gazing around the shop, empty except for the little boy.

Arthur was nowhere to be found, and neither were his strange friends. Frustration gnawed at me every time I thought back to the conversation I’d had with one of them on the balcony. What kind of business could Arthur possibly have with those kinds of people?

“Arthur won’t answer my questions, even if I ask him about the matter.”

“At least some things never change,” Lyra scoffed, rolling her eyes. “He’s an ass.”

I wasn’t going to argue about that. Arthur was stubborn; maybe that was why he and Lyra constantly bickered. She was just as stubborn. Watching them argue had always been fun—and not like siblings, like Dorian and her, but like a grumpy old married couple. Dorian and I had a game: guessing who would win each argument. After a while, we had stopped because, obviously, Lyra always won.

“Will you be able to come tomorrow evening?” I asked her.

“Yes, of course, I’ll be there.” Lyra beamed. “It will be fun! We could dance around!”