Chapter 5 — An Open Door

Elara Veyne

Almost two months after leaving Veyrhold, I learned that maps were terrible at explaining distance.

I also turned twenty somewhere between a railway station and a trade port.

My celebration was sweet bread and an argument about luggage fees.

Still better than most birthdays from my first life.

The journey took me through forests, ports, sea routes, and finally an aerostat I was convinced had been designed by someone with very little respect for gravity.

I survived.

A promising start.

Aldervane’s dark forests disappeared. Buildings became lighter. The air dried. The people changed too.

Namarra was full of humans, wolves, shifters, and people with manifestations shaped by desert life: water affinities, heat resistance, stone manipulation, endurance.

The wolves caught my attention most.

They sold goods, carried cargo, guarded caravans, and complained about prices like anyone else, but something about them felt different from the lupines I knew in Aldervane.

More controlled. More watchful.

I remembered the merchants in Veyrhold.

Not like the ones in Namarra.

The city itself spread beneath an enormous sky in pale stone, domes, arches, shaded courtyards, canals, and mana crystals worked into the architecture.

My first thought was that it must cost a fortune.

My second was that I was melting.

I bought lighter clothes immediately.

The language was almost as dangerous as the heat.

I had studied Azhari for a year. Unfortunately, the people of Namarra spoke it much faster than my books had promised.

My contact, Harun Saret, found this hilarious.

“You asked for a room with a goat,” he told me on my second day.

“I asked for a balcony.”

“You asked for a goat.”

“The words are almost identical.”

“Only to foreigners.”

Harun was human, a fabric and spice merchant who had worked with Edda. He arranged a simple room with a lock and an owner who cared more about rent than questions.

I liked it immediately.

The lock mattered more than the furniture. I closed the door, turned the key, and tested it twice before unpacking. Old habits did not disappear just because the scenery changed.

For my first week, I observed.

Namarra quickly taught me that wealth depended on where you lived. A woman at a fruit stand was wearing metal bracelets with blue stones, so I assumed she was rich and that the stand was just a hobby.

Then I asked the price of two pears.

I nearly put them back.

Harun laughed.

“Water costs money. Metals we have. Stones too. Fruit needs irrigation.”

I looked at the pears. “Then perhaps I’d rather buy a bracelet.”

Harun laughed hard enough to attract the seller’s attention.

Around Namarra, water came from deep wells, mana-fed canals, condensers, and people with affinities capable of drawing moisture from the air. An ability that might earn polite curiosity in Aldervane could feed a district here.

That was perhaps the strangest part of the city: no one stopped to stare at magic that would have become gossip for a week back home. I saw a lupine butcher arguing with a human merchant, a woman carrying jars without touching them, and children competing to keep a sphere of water floating over a canal. It was simply life.

The city was prosperous despite everything I had heard abroad. Markets were full. Water systems worked. The Crown clearly controlled more than outsiders understood.

So did House Varesh.

The king was respected.

As for the prince, he was the subject of speculation.

During one week, I heard enough versions of Kian Varesh’s illness to conclude that no one knew the truth.

Some said he had been sick since childhood. Others claimed adolescence. One seller said he could no longer stand. Another said the palace kept him hidden because his body was covered in lesions.

The most persistent rumor involved his bloodline.

House Varesh was one of Azhareth’s oldest and strongest lupine dynasties. King Rayan was said to possess a formidable transformation.

Kian had never been seen shifting.

Some believed the illness had prevented his wolf from manifesting. Others whispered there had never been a wolf at all.

No one openly called that a disgrace.

People found quieter ways.

A failed inheritance.

A weak heir.

A prince more human than Varesh.

I did not know which rumor was true. One woman insisted the king kept Kian hidden because the illness had ruined his face. Another claimed he simply hated court. Harun rolled his eyes when I repeated the stories.

“The man is alive,” he said.

“That seems to be the only part everyone agrees on.”

I knew only that Kian was dying and that the Crown controlled most of the Nythrium I wanted.

Buying small amounts was possible.

Regular access was not.

Then, on my seventh day in Namarra, trumpets sounded through the central market.

A royal procession entered the avenue. Guards in gold and dark fabric cleared the path while crystals amplified a herald’s voice.

“By decree of His Majesty, King Rayan Varesh...”

Foreign delegations were arriving. Noble houses had been invited. A grand palace celebration would receive women from powerful bloodlines as possible marriage candidates for Crown Prince Kian.

Two girls near me whispered.

“Princesses from three kingdoms are coming.”

“To marry him?”

“If he survives long enough.”

Another woman muttered, “Perhaps marriage will finally give House Varesh an heir with a wolf.”

Her companion elbowed her silent.

It did not sound like a promising love story.

Then the herald announced something far more interesting.

The palace needed temporary civilian workers.

Kitchens. Laundry. Table service. Storerooms. Cleaning.

My attention sharpened.

Where were Nythrium concessions approved?

At the palace.

Where did merchants negotiate with Crown officials?

At the palace.

And now the palace was opening its doors to ordinary workers.

Harun hated the idea.

“You arrived a week ago.”

“I know.”

“You’re a foreigner.”

“I know that too.”

“And you want to work inside the royal palace.”

“Temporarily.”

“Why?”

“Money.”

“You have money.”

“I want more.”

He stared at me.

I smiled.

“The palace will be full of merchants. I could make useful contacts.”

It was not a lie.

Just not all of the truth.

I had legitimate work records, trade letters, and a recommendation from one of Edda’s contacts. Nothing impressive enough to be remembered.

Exactly what I wanted.

The next morning, I joined the long line at a registration point.

At the top of the application was the golden Varesh crest.

I had crossed half a continent searching for a path toward Nythrium.

Now the palace itself had opened a door.

I dipped the quill into ink and wrote my name.

I would not enter as a guest.

I would enter the way I had always survived best.

As someone no one had a reason to notice.