Ember Fletcher stood in the guild hall’s morning light, her red hair bright against the polished wood floor. She held her favorite blue ribbon in one hand while examining a displayed silk with the other.


    “This one is moon-weave from Kashyar.” She demonstrated to the assembled merchants, running her fingers along the fabric’s edge. “Watch how it shifts colors. They use silver-dipped needles and weave it under the full moon.”


    Master Aldrich adjusted his velvet robes. “And how would you know that, little one?”


    “The edges, Master Aldrich - see how loose the threads are?” Ember pointed. “Desert weavers do that so the silk won’t split in dry air.” She moved to another display with quick, precise steps. “This one’s different - from the southern isles. The tight weave keeps out the salt air.”


    The guild members exchanged glances as Thomas Fletcher watched his daughter, trying and failing to hide his smile while she identified each textile’s origins with a child’s earnest excitement.


    “Look at this one!” Ember reached for a deep blue fabric. “It’s doubled-dyed cerulean. Indigo first, then crushed seashells.” She lifted it to catch the light. “That’s what makes it shimmer.”


    “Remarkable,” Lady Pembroke said to her fellow council member. “How old is she?”


    “Six and a quarter,” Ember said without looking up, then ducked her head as several merchants laughed.


    She wound her ribbon between her fingers as she continued, examining each new textile. The council members leaned in closer with each revelation.


    Master Windworth turned to Thomas. “Your daughter has quite the eye for quality.”


    “Father says quality isn’t just looks - it’s how something’s made.” Ember traced her hand along another silk bolt. “Like here - these tiny knots mean the weaver rushed. It won’t last.”


    The appreciative silence broke when Markus Blackwood cleared his throat. Ember glanced up to see his jaw tight, his expression cold. She stepped back, suddenly aware of all the eyes on her.


    “If we’re done with this… display,” Blackwood said, “we have actual business to discuss.”


    But the other merchants were already gathering around Thomas, speaking animatedly. Ember sat near her father’s feet, returning to her ribbon while the adults talked. She didn’t see how Blackwood watched her, or the calculations behind his steady gaze.


    She was too absorbed in the fabrics surrounding her, each one with its own story to tell.


    Thomas Fletcher lingered by one of the guild hall’s pillars, watching his daughter with a mix of pride and unease. His fingernails pressed half-moons into his palms as Ember worked her way through the morning’s displays.


    She moved between the merchant stalls with practiced grace, her head barely reaching the table heights. The morning sun through the hall’s windows cast long shadows across the marble floor, but Ember seemed to find light wherever she went.


    “The weave changes direction here,” she said, running her small fingers along a length of silk. “That’s why it shimmers differently. They only do this in the eastern provinces.”


    Master Aldrich’s weathered face creased with interest. “And the price reflects this, yes?”


    “Only for the real ones.” Ember lifted the edge of the fabric. “See these tiny marks? Without those, it’s just clever imitation.”


    The assembled merchants shifted closer, some nodding appreciatively while others made quick notations. Thomas watched them watching her, noting which faces showed genuine admiration and which masked other intentions.


    Lady Pembroke drifted to his side. “She has quite a gift, Fletcher. One that could take her far.” Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.


    “You honor us,” Thomas replied, keeping his voice neutral. Each compliment today was a coin with two faces - praise on one side, expectation on the other.


    At the next display, Ember sorted through samples of dyed silk, pointing out the subtle variations in the indigo shades. Master Windworth let out a surprised laugh when she picked out the counterfeit without hesitation.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    But across the room, Markus Blackwood’s fingers tapped steadily against his leather-bound ledger. His gaze never left Ember, and Thomas recognized the look of a man calculating profit and loss.


    “She’ll change everything,” someone murmured nearby. “The trade hasn’t seen talent like this in years.”


    “Changes aren’t always welcome,” Blackwood said quietly as he passed, the words meant for Thomas alone.


    Ember remained absorbed in her element, genuine excitement lighting her face as she explored each new textile. “Father!” she called out, stretching toward a bolt of fabric. “They’ve brought the new island weave!”


    Thomas moved to join her, his merchant’s instincts at war with fatherly concern. He’d taught her their trade hoping to secure her future. Now he wondered if he’d only painted a target on her back.


    Morning light streamed through the high windows, casting alternating patterns of light and shadow across the guild hall floor. Thomas watched his daughter draw another circle of merchants into her orbit, and felt the weight of every appreciative gaze upon her.


    Ember sat cross-legged on the polished floor, weaving a discarded silk ribbon between her fingers. Sunlight poured through the guild hall’s tall windows, catching the silk’s sheen as she twisted it into delicate patterns. Her quiet humming blended with the usual afternoon murmur of merchant conversation.


    “Those contracts were mine, Fletcher.” Markus Blackwood’s voice sliced through the hall’s calm. “The eastern quarter has been my territory for fifteen years.”


    Ember looked up at the harsh tone but returned to her game when she saw her father standing calm and straight-backed, hands clasped behind him.


    “The market serves all guild members equally,” Thomas replied. “I offer quality goods at fair prices. Nothing more.”


    Blackwood closed the distance between them, sweat dotting his forehead despite the cool air. His face had gone blotchy with anger. “Fair? You’re gutting established rates, stealing clients I’ve held for a decade-”


    “I provide better service.” Thomas’s jaw flexed. “Perhaps if you focused on improving your business instead of marking territory-”


    “Don’t you dare lecture me!” Blackwood’s fingers curled into fists. The nearest merchants found sudden interest in distant corners of the hall, their conversations fading to whispers.


    Ember created another loop in her ribbon, tilting it to catch the light. She’d nearly mastered this new pattern - just one more twist…


    “Your recent profits have made you bold, Fletcher.” Blackwood leaned closer, his breath hot against Thomas’s ear. “Bold men often stumble.” His gaze lingered on Ember for three heartbeats too long.


    Thomas’s spine went rigid. “Choose your next words carefully, Markus.”


    “Words?” Blackwood’s laugh scraped like rusty hinges. “The eastern quarter can be dangerous after dark, Fletcher. Especially for merchants who don’t know their place.”


    The ribbon slipped from Ember’s fingers. She looked up to find her father’s face had drained of color, his expression carved from winter ice. The remaining merchants bent over their ledgers, quills scratching with forced intensity.


    Blackwood tugged his expensive jacket straight and stepped back. Several older guild members nodded slightly, their faces set with grim understanding.


    Thomas drew a measured breath. “Come along, Ember,” he said, voice steady but thin. “We’re finished here.”


    She gathered her ribbon and stood, sliding her small hand into his larger one. “Father? Why did that man sound so mean?”


    Thomas squeezed her hand. “It’s complicated, little spark.” The muscles in his jaw worked. “Just business matters.”


    But as they walked toward the guild hall’s doors, Ember felt the slight tremor in her father’s grip. His gaze darted between the shadows gathering in the hall’s corners. Her morning’s delight in the ribbon’s patterns faded, replaced by an unfamiliar chill that had nothing to do with the afternoon’s cooling air.


    The guild hall doors thudded shut behind them when footsteps clattered down the stone steps. Master Aldrich caught up, his lined face pinched with worry.


    “Fletcher, a moment.” His eyes flicked to Ember before settling on Thomas. “Your daughter showed remarkable talent today. It would be… unfortunate if anything were to interfere with her future studies.”


    Thomas’s jaw clenched. “Master Aldrich-”


    “The guild values its promising members,” Aldrich cut in, voice barely above a whisper. “Should matters become… difficult, you need only send word.” The merchant’s ring glinted on his finger as he adjusted his sleeve. “We look after our own.”


    Something dangerous flickered in her father’s eyes, though his voice stayed level. “Thank you for your concern, Master Aldrich. We really must be going.”


    Thomas gripped Ember’s hand tight as they descended the steps. She half-ran to keep pace with him through the busy street.


    “Nearly came to blows with Blackwood over the Fletcher girl,” a fruit vendor said to her neighbor, loud enough to carry. “Showed up half the masters, they say.”


    Thomas pulled Ember closer as they passed a cluster of merchants near a shop front. Their chatter died, replaced by weighted silence and sharp glances.


    “Father, you’re walking too fast,” Ember gasped, stumbling on the uneven street.


    He slowed but kept moving, his gaze sweeping the afternoon crowds. The merchant district’s familiar paths felt wrong now - each doorway and alley drawing his eye.


    “Brave man or a dead one, crossing Blackwood like that,” came a muttered voice as they passed.


    Ember’s pride from the guild review withered in her chest. Her father’s hand shook slightly in hers, though his face stayed blank. She’d seen him angry before, at ruined cargo or cheating suppliers, but never this kind of quiet fury.


    “Just a bit further,” Thomas said softly.


    They rounded another corner, picking up speed. The afternoon sun stretched their shadows long across the cobbles as they hurried home, two figures moving quick and quiet through the crowded streets.