Chapter 4 — A Ticket Far Away

Elara Veyne

Freedom, I discovered, charged rent.

My first room outside the church was cramped, old, and very ugly, but it was mine. It had a bed, an unstable table, an old mana stove, and a door I could lock from the inside.

I spent an unreasonable amount of time staring at the key in my hand.

So I went to buy some bread, because, apparently, freedom doesn't work on an empty stomach either.

I took temporary jobs and trained at night. By then, I could strengthen mixtures without visible light and stop before the familiar pressure behind my eyes became trembling, blood, or unconsciousness.

One afternoon at a teahouse, two lupine merchants sat near the table I was cleaning.

“Azhareth reduced the shipment again.”

“At this rate, Nythrium will double before winter.”

My hand stopped.

Nythrium.

I remembered a black box Gideon had opened years earlier. Inside was a nearly transparent crystal crossed by gold. He had allowed me to use it once while making a regeneration potion.

Normally, that much of my blessing would have left blood running from my nose.

That day, I had been exhausted—but I had not bled or collapsed.

At the next table, the merchants continued.

“I still don’t understand why no one takes the mines.”

“People tried.”

“And?”

“There’s a reason no one marches into Azhareth twice.”

“The desert?”

“The wolves.”

“There are wolves everywhere.”

“Not like the ones in Namarra.”

That night, I went to the library.

I discovered that Azhareth possessed Nythra, which, when refined, became Nythrium: a mineral that stored and stabilized mana. Most of the mines belonged to the Crown or to houses affiliated with it.

House Varesh ruled Azhareth, one of the oldest lupine dynasties on the continent. Their kings were famous for powerful transformations.

The current heir was the exception.

Kian Varesh. Gravely ill. Rarely seen. Never known to have manifested a wolf.

I felt brief sympathy for a prince famous for failing to become what his bloodline expected.

Then I returned to the important part.

Nythrium might let me use my blessing without slowly killing myself.

In short, if I could get my hands on that magic stone, I'd have a lot more power, and that was exactly what I needed to get my revenge on the Caldris.

So I did the math, and to my dismay, the trip to Namarra would cost almost four times everything I owned.

At first, I almost cried out of discouragement, but then I remembered what I had in my hands—literally.

My blessing.

I put it to the best possible use and started selling potions.

Illegally, of course.

It turned out to be more complicated than making them.

I changed shops, bought ingredients in small amounts, and made small batches. The harder lesson was making my potions worse.

My first customer came back because a simple muscle-recovery tonic worked in half the expected time.

I stared at the empty vial.

I had used cheap ingredients and barely touched it with my blessing.

Apparently I needed to fail more convincingly.

The Caldris had spent years demanding perfection. Now survival required mediocrity.

---

Months passed. Work during the day. Potions at night. Savings hidden in several places.

Then Gideon Caldris walked into a vial shop while I was inside.

I recognized his voice before I looked.

“I hope you received the rest of the order.”

The merchant straightened immediately. “Lord Caldris. Forty crates of containment ampoules in one month is no small purchase.”

“Production has increased.”

Containment ampoules.

I had used hundreds of them.

My thoughts went to the girl with braids.

Then Gideon placed one hand on the counter.

I saw the ring.

Dark metal. Red stone. Three lines engraved around the base.

My breath stopped.

For years, I had watched his thumb touch that stone just before the collar activated.

My hand flew to my neck.

Nothing was there.

My body did not care.

“Miss?” the merchant asked. “You’re pale.”

“I need air.”

I took my purchases and headed for the door.

As I passed Gideon, I felt his gaze on me.

Outside, panic did the rest.

Had he recognized me from the Church? Heard my heartbeat spike? Smelled fear?

Lupine senses could expose things humans were allowed to pretend remained private.

What if he remembered my scent?

There was no reason he should.

Probably.

I crossed two streets before forcing myself to stop beside a fountain.

I was nineteen now. I had my own room, my own key, and no collar.

Still, one glimpse of Gideon’s ring had reduced me to the girl on the laboratory floor.

My body might always fear him.

Fine.

I only needed to become strong enough to stand in front of him anyway.

---

Two weeks later, I met Edda Voss.

Officially, she sold herbs, tinctures, resins, and old objects from a narrow shop.

Unofficially, she sold almost anything someone could afford.

Edda was human, but her contacts included human merchants, lupine mercenaries, shifters, unlicensed apothecaries, and doctors who preferred certain purchases not to appear in official records.

“You’re too young to be looking for buyers who don’t ask questions,” she told me.

“And you look too old to ask so many.”

She stared.

Then laughed.

That was the beginning.

I brought her a few vials at a time.

“An acquaintance makes them.”

She uncorked one, smelled it, and looked at me sideways.

“Of course.”

“It wasn’t me.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

Edda always charged an outrageous percentage. I would complain. She would find a way to raise the price. Then we'd negotiate.

After a few months, she was the closest thing I had to a friend in Veyrhold. She knew when I was sick, short on money, or pretending not to worry.

She also knew I made the potions.

I never admitted it.

She politely pretended to believe me.

“You remind me of my granddaughter,” she said one night.

“I’m sorry about your granddaughter,” I joked.

“Me too. That girl was unbearable,” she replied, looking down a little.

I learned later that her granddaughter had died. I did not ask how. Edda also never asked why I sometimes woke up from nightmares with my hand around my throat.That was probably why we understood each other.

When I finally had enough money to travel and survive after arriving, Edda helped me find contacts in Namarra.

Before leaving, I gave her a pouch of coins and a list.

“What's that?” she asked.

“Work: I want news about the Caldris. Purchases, contracts, new people entering the estate, employees disappearing. Anything strange.”

She scanned it. “Should I report when Gideon changes tailors?”

“If he starts ordering funeral clothes, I want to know who they’re for.”

Her amusement faded.

“Do you have a problem with that family?”

“None.”

“Of course.”

At the station, she tucked two antidotes into my bag.

“A gift.”

“I don’t like gifts.”

“Good. Then pay me when you come back.”

As boarding was called, she added, “And tell that mysterious alchemist of yours to stop using vitra root in the regenerative. You can taste it at the end.”

I slowly turned toward her. I had never told anyone the formula.

Edda smiled.

I decided not to ask.

How much had she discovered in the last few months?

The mana train began moving.

Veyrhold slipped past the window: dark roofs, bridges, rain, and the distant towers of the Church.

Somewhere in the city, Gideon lived as if he had never hurt me. Livia slept in safety. Julian smiled at people who had no reason to hate him.

And the girl with braids might still be behind a locked door.

I touched my neck.

“Keep living your lives as if nothing were happening... when I come back, I'll show the world what monsters you really are.”