《Inherited Wounds》


 1. A Merchants Daughters Dawn

    Sunlight cut through the high windows of the Fletcher¡¯s silk shop, falling across the wooden counter where Ember stretched to grasp the edge of purple silk. Her father Thomas held the other end, watching as she maneuvered the delicate fabric.


    ¡°Easy does it,¡± he said. ¡°This one¡¯s worth more than most folks see in a year. Know why?¡±


    Ember focused on keeping the silk from touching the floor as they unfurled it. The fabric slid across the counter with a soft hiss. She inhaled the strange, foreign scent that clung to it. ¡°Eastern provinces,¡± she said, smoothing a wrinkle. ¡°They make the purple from¡­ sea things?¡±


    ¡°Mollusks,¡± Thomas said. ¡°Tiny creatures from the tide pools.¡±


    ¡°Right! It takes so many just to dye one piece.¡± Her fingers traced the deep color, remembering the sketches her father had shown her of the rocky eastern shores.


    The market street was coming alive outside - a cart rattled past, and someone cursed as they dropped what sounded like a crate. Ember moved to the next bolt of silk, a gold one that caught the light. She lifted the corner, watching the color shift.


    ¡°Look - it changes like fish scales in the river.¡±


    ¡°Shot silk,¡± Thomas said, and Ember could hear the smile in his voice. ¡°Because-¡±


    ¡°Different colors in each direction,¡± she finished. ¡°I remember.¡±


    They made their way through the morning inventory, with Ember trailing her hands over each texture - raw silk that caught at her fingers, smooth charmeuse that seemed to flow like water, gauze so fine she could see through it.


    At the window display, Thomas hoisted her onto his shoulders. Ember wobbled, then steadied herself against his head as she adjusted the folds of crimson silk. The street below was filling with the first market-goers of the day.


    ¡°Tell me about the silk road again,¡± she said, patting his temple.


    ¡°You know it by heart now,¡± Thomas protested, but she could feel him settling into storyteller¡¯s stance.


    ¡°The desert part. Please?¡±


    ¡°Ah, well.¡± He shifted her weight. ¡°It starts in lands so distant it takes a year to reach them. The merchants cross deserts where the sun burns the sand white¡­¡±


    Ember let his words wash over her, breathing in the sharp cedar of the shelves and the subtle spices that kept moths from the fabric. Everything felt right - the familiar weight of her father¡¯s hands steady on her legs, the warmth of morning sun on her face.


    ¡°Shop¡¯s opening soon,¡± Thomas said, lifting her down. ¡°Ready to help today?¡±


    Her fingers brushed each bolt of silk with the ease of long practice, small adjustments perfected over countless dawns. The floorboards gave their usual protest beneath her feet.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    She shifted a length of sapphire silk into the strengthening sunbeam. ¡°There,¡± she murmured, watching the color deepen. The fabric fell into new folds, each catching the light differently.


    The market street¡¯s familiar chorus filtered through the windows - iron-shod hooves on stone, wooden crates scraping across thresholds, vendors calling their first greetings. People hurried past, each intent on their morning tasks. The baker¡¯s apron bore fresh flour stains, while the cooper cursed softly as he wrestled a stubborn barrel.


    ¡°Mind those drapes,¡± her father called from his desk, not looking up from his ledger. ¡°The left side¡¯s drooping.¡±


    Ember stretched, tugging the heavy crimson fabric until it hung properly. ¡°Like this?¡±


    Thomas glanced over, his merchant¡¯s eye assessing. ¡°Better. You¡¯re learning.¡±


    The praise made her stand straighter as she laid out the morning¡¯s samples on the counter. Each piece told its own story - raw silk still carrying the scent of southern ports, highland wool rough against her palm, delicate western lace that caught at her calluses.


    The bell tower¡¯s harsh note made her flinch. ¡°First bell already,¡± she said, moving faster. The cedar shelves still needed dusting, and new stock waited to be arranged.


    She breathed in the shop¡¯s familiar mix of cedar and silk, leather and lavender. Fresh bread from down the street made her stomach complain quietly.


    ¡°Ready for opening?¡± Thomas closed his ledger.


    Ember checked her work one last time. The displays caught the light just right, leading the eye deeper into the shop¡¯s offerings. Each sample on the counter invited closer inspection.


    ¡°Ready,¡± she said, taking her place on the cushioned stool. She adjusted her skirt and posture, her mother¡¯s lessons still fresh in mind. Through the window, she spotted the day¡¯s first potential customers. Time to put those lessons to use.


    The morning crowd pushed through the door, trailing the chill autumn air. Ember shifted on her wooden stool, watching her father Thomas straighten as Lady Marsden entered. Her rings clinked against the counter as she approached.


    ¡°My lady,¡± Thomas said, inclining his head just enough to show respect without servility. ¡°I¡¯ve something that might interest you.¡±


    Ember noted how he let the silence hang, drawing the noblewoman in. Lady Marsden¡¯s fingers drummed once, twice on the counter. ¡°Do tell.¡±


    ¡°A purple silk, fresh from the eastern ships.¡± He didn¡¯t reach for it immediately, though Ember saw his eyes flick to where it lay.


    ¡°Show me,¡± Lady Marsden commanded, already moving toward the display. Thomas retrieved the bolt, his movements precise as he angled it toward the window. The fabric caught the light, making Lady Marsden¡¯s breath catch.


    More customers filled the shop. A weather-beaten merchant inspected sail-silk with calloused hands. A young noble stammered through asking about wedding cloth while two merchants¡¯ wives critiqued his choices in whispers. Thomas wove between them all, his attention spreading just thin enough to keep them waiting, wanting.


    ¡°The weave is particularly fine,¡± Thomas told the noble, letting cream-colored silk spill across the counter. Ember suppressed a smile - the fabric always seemed to find its way into customers¡¯ hands after that move, and once they felt its smoothness, coin usually followed.


    The bell above the door barely stopped ringing. Ember¡¯s head swam with numbers as she tracked the day¡¯s sales. During a rare quiet moment, Thomas leaned against the counter beside her.


    ¡°Tell me what you saw,¡± he murmured.


    ¡°Lady Marsden wouldn¡¯t have touched the purple if you¡¯d shown it first,¡± Ember said. ¡°And Master Cooper grabbed the red silk the moment you mentioned the harbor master was eyeing it.¡±


    Thomas nodded. ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°You gave the Guild Master¡¯s wife space to preen, but kept close to the farmer¡¯s daughter so she wouldn¡¯t bolt.¡±


    A new group pushed through the door - merchants by their clothes, but with steel at their hips. Thomas squeezed her shoulder before moving to intercept them. Ember watched him work, memorizing each gesture, each careful word. The afternoon light caught the dust in the air, and the soft rustle of fabric mingled with the clink of coins and carefully measured words.


    This would be her life - not just selling silk, but reading people, knowing when to press and when to yield. For now, she sat and learned, recording her father¡¯s every move while the surety of his presence kept the world¡¯s harder edges at bay.

 2. Stitches and Secrets

    Ember winced as the needle bit her finger again. The merchant mark she¡¯d tried to stitch looked more like a child¡¯s scrawl than the crisp emblem her mother created with such skill.


    ¡°Here, love.¡± Sarah¡¯s hands enveloped hers, adjusting her grip. ¡°Feel that? The needle wants to move this way.¡± Her mother¡¯s hair brushed Ember¡¯s cheek as she guided the motion.


    The workshop¡¯s familiar scents surrounded them - beeswax-coated thread, bolts of fresh silk, and the herbal sachets tucked between finished garments. At the workbench, Ember studied the correct angle, trying to match her mother¡¯s fluid movements.


    ¡°Better,¡± Sarah said, her smile evident in her voice. ¡°Though perhaps we should save the good silk for when you¡¯re not leaving quite so many holes.¡±


    ¡°It still looks wrong.¡± Ember frowned at her uneven stitches beside a finished piece¡¯s precise mark. ¡°I don¡¯t understand how you do it.¡±


    Sarah selected a scrap of practice fabric. ¡°Oh, I was worse when I started. Once sewed myself to a customer¡¯s order - right through my best dress.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re making that up!¡± Ember stared at her mother, searching for any hint of teasing.


    ¡°I wish I were. Spent an hour trapped there while my poor teacher wheezed with laughter.¡± Sarah¡¯s needle flashed, leaving perfect stitches in its wake. ¡°Think of it as drawing with thread instead of ink.¡±


    Ember tried again. The mark looked less like a disaster, though it would never pass for an official seal.


    ¡°There you go,¡± Sarah said, correcting her posture. ¡°Let the needle find its path - you¡¯re not punching holes in armor.¡±


    When fresh blood spotted the fabric, Sarah produced a worn leather thimble from her pocket.


    ¡°This helped me survive my learning days.¡± She smiled. ¡°Your grandmother claimed she could read my progress like a trail of breadcrumbs - red ones.¡±


    They worked as shadows lengthened across the bench. Each attempt brought small improvements, though Ember¡¯s stitches remained far from merchantable quality. Her mother¡¯s gentle instructions wove through stories of her own apprentice days, each tale revealing a young girl as determined and frustrated as Ember felt now.


    ¡°Mother?¡± Ember stretched her stiffening hands. ¡°How long until you mastered it?¡±


    Sarah traced the uneven stitches thoughtfully. ¡°Mastery took months. But making something worth selling? That came quicker than expected.¡± She squeezed Ember¡¯s shoulder. ¡°And you¡¯re already showing more focus than I had.¡±


    Pride bloomed in Ember¡¯s chest. She returned to her work, each careful stitch bringing her closer to understanding. Still imperfect, still learning, but now she could see the path forward.


    ¡°Would you believe,¡± Sarah said, guiding Ember¡¯s needle through another stitch, ¡°that I once outran three of the city watch across these very rooftops?¡±


    Ember¡¯s hand jerked, pricking her finger. ¡°You did not!¡±


    ¡°I most certainly did.¡± Sarah¡¯s lips twitched as she dabbed at the drop of blood on Ember¡¯s finger. ¡°I was sixteen, and my tutor had scheduled an extra lesson on proper tea service. After three hours of ¡®No, no, the second pot goes behind the first,¡¯ I¡¯d had quite enough.¡±


    Her mother¡¯s fingers moved deftly, correcting Ember¡¯s next stitch. ¡°The merchant guild¡¯s awning made a perfect ladder. I would¡¯ve gotten away clean if that blasted flower pot hadn¡¯t betrayed me.¡±


    Ember let her sewing drop into her lap. ¡°Then what?¡±


    ¡°The pot exploded right at their feet. Sent dirt everywhere - all over their polished boots.¡± Sarah demonstrated another stitch, her shoulders relaxing as she spoke. ¡°They came thundering up the guild house stairs while I picked my way across the rooftops. Lost my slippers somewhere over the candlemaker¡¯s shop.¡±The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°But you¡¯re always telling me about proper deportment and-¡± Ember glanced at her mother¡¯s straight back and perfectly arranged skirts.


    Sarah snorted, a most unladylike sound. ¡°Proper? Ember, I once convinced your Aunt Marion to help me swap every bottle in her father¡¯s wine cellar with colored water. She still glares at me whenever someone mentions vintage Bordeaux.¡±


    The afternoon light dimmed as Sarah shared more stories - sneaking into harvest festivals wearing borrowed masks, creating diversions in the marketplace to steal pies cooling on windowsills, trading secrets with other merchants¡¯ children in hidden alley meetings.


    ¡°The real skill,¡± Sarah said, untangling a knot in Ember¡¯s thread, ¡°isn¡¯t in the running. It¡¯s in walking calmly past the guards the next day, nodding like you¡¯ve never climbed a roof in your life.¡±


    ¡°Did grandfather ever catch you?¡±


    ¡°After six months. He found my collection of roof tiles - I¡¯d been keeping one from each new route.¡± Sarah smoothed her skirts, but Ember caught the quick grin. ¡°He said any girl who could plan escape routes that well deserved extra lessons in contract negotiation instead of tea service.¡±


    Ember traced the crooked stitches of her merchantmark, seeing her mother¡¯s hands in a new light - not just tools for delicate needlework, but capable of scaling walls and mapping rooftop paths through the city she thought she knew.


    ¡°And then,¡± Sarah dabbed at her eyes, demonstrating another stitch, ¡°young Lord Blackwood sauntered into court, wearing what he thought was the finest doublet coin could buy.¡±


    Ember leaned in, her own needle lying forgotten. ¡°What happened?¡±


    ¡°The rain happened. That fool started leaving purple streaks wherever he went, marking his path through the great hall clear as a drunk¡¯s trail to the tavern.¡± Sarah¡¯s shoulders shook. ¡°His precious white stallion ended up looking like a carnival horse.¡±


    The workshop door groaned and Thomas peered in. ¡°How goes the learning?¡±


    ¡°Father!¡± Ember lifted her latest attempt at embroidery, then faltered as she saw how the merchant mark sprawled across the fabric like a spider had seized with fits while spinning.


    Sarah caught her eye and snorted. ¡°We¡¯re telling tales about the Purple Panic of ''32.¡±


    Thomas¡¯s ledger drooped in his hands. ¡°The experimental dye batch? Gods, half the noble quarter looked like grape harvest gone wrong. Never heard such shrieking from the washerwomen.¡±


    ¡°But that wasn¡¯t even the best part,¡± Sarah wheezed. ¡°It kept spreading. Every damp bench, every wet wall-¡±


    ¡°Purple!¡± they chorused, breaking into fresh laughter.


    Ember¡¯s sides ached as she watched her mother dab at streaming eyes while her father sagged against the doorframe. Her mangled stitches lay abandoned as Sarah described the city guard¡¯s attempts to trace the source, leaving violet handprints on every surface they touched.


    ¡°Your mother,¡± Thomas gasped, ¡°convinced the entire merchant guild it was bad dye from the eastern provinces. Had them hounding their suppliers for months.¡±


    Sarah¡¯s attempt at an innocent expression cracked. ¡°Well, it was a dye problem. Just perhaps not quite as¡­ distant as they assumed.¡±


    More laughter filled the workshop. Ember¡¯s fingers still throbbed from hours of practice, but watching her refined mother cry with mirth over past mischief made her own crooked stitches sting a little less. Perhaps there was hope for her yet.


    Sarah squinted in the fading daylight as she set her needle aside. She gathered Ember¡¯s practice pieces, the rough linen stiff with half-formed merchantry marks.


    ¡°These go below.¡± She pulled open the workbench¡¯s bottom drawer, the wood groaning as it slid.


    Ember frowned over her shoulder. ¡°They¡¯re crooked. That one¡¯s barely even a mark.¡±


    ¡°Here though,¡± Sarah pointed to a section of stitching. ¡°You finally got the guild¡¯s crossed arrows right. And look - these lines are almost even.¡± She traced the improving pattern of another mark.


    The drawer held a collection of worn fabric - crude attempts at hems, tiny boots with threads poking out like bristles, and practice marks that bore little resemblance to their proper forms. Ember winced at her earlier work.


    ¡°I remember this one.¡± Sarah lifted a piece of faded silk. ¡°Your first attempt at my nameday gift. You used up half my good thread on it.¡± Her lips quirked. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t let me help, even when your fingers were bleeding.¡±


    ¡°You kept all that?¡±


    ¡°Each one.¡± Sarah tucked the new pieces among the old. ¡°When the guild masters come asking about your training, they¡¯ll see you earned every stitch.¡± She nudged Ember¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Though perhaps we¡¯ll hide that attempt at the merchants¡¯ seal.¡±


    Ember settled against the workbench. ¡°What about your training? Did you make mistakes too?¡±


    ¡°Did I?¡± Sarah rifled through the scraps. ¡°Once I took it upon myself to ¡®fix¡¯ Madam Blackwood¡¯s wedding dress. Thought I knew better than tradition¡­¡±


    The workshop grew dim as Sarah spoke, her stories punctuated by the whisper of fabric. The street outside quieted as vendors packed away their stalls, but mother and daughter remained, surrounded by years of pricked fingers and determination.


    Sarah finally closed the drawer. ¡°Supper won¡¯t cook itself.¡± She touched Ember¡¯s copper hair, so like her own. ¡°Tomorrow I¡¯ll tell you about the time I nearly ruined the mayor¡¯s wife¡¯s feast dress. Now there¡¯s a proper warning about rushing work.¡±


    Ember gathered the remaining scraps, her fingertips raw from the day¡¯s practice. In the drawer, her mistakes might rest alongside her mother¡¯s, but each one marked another step toward her mark in the merchant¡¯s guild.

 3. The Merchants Daughters First Sale

    Ember adjusted the silk handkerchiefs, each fold exact and measured. Through the window, she spotted Lady Blackwood among the morning crowd, her silver hair and rigid posture marking her as clearly as any banner. Her pulse quickened, but she kept her movements steady, remembering her father¡¯s lessons.


    The brass bells chimed as Lady Blackwood entered. The scent of jasmine filled the shop. Ember curtsied with practiced grace - enough to show respect, but not subservience.


    ¡°Welcome, my lady,¡± she said, her voice clear. ¡°Would you care to see what¡¯s newly arrived from the eastern provinces?¡±


    Lady Blackwood¡¯s jeweled hand cut through the air. ¡°I¡¯m familiar with eastern silk, child.¡±


    ¡°These are different, my lady.¡± Ember lifted one handkerchief into the morning light, revealing the subtle patterns woven within. ¡°This weave matches what the queen¡¯s own needlewomen use.¡±


    Lady Blackwood¡¯s expression shifted. She touched the silk¡¯s edge, rings glinting. ¡°The border is¡­ passable.¡±


    Ember recognized the tone of a merchant¡¯s game. ¡°The border tells more than you might think, my lady. See these patterns?¡± She traced the design. ¡°Crushed pearls mixed with indigo dye. That¡¯s what gives it this sheen.¡±


    Lady Blackwood studied the price tag. Ember pressed on, ¡°It would suit your blue damask - the one with silver thread. The pearl-dye catches light the same way.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve seen my damask, have you?¡± Amusement tinged Lady Blackwood¡¯s words.


    ¡°At spring festival, my lady. None could miss it.¡± Ember selected another piece with a slightly different pattern. ¡°This one would match your cream silk.¡±


    She arranged two more handkerchiefs, showing how each piece enhanced the others. ¡°Each one serves its own purpose, but together they shine brightest.¡±


    Thomas stood nearby, watching. His silence carried approval as Lady Blackwood examined each piece with growing interest.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Four pieces then?¡± The noblewoman¡¯s fingers lingered on the silk. ¡°Wrap them properly.¡±


    ¡°Yes, my lady.¡± Ember reached for the tissue paper, each movement precise. The wrapping mattered as much as the sale - her father had taught her that much.


    As she tied the final ribbon, Lady Blackwood¡¯s mouth curved slightly. ¡°Well handled, child. Your father trained you well.¡±


    The shop bell rang as Lady Blackwood left with her wrapped purchases. Ember released a slow breath, her fingers still sensitive from handling the fine silks. She adjusted the remaining displays, aware of the unusual quiet that had settled over the usually bustling market street.


    ¡°Fletcher¡¯s girl handling Lady Blackwood herself!¡± The whisper carried through the shop window.


    ¡°And her ladyship actually listening to her suggestions,¡± another voice added. ¡°A child, no less.¡±


    Ember kept her eyes on her work, smoothing a length of crimson silk though her cheeks burned. Through the window, Master Cooper and Willem abandoned their own customers to stare, their mouths slightly agape.


    Thomas¡¯s ledger closed with a soft thump. He crossed the shop in quick strides and swept her up, spinning once before hugging her close. She breathed in the familiar scent of cedar and ink.


    ¡°Well done, my clever girl,¡± he murmured against her hair. ¡°So very well done.¡±


    Ember pressed her face into his shoulder, grinning so wide her cheeks ached. Sunlight streamed through the high windows, warming them both as they stood together.


    ¡°I remembered about the pearl-dye,¡± she said. ¡°And matching the new pieces to her existing ones.¡±


    Thomas set her down but kept his hands on her shoulders. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. ¡°You did more than remember. You read her perfectly. Better than I could have.¡±


    Warmth spread through Ember¡¯s chest at his praise. Outside, the market street resumed its normal rhythm - haggling voices, rattling carts, the steady pulse of commerce. But something felt different now, as if she¡¯d crossed some invisible threshold.


    ¡°The way you guided her choices,¡± Thomas said, straightening her apron. ¡°That wasn¡¯t just selling silk. That was skill.¡±


    She touched the counter where the handkerchiefs had been, recalling each careful word and gesture that had led to the sale. The thrill of it still tingled in her fingers.


    ¡°Can I help with the afternoon inventory?¡± She reached for his ledger, enjoying the familiar leather beneath her fingers.


    Thomas ruffled her hair. ¡°Of course. Though I suspect you¡¯ll be running this shop yourself before too long.¡±


    Ember smiled and opened the ledger to today¡¯s page, studying the neat columns of numbers. She imagined adding her own entries, marking her own sales. The future seemed to stretch before her, full of possibility.


    Thomas watched her work, his hand resting gentle on her shoulder as she began to count.

 4. A Childs Eye for Silk

    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.

 5. A Final Peaceful Supper

    Ember squirmed in her chair as her mother brought the honey-glazed duck to their small table. The hearth¡¯s warmth filled their dining room, carrying the rich aroma of roasted meat and herbs.


    ¡°It looks perfect!¡± Ember said, watching the golden skin glisten.


    Her father Thomas smiled as Sarah carved the bird. ¡°Like our profits this month,¡± he said with satisfaction.


    ¡°Thomas,¡± Sarah said, but she was smiling as she served Ember first.


    Ember savored the sweet meat, watching her father launch into one of his merchant stories, hands already moving to paint the scene.


    ¡°So there I was, with three buyers circling like hawks,¡± Thomas said. ¡°Each one convinced they¡¯d get the silk for half its worth!¡±


    Ember raised her fork, copying his gestures. ¡°Then what happened?¡±


    ¡°Told them quality costs - just like this duck here.¡± He took another bite. ¡°Next thing you know, they¡¯re fighting to outbid each other!¡±


    Ember laughed and bowed like a merchant, knocking her cup with her elbow. Honey sauce spattered her best dress, dotting the tiny embroidered flowers along the hem.


    She stopped mid-motion, but instead of scolding her, Sarah just reached over with her napkin.


    ¡°Just like your father,¡± she said, dabbing at the spots. ¡°Always telling stories with your whole body.¡±


    ¡°That reminds me,¡± Thomas said, helping himself to more duck. ¡°Wait until you hear what Master Cooper did when he saw the moon-weave!¡±


    Ember leaned forward, elbows on the table. Her father¡¯s stories always made ordinary merchant dealings sound like grand adventures.


    ¡°His face!¡± Thomas pulled an exaggerated expression of shock that made Ember laugh again.


    Sarah topped off Thomas¡¯s wine. As she set down the pitcher, her fingers tightened around its handle. Ember barely noticed, absorbed in her father¡¯s next tale about outwitting a northern merchant.


    ¡°And just as Markus Blackwood thought he had it all arranged-¡±


    Sarah¡¯s cup clicked against the table. ¡°Perhaps another story?¡±


    Thomas paused, then smoothly shifted to a tale about silk dyes gone wrong. Though he kept talking and gesturing, his eyes strayed to the windows more than once.


    Ember hardly noticed, content with the warmth and her father¡¯s stories. She watched her mother¡¯s familiar movements as she served more food, listened to her father¡¯s voice rise and fall with each tale.


    ¡°More duck, love?¡± Sarah asked.


    ¡°Yes! This is the best feast ever!¡±


    Her parents shared a quick glance, but then her father was telling another story, and her mother was sneaking an extra piece of crispy skin onto her plate, and Ember felt wholly, completely happy.


    The last echoes of Thomas¡¯s tale faded, leaving an unusual quiet at the dinner table. Ember watched her father¡¯s fingers tap against the wood - that restless movement she¡¯d been seeing more lately.


    ¡°About the eastern quarter,¡± Sarah began, cutting off when Thomas shook his head slightly.


    ¡°Markus Blackwood wasn¡¯t happy with the terms,¡± he said lightly. ¡°But that¡¯s trade for you.¡±


    Ember lowered her fork. Blackwood. She remembered him from the guild hall - the way his voice had dropped to barely a whisper when discussing merchants who traveled after sunset.


    ¡°He¡¯ll come around,¡± Sarah said. As she reached for more wine, the pitcher wavered in her grip, dotting the white cloth with red.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Just needs time to settle,¡± Thomas agreed. His gaze flickered to the window before returning to his meal.


    Ember poked at her duck. ¡°Father? Is this about what happened with Master Blackwood and the silk shipment?¡±


    Her parents shared a look. Thomas shifted in his chair.


    ¡°Nothing to concern yourself with,¡± he said carefully. ¡°Just business matters.¡±


    ¡°But at the guild hall-¡±


    ¡°Would you like more duck?¡± Sarah reached for Ember¡¯s plate, her smile too wide.


    Something moved past the window. Thomas¡¯s arm jerked, sending his wine across the tablecloth. Sarah quickly pressed her napkin against the spreading stain.


    ¡°Only the wind,¡± she said softly, though her eyes locked with Thomas¡¯s.


    ¡°I should check those shutters,¡± Thomas said, crossing to the window with quick steps. The latch snapped shut.


    ¡°Tell us another story, Father,¡± Ember said, trying to bring back the evening¡¯s earlier ease. ¡°About the island silk traders?¡±


    ¡°Of course, love.¡± He returned to his seat, shoulders stiff. ¡°Though perhaps a shorter one tonight.¡±


    Thomas spoke, but his usual flair was missing. His attention kept wandering to the windows while Sarah collected plates with unsteady hands.


    The fire popped in the hearth. Ember huddled closer to its warmth, watching her parents¡¯ faces in the flickering light, and wished she could understand what they weren¡¯t saying.


    Ember stacked the plates with familiar care, the quiet clink of ceramic keeping time with her parents¡¯ hushed voices near the hearth. She moved deliberately, staying within earshot while appearing absorbed in her chores.


    ¡°¡­can¡¯t believe he¡¯d actually threaten¡­¡± Her father¡¯s words dropped to a murmur.


    ¡°Pride makes men do terrible things, Thomas,¡± her mother replied softly.


    Ember aligned the silverware with meticulous attention, ears straining.


    ¡°We¡¯ve earned our success.¡± The edge in her father¡¯s voice made her pause. ¡°The eastern quarter contracts, the new suppliers - all of it legitimate. To think Markus would¡­¡± He fell silent, disturbing his hair with restless fingers.


    Her mother touched his arm. ¡°We¡¯re still among the most prosperous merchants in Aldermere.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s precisely the problem.¡± Thomas stood before the fire, his expression hard. ¡°Should I regret being too successful? Apologize for serving our customers better?¡±


    ¡°Of course not, love.¡± Sarah¡¯s eyes flicked to Ember before she continued more quietly. ¡°But some men worry more about their pride than their purses. And pride can be¡­ unstable.¡±


    Ember drifted closer to the hearth with the remaining cups, her father¡¯s hands clenching at his sides.


    ¡°So we just¡­ what? Deliberately let our business suffer?¡± Bitterness threaded through his words. ¡°Watch our contracts disappear to keep Markus happy?¡±


    ¡°To keep our family safe,¡± Sarah said. The tablecloth trembled between her fingers as she smoothed it. ¡°Just until things settle.¡±


    Thomas turned to the flames. ¡°It isn¡¯t right.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Sarah agreed, ¡°but it may be necessary.¡±


    At the washing basin, Ember slowed her movements, processing fragments of conversation she couldn¡¯t fully grasp but knew mattered. The fire popped behind her.


    ¡°¡­not about the money anymore¡­¡± her father was saying, ¡°¡­about control¡­¡±


    Her mother¡¯s response was too faint to catch, but the fear in it made Ember¡¯s throat tighten. She¡¯d never heard that tone from her mother before.


    Setting the final dish down, Ember turned to find her parents watching her, their earlier warmth replaced by tension. Her father attempted a smile.


    ¡°All finished?¡±


    Ember nodded, suddenly yearning for their embrace. They moved to her at once, the conversation about threats and pride yielding to the simple refuge of family.


    Ember settled into bed, pulling the fresh sheets up to her chin. The candle on her bedside table cast a warm glow across her small bedroom. Her father sat beside her, the familiar weight of him making the mattress dip.


    ¡°There¡¯s my little spark,¡± Thomas said softly. He reached out to stroke her hair, his touch gentle but unsteady.


    ¡°Father?¡± Ember caught his sleeve. ¡°Are you cold?¡±


    ¡°No, love.¡± He drew her into a hug, holding her closer than usual. She nestled against his chest, listening to the quick rhythm of his heartbeat. ¡°Just thinking how clever you¡¯re becoming.¡±


    Sarah joined them from the doorway, embracing them both. Ember relaxed into their shared warmth, feeling her mother¡¯s hand moving in slow circles on her back.


    ¡°Time for sleep,¡± Sarah said, though she didn¡¯t pull away. She kissed Ember¡¯s forehead, her lips lingering.


    Thomas eased back and tucked the blankets around Ember with careful attention. ¡°Sweet dreams, little spark.¡± The words came out rough.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you going to blow out the candle?¡± Ember asked as her parents remained by her bedside.


    Sarah¡¯s fingers found Thomas¡¯s shoulder. ¡°We¡¯ll leave it burning a while longer tonight.¡±


    ¡°But you always say not to waste candles,¡± Ember said, puzzled.


    ¡°Sometimes a little light is worth it,¡± Thomas replied. His eyes shifted to the window, checking the latches again.


    Sarah sat on the bed¡¯s edge, combing her fingers through Ember¡¯s hair. ¡°Would you like your lullaby?¡±


    Ember nodded. Her mother began to sing, the familiar tune less steady than usual. Thomas stood by the window, watching the darkness beyond.


    ¡°Sleep now, precious girl,¡± Sarah whispered after the last note faded. She bent down for one more kiss.


    As her parents moved to leave, Ember called out, ¡°I love you.¡±


    They turned back at once. ¡°We love you too,¡± they answered together, their voices carrying a weight that made Ember¡¯s throat tight.


    They paused in the doorway, shoulders touching as they watched their daughter in the candlelight, neither willing to be the first to step away from this moment of quiet peace.

 6: A Childs Stand in Silk Street

    Ember crouched behind the silk display, her fingers tracing the familiar weave as she watched her father confront Markus Blackwood and his three fellow merchants. They¡¯d stormed in minutes before, sending the lunch hour crowd scattering.


    ¡°You¡¯re destroying everything we¡¯ve built,¡± Blackwood said, face darkening. ¡°Undercutting prices, stealing contracts-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve explained this, Markus.¡± Her father kept his voice level, but his hands were locked behind his back. ¡°My eastern suppliers-¡±


    ¡°Lies!¡± One of Blackwood¡¯s men struck the counter. The impact rattled the display pieces. ¡°No one gets silk that cheap legitimately.¡±


    Near the door, a customer gathered her things and slipped out, the shop bell marking her escape. Two others followed close behind.


    ¡°My trading relationships are my business,¡± Thomas said. ¡°Perhaps if you spent more time cultivating partnerships instead of throwing accusations-¡±


    Blackwood pressed forward until his chest met the counter¡¯s edge. ¡°You think you¡¯re clever, Fletcher? Think you can hide behind pretty words while you drive us into the ground?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m hiding nothing.¡± Thomas stepped back, a slight tremor visible in his hands.


    ¡°No?¡± Blackwood¡¯s quiet tone made Ember¡¯s throat tighten. ¡°Then explain how you¡¯re selling Kashyari silk at half what it costs to import.¡±


    The last customer fled, leaving only the merchants and the weight of their threats hanging in the air. Blackwood¡¯s expensive cologne couldn¡¯t mask the anger-sweat beneath it.


    ¡°My methods are legitimate,¡± Thomas said. ¡°I¡¯ve shown the guild my records-¡±


    ¡°Records can be falsified,¡± another merchant cut in, moving beside Blackwood. ¡°We¡¯ve built this market for decades, Fletcher. Did you think we¡¯d just stand by while you destroyed it?¡±


    Her father¡¯s jaw clenched as the merchants crowded closer. Sunlight streamed through the windows, harsh and revealing.


    ¡°I won¡¯t apologize for running a successful business,¡± Thomas said, strain cracking through his composed facade.


    Blackwood leaned in. ¡°Success built on theft and lies isn¡¯t success at all, Fletcher. And men who steal from their fellows often find themselves facing¡­ unfortunate accidents.¡±


    ¡°Is that a threat, Markus?¡±


    ¡°A reminder.¡± Blackwood¡¯s lips curled, cold and cruel. ¡°About how dangerous this business can be for those who don¡¯t understand their proper place in it.¡±


    The silk bunched in Ember¡¯s grip as her hands shook. She wanted to run to her father, to scream at these men to leave him alone, but fear kept her hidden, forced to watch as the confrontation played out before her.


    The silk displays trembled as the merchant¡¯s fist struck the counter. ¡°You peddle lies and call it merchandise, Fletcher!¡±


    Ember emerged from behind the silk-draped table. ¡°Every bolt of silk in this shop has proper guild seals,¡± she said, her voice tight. ¡°I¡¯ve seen them myself.¡±


    ¡°A child¡¯s eyes see what they wish,¡± sneered another merchant, fidgeting with his ill-fitted doublet. ¡°Leave business to those who understand it.¡±


    ¡°I track our inventory and check the ledgers daily,¡± Ember said. Her hands shook, but she clasped them behind her back. ¡°And I know enough to spot cotton thread in your ¡®pure¡¯ moon-weave borders.¡±


    The third merchant shifted closer, rings catching the light. ¡°Mind your place, girl. Your father¡¯s contacts won¡¯t last forever.¡±


    ¡°Contacts?¡± A harsh laugh escaped her. ¡°Father lived among the Kashyari weavers. He knows every step from cocoon to finished bolt. When¡¯s the last time you set foot in a silk house?¡±


    The merchants exchanged glances, their practiced smiles slipping.


    ¡°Since you mention legitimate trade,¡± Ember said, ¡°explain the cotton backing in your last shipment. Real Kashyari silk never uses cotton - any apprentice could tell you that.¡±


    Color flooded Blackwood¡¯s face. ¡°You question my goods? I¡¯ve traded silk longer than you¡¯ve drawn breath.¡±


    ¡°Yet you still overpay for river-silk thinking it¡¯s mountain-weave. The eastern merchants laugh about it.¡± She tapped a nearby bolt. ¡°Father pays less because he can tell the difference.¡±The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°Watch yourself, girl-¡± one of Blackwood¡¯s men started forward.


    ¡°The contracts are here!¡± She gestured to the shop¡¯s office. ¡°Every seal authentic. Father deals with the guilds directly - no middlemen padding the price.¡±


    Thomas reached for her arm but she sidestepped, words tumbling out. ¡°The weavers trust him because he respects their craft. He doesn¡¯t treat them like common street vendors!¡±


    Blackwood¡¯s neck flushed dark. ¡°You let this child-¡±


    ¡°I speak because I know silk,¡± Ember cut in. ¡°Including how you tried passing off common weave as moon-silk last month. The pattern was wrong - I spotted it myself.¡±


    A merchant lunged, hand rising. Thomas intercepted him in one fluid motion, shoving him back with practiced ease.


    Boot steps announced the arrival of a city guard, his hand resting casually on his sword. ¡°All well here?¡±


    The merchants withdrew, straightening clothes with sharp tugs. Only Blackwood remained, studying Ember until she pressed back against the displays.


    ¡°We¡¯re done,¡± he said softly. ¡°Though Fletcher, your daughter should learn caution. Sharp words have consequences in our trade.¡±


    The guard¡¯s fingers drummed his sword hilt. ¡°Careful how you phrase that, Master Blackwood.¡±


    ¡°Simply advice.¡± Blackwood paused at the door. ¡°Youth can be¡­ fragile.¡±


    The guard lingered until the merchants vanished, then nodded to Thomas. ¡°I¡¯ll be nearby.¡±


    As the steps faded, Thomas squeezed her shoulder. Her heart still raced, and Blackwood¡¯s stare made her want to hide beneath the counter. But she was tired of their false accusations, tired of watching Father absorb their jabs with polite smiles. She leaned into his touch, glad she¡¯d found her voice, even as her hands trembled at the memory of that cold, measuring look.


    As the door closed behind the guard, Thomas knelt before Ember and drew her close. She trembled against him, her small frame rigid with defiance. His hands found her shoulders, steadying them both.


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have done that,¡± he said quietly, his gaze fixed on the door where Blackwood and his men had just stood.


    ¡°They were insulting our whole family,¡± Ember burst out, her fists clenched. ¡°Calling us cheats and thieves in our own shop!¡±


    ¡°Lower your voice,¡± Thomas warned, glancing at the windows. ¡°The streets have ears.¡±


    Ember studied her father¡¯s face, so different from the pleasant mask he wore while conducting business. The hardness in his eyes made her throat tight.


    ¡°They were lying about you,¡± she said, reaching up to touch his cheek. ¡°About everything.¡±


    Thomas caught her hand in his. ¡°I know.¡± He smoothed down her tangled hair, the gesture betraying his unease. ¡°But those men¡­ they¡¯re dangerous, Ember.¡±


    ¡°You always taught me to stand up for what¡¯s right,¡± she insisted. ¡°To be proud of our work.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a difference between pride and survival,¡± he said, his voice rough. ¡°These aren¡¯t common thugs we¡¯re dealing with.¡±


    ¡°But your contracts are fair, your silk is better-¡±


    ¡°Stop.¡± He pulled her close, and she felt his heart pounding against her cheek. The familiar sandalwood of his clothes mixed with fresh sweat.


    ¡°When did you become afraid of them?¡± she whispered against his chest.


    His fingers tightened in her hair. ¡°The day I realized what they could take from me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she mumbled. ¡°I just couldn¡¯t stand it.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± His arms tightened. ¡°You did nothing wrong. You stood up for the truth.¡± He drew back to look at her, his expression grim. ¡°But men like that, they don¡¯t care about truth. They care about power.¡±


    In the hearth, a log crackled and settled. The shop felt smaller somehow, its familiar corners darker.


    ¡°What will they do?¡± Ember asked, voicing the fear that had finally caught up with her anger.


    Thomas stroked her hair. ¡°Nothing we can¡¯t handle.¡± But uncertainty threaded through his words, and Ember pressed closer as afternoon shadows crept across the shop floor.


    Evening light filtered through the shop windows, catching on the silk bolts lining the walls. Thomas Fletcher leaned against the counter, exhaustion evident in the slump of his shoulders.


    ¡°I had to pay them,¡± he said, voice low. ¡°The city guards.¡± His fingers traced the counter¡¯s worn surface. ¡°Never thought I¡¯d see the day. Though thank the gods they were here when Markus and his lot showed up.¡±


    Sarah squeezed his shoulders, though he felt the slight tremor in her touch. ¡°You did what was necessary. If they hadn¡¯t been nearby when the shouting started¡­¡±


    ¡°Did I?¡± Thomas barked out a laugh that made Ember flinch behind the silk display. ¡°Everything I¡¯ve taught our daughter about honest trade¡­¡± He exhaled sharply. ¡°And here I am, paying guards to protect my own child from other merchants.¡±


    ¡°Thomas-¡±


    ¡°You should have seen the guild meeting.¡± Bitterness edged his words. ¡°They gave Markus a public reprimand. Scolded him about aggressive business practices.¡± He shook his head. ¡°Might as well have challenged him outright.¡±


    Sarah¡¯s hands stilled. ¡°He didn¡¯t take it well?¡±


    ¡°As well as you¡¯d expect from a man like him. Each word just made it worse.¡± Thomas¡¯s knuckles whitened against the counter. ¡°This isn¡¯t about business anymore. It¡¯s personal. The way he looked at Ember today, before the guard stepped in¡­¡±


    ¡°Surely Guildmaster Aldrich-¡±


    ¡°Aldrich?¡± Thomas cut her off. ¡°He offered sympathetic words, nothing more. Markus has Lord Pembroke, the Blackthorn family, half the northern merchants¡­¡± His voice tightened. ¡°What chance do we stand against that?¡±


    Ember pulled her knees closer, making herself smaller behind the silk rack. She¡¯d never heard such defeat in her father¡¯s voice before.


    ¡°We¡¯ve worked so hard,¡± Thomas said softly. ¡°Built everything honestly. Fair prices, quality goods, straight dealings.¡± Something broke in his voice. ¡°None of that matters to the right people with the right connections.¡±


    Sarah moved to face him, gripping his hands. ¡°We¡¯ll find a way through this.¡±


    ¡°Will we?¡± Thomas met her gaze, fear plain in his eyes. ¡°They¡¯re not just threatening the business anymore, Sarah. Today they nearly-¡± He stopped short, glancing toward where Ember hid.


    The shop grew darker as they stood there, holding each other. Ember stayed hidden, watching her parents seek comfort in one another¡¯s arms, understanding with sudden clarity that some enemies couldn¡¯t be faced with honest words and fair dealings.

 7. Stalkers at the Shop

    Ember¡¯s jump rope slapped against the cobblestones as she hopped, her voice carrying through the quiet street. ¡°One for silver, two for gold, three for secrets never told¡­¡± The words flowed easily as her shadow stretched across the shopfront.


    The late afternoon sun caught the silk displays behind the glass, making them shimmer. Ember loved this hour, when the stones still held warmth and the bakery¡¯s fresh bread scented the air.


    ¡°Four for fortune, five for-¡± The words stuck in her mouth.


    Three men had appeared across the street, leaning against the tannery wall. They stood too still, too focused. Their eyes fixed on her family¡¯s shop, ignoring the passing traffic and making no conversation among themselves.


    Ember tried to keep jumping, but her rhythm faltered. The rope scraped against stone.


    ¡°Six for¡­¡± she whispered, the next line escaping her as one man¡¯s gaze found her. His eyes were calculating, like he was marking exits. A fresh scar twisted his lip as he smiled, showing teeth without mirth.


    The second man shifted his weight, scarred hands flexing at his sides. He muttered something to his companions while studying the shop. They all smiled then, sharing some private joke that made Ember¡¯s stomach cold.


    She forced another jump, her movements growing smaller. The rope felt wrong in her hands. ¡°Seven for¡­¡± The words died as the scarred man took a step toward her.


    The rope dropped. Ember ran for the shop door, the bell jingling as she buried her face in her mother¡¯s skirts.


    ¡°Ember? What¡¯s wrong, love?¡± Sarah¡¯s hands found her hair, bringing the comfort of lavender soap.


    ¡°Men,¡± Ember said into the fabric. ¡°Watching.¡±


    Her mother¡¯s fingers paused before continuing their gentle strokes. ¡°It¡¯s alright now. You¡¯re safe inside.¡±


    But Ember felt the new tension in her mother¡¯s body. Through the window, she watched the men trade glances that made her press closer to Sarah. They pushed off from the wall one by one, melting into the evening shadows without hurry.


    Her jump rope lay on the cobbles. She knew she should fetch it - rope wasn¡¯t cheap - but couldn¡¯t release her mother¡¯s skirts. Despite the lingering summer warmth, she trembled.


    ¡°Perhaps we should close up early today,¡± Sarah said, holding Ember closer. ¡°Help me with the shutters?¡±


    Ember nodded but kept watching the street. The men were gone, but the golden hour felt spoiled now. She knew they would return.


    The shutters closed with a sharp click.


    Twilight seeped through the shutters of the Fletcher home. Sarah moved from window to window, each latch clicking beneath her fingers. She tested the locks again and again, a rhythm as steady as a heartbeat.


    Click. Test. Rattle. Move on. Click. Test. Rattle.


    At the kitchen table, Thomas guided Ember through her letters. ¡°See this curve here?¡± His finger traced the shape, wavering slightly. ¡°Just like that, yes.¡±


    Ember squinted at the page, struggling to focus. Boots scraped against cobblestones outside. The family stilled, waiting, until the steps faded away.


    ¡°Like this?¡± Ember kept her voice low.


    ¡°Perfect.¡± Thomas¡¯s smile didn¡¯t reach his eyes. ¡°Now the next-¡±


    Sarah¡¯s sharp intake of breath stopped him. Shadows crossed their door, and she pressed closer to the window, peering through the smallest gap.


    The footsteps lingered.


    Thomas pulled Ember against his side. The primer lay open and ignored as muffled voices drifted through the walls.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°We could use more light,¡± Sarah said, her voice too high.


    ¡°Best save the oil,¡± Thomas answered, but his arm tightened around Ember.


    Click. Test. Rattle. Sarah resumed her rounds, moving faster now. The house creaked around them - settling wood, old boards, each sound making them flinch.


    A boot landed heavy on their doorstep.


    Thomas went rigid. Sarah flattened herself against the wall, hand clamped over her mouth. No one breathed.


    The step moved away, joined by others until they blended into the evening street noise.


    ¡°Back to our letters?¡± Thomas¡¯s voice cracked. He pulled the primer closer, but couldn¡¯t keep his hands steady enough to point.


    ¡°Thomas,¡± Sarah whispered from her place by the wall. ¡°The men outside-¡±


    ¡°Later,¡± he cut in, glancing at Ember. ¡°The lesson first.¡±


    But the pretense crumbled. Sarah checked the windows again and again. Thomas stared blindly at the primer, his merchant¡¯s fingers drumming an uneven pattern on the page.


    Ember pressed closer to her father, watching darkness pool across their kitchen floor. Their quiet evening had become something else - a tense silence broken only by Sarah¡¯s footsteps and the scrape of passing boots outside.


    When the next footsteps came, slower and more measured than the rest, they abandoned any pretense of studying. They huddled together, listening as the heavy steps passed their door, deliberate as a countdown.


    The wooden steps creaked as Ember crept downstairs, drawn by the light spilling from her father¡¯s study. She pressed against the wall, finding the gap in the door.


    What she saw made her freeze.


    Her father sat hunched over his desk, his usually straight shoulders slumped forward. The lamp cast harsh shadows across his face, aging him beyond his years. His fingers, steady hands that had built their trading empire, trembled as they moved across the ledger.


    ¡°Five hundred for the city guard,¡± he muttered, marking figures in the margin. ¡°A pittance, really, but what it means¡­¡±


    The quill scratched against parchment as numbers filled the page. Ember had never seen her father¡¯s writing waver before. Her gut clenched at the sight.


    Sarah stood behind him, kneading his shoulders, but the familiar comfort had turned to routine. Her fingers dug too deep, her movements stiff with worry.


    ¡°We should speak with the other merchants,¡± Sarah said quietly. ¡°The Coopers, the Blackthorns - surely they¡¯d stand with us. Together we could-¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re already choosing sides.¡± Thomas set down his quill. ¡°And not ours.¡±


    ¡°There must be someone-¡±


    ¡°Who would risk Markus¡¯s wrath?¡± His hands pressed flat against the desk. ¡°You saw how quickly the room emptied when he confronted me. They know what¡¯s coming.¡±


    Sarah¡¯s hands stilled. ¡°The guard captain would double the patrols. The cost is hardly-¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not about the coin.¡± Thomas¡¯s voice was bitter. ¡°We¡¯re buying protection now, Sarah. For our own home.¡±


    Pages rustled as he flipped through the ledger again. The columns of figures seemed to mock him, reminding him how easily he could purchase temporary safety. The study¡¯s familiar scent of ink and leather brought no comfort tonight.


    ¡°Perhaps if we offered Markus a partnership-¡± Sarah began.


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t want partnership.¡± Thomas¡¯s voice broke. ¡°He wants submission. Or¡­¡± The alternative hung unspoken between them.


    Sarah gripped his shoulders. ¡°We¡¯ll find a way.¡±


    But Ember heard the tremor in her mother¡¯s voice, saw it in her restless hands. She wanted to rush in and embrace them both, but fear kept her still - seeing her parents¡¯ vulnerability for the first time.


    Thomas reached up to cover Sarah¡¯s hand with his own. They remained that way, joined in silence, while the lamp burned low. Ember watched through the gap, barely breathing, as her parents faced what was coming.


    The open ledger before them held no answers.


    Ember knelt on her window seat, eyes fixed on the three men standing below. They hadn¡¯t moved in over an hour, their stillness making her stomach twist. Her fingers left smudges on the cold glass as she leaned closer, trying to make out their features in the dark.


    These weren¡¯t common criminals. She could tell by how they held themselves, by the way moonlight occasionally caught the edges of well-worn weapons. No merchant¡¯s decorative blade, those. She swallowed hard, understanding without knowing why that something had changed tonight.


    When the guard patrol approached with their torches, the men simply stepped into shadows. They emerged as soon as the patrol passed, resuming their watch. They weren¡¯t trying to hide - they wanted to be seen.


    She shifted position, her legs cramping from staying still so long. Her father¡¯s chair creaked somewhere below, the familiar sound now strange and wrong in the quiet house. The cobblestones of Merchant¡¯s Row gleamed dully in the moonlight. Just days ago she¡¯d played hopscotch there, but now the street felt like it belonged to these strangers.


    A floorboard groaned downstairs, followed by her parents¡¯ low voices. Ember hesitated, then slipped off the window seat. She couldn¡¯t stand watching anymore.


    She found her mother in the sitting room, a single candle burning beside her. Sarah looked up, and Ember crossed the room to climb into her lap without a word.


    ¡°Can¡¯t sleep?¡± Sarah asked softly, wrapping her arms around Ember.


    Ember pressed closer. ¡°They¡¯re still out there.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡± Sarah held her tighter. ¡°But we¡¯re safe inside.¡±


    The tremor in her mother¡¯s voice gave the lie away. Ember tucked her head under Sarah¡¯s chin as her mother began to hum an old lullaby. The quiet melody felt thin against the weight of what waited outside, but Ember clung to it anyway.


    As she drifted toward sleep in her mother¡¯s arms, the moonlight spilled across the floor, cold and bright. The darkness pressed against the windows, patient as the men who stood guard below.

 8. A Day at the Market

    Thin bars of sunlight crept through the shutters onto the kitchen table where the Fletcher family hunched over their breakfast. Thomas¡¯s sleeve dragged through spilled tea as he leaned forward, the wrinkles in his merchant¡¯s coat deepening. His fingers drummed a restless pattern against the wooden surface.


    Sarah lifted her cup with both hands to keep it steady. She caught Thomas¡¯s gaze, the skin around her eyes tight with strain. Yesterday¡¯s dress hung loose at her shoulders.


    Between them, Ember swayed in her chair, her auburn hair swinging forward until Sarah steadied her with a gentle hand. Ember¡¯s eyes fluttered open, then began to sink closed again.


    ¡°Ember, love,¡± Sarah said softly. ¡°Just a few bites.¡±


    ¡°''Kay,¡± Ember mumbled. She managed one spoonful before her head started to droop.


    Thomas watched his daughter struggle against sleep, his hands curling into fists beneath the table. He nudged his bowl aside. ¡°She needs to rest today,¡± he said, keeping his voice low.


    Sarah set her cup down with a faint clatter. ¡°Yes, I-¡± She reached out as Ember listed sideways. ¡°Ember, sweetheart.¡±


    Ember jerked upright, then blinked slowly at them. ¡°M¡¯sorry,¡± she slurred. ¡°Trying to¡­¡±


    This time when she drifted, Sarah guided her daughter¡¯s head down to rest against her sleeve. She smoothed back Ember¡¯s tangled hair, working free the knots with careful fingers.


    ¡°We can¡¯t continue this way.¡± Thomas scrubbed at his jaw, the words barely a whisper.


    Sarah¡¯s hand stilled in Ember¡¯s hair. A tear tracked down her cheek before she dashed it away. ¡°I know.¡±


    Thomas reached across the table to grip Sarah¡¯s free hand. Their fingers wove together, anchoring each other as morning light spilled across their untouched breakfast and their daughter¡¯s sleeping form.


    Thomas led the guard into his study, easing the door shut. He took his seat behind the desk, gesturing to the chair opposite.


    ¡°Marcus, isn¡¯t it?¡± he asked quietly, fighting back a bitter smile at the name¡¯s cruel irony.


    ¡°Aye, sir.¡± The guard sat, back straight.


    Thomas opened his drawer and withdrew a cloth pouch. ¡°My wife plans to visit the market with our daughter.¡± He placed it on the desk, the coins inside shifting. ¡°I¡¯ve concerns about their safety.¡±


    Marcus¡¯s gaze settled on the pouch. ¡°The streets are unpredictable these days. Especially for a lady and child.¡±


    ¡°Indeed.¡± Thomas began counting coins onto the worn oak surface. ¡°I¡¯d appreciate knowing someone dependable was watching over them.¡±


    ¡°My partner Rodrik and I take our duties seriously.¡± Marcus leaned in. ¡°We often patrol together.¡±


    Thomas added two more coins. ¡°And these patrols - they cover the market district?¡±


    ¡°When needed.¡± Marcus kept his voice level. ¡°We¡¯re flexible about our routes.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d be grateful for such attention to duty.¡± Thomas slid the coins across. ¡°Perhaps discuss it with Rodrik? And when they return safely, you¡¯ll find your payment doubled.¡±


    Marcus¡¯s eyes widened briefly before he schooled his expression, pocketing the payment smoothly as he stood. ¡°I¡¯ll fetch him now. We take pride in protecting our more distinguished residents.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± Thomas watched him go, then exhaled slowly.


    Marcus returned with his partner moments later. Their discussion was brief - routes, timing, signals if needed. Thomas counted out a second payment while they spoke of crowd patterns and quiet side streets. Both guards listened intently as he detailed Sarah and Ember¡¯s plans, offering practical suggestions that spoke of experience.


    When they left, Thomas remained at his desk. Not perfect, but it would do. He rose to tell Sarah they could proceed with their outing. At least he¡¯d bought them some protection, however temporary.


    The marketplace of Aldermere engulfed them in its morning chaos. Ember pulled at Sarah¡¯s hand, darting between slower-moving shoppers until Sarah had to reel her back.


    ¡°The bird man, Mother - he¡¯s here!¡± Ember pointed to a sun-weathered vendor, his shoulder adorned with a green parrot that preened its wing feathers.


    Sarah drew Ember closer as a laden cart creaked past. In her peripheral vision, she caught Marcus shifting position behind a fruit stand, while Rodrik¡¯s shadow fell across a baker¡¯s awning.


    ¡°Can we see him?¡± Ember was already moving, feet quick against the cobblestones.


    Sarah guided them through the press of bodies. ¡°Stay within arm¡¯s reach.¡±This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    They passed stalls of dented cookware and fresh vegetables still flecked with dirt. A meat smoker belched woody vapor into the air, while nearby a flower seller trimmed wilted stems from her bouquets.


    ¡°Welcome back, little one!¡± The bird merchant¡¯s voice carried over the crowd. ¡°Care to meet my friend properly?¡±


    Ember nodded, but Sarah kept one hand on her daughter¡¯s shoulder as she tracked the shifting mass of bodies around them. Marcus had found a new vantage point near the coppersmith.


    The parrot cocked its head at Ember, who reached toward its bright feathers. ¡°Does he have a name?¡±


    ¡°Raja¡¯s what they called him in the Eastern Isles,¡± the merchant said, feeding the bird.


    Sarah stiffened at the mention of the East. Her gaze swept the familiar faces of regular vendors, noting who was missing today. ¡°Time to move on, dear.¡±


    They wandered deeper into the market, Ember stopping to watch a juggler¡¯s performance and giggling at the sting of cinnamon that made her eyes water.


    ¡°Mother, there!¡± Ember pulled toward a confectioner¡¯s display of spun-sugar creatures.


    Sarah¡¯s step hitched as she recognized one of Blackwood¡¯s men examining fabric nearby. She steered Ember away.


    ¡°But-¡±


    ¡°The honey-nut cart¡¯s just ahead,¡± Sarah said, forcing her voice steady. ¡°We¡¯ll come back after.¡±


    The old woman at the nut cart handed over a paper cone, and Ember¡¯s protests dissolved at the sight of the glazed treats.


    ¡°Small bites,¡± Sarah reminded her, watching Rodrik settle into position behind a flower display. His presence made her skin prickle.


    Ember picked at the nuts one by one, lost in their sweetness. ¡°I love market days.¡±


    Sarah touched her daughter¡¯s hair, bright as new copper in the morning sun. ¡°So do I, little fox. So do I.¡±


    Sarah watched Ember¡¯s face glow as the fire-eater sent flames spiraling skyward. Her daughter leaned forward, hands clasped tight, each gasp and wide-eyed stare making Sarah¡¯s throat tighten.


    ¡°Look, Mother! He¡¯s swallowing it whole!¡± Ember bounced on her toes, honey-glazed nut crumbs falling from her fingers.


    ¡°Amazing, isn¡¯t it?¡± Sarah kept her voice steady while scanning the crowd. Marcus had moved again, now slouching against a potter¡¯s stall. She steered Ember away from a silk merchant¡¯s display, the guild marks stirring memories she¡¯d rather forget today.


    ¡°Can we see the bird man again?¡± Ember pulled at her sleeve.


    ¡°Let¡¯s try something new.¡± Sarah guided them toward a toymaker¡¯s stall. ¡°These carved animals - what do you think?¡±


    Ember picked up a wooden fox, running her fingers over its ears. ¡°Just like in your stories!¡±


    Sarah handed over the copper without hesitation. The toy was well-made, worth every bit of its price, and Ember¡¯s smile was all that mattered now.


    They wandered through the afternoon bustle, stopping to watch jugglers send colored balls spinning through the air. A spice merchant offered them candied ginger, and Ember¡¯s face scrunched up at the unexpected heat.


    ¡°Water, water!¡± She laughed, fanning her mouth.


    Sarah bought a cup from a nearby vendor, catching Rodrik¡¯s subtle nod from his post by the fountain. She turned back to Ember, who had already recovered and was pointing excitedly at a stall of paper pinwheels.


    ¡°Can we get one, Mother? Please?¡±


    ¡°Of course, love.¡± Sarah selected a blue and silver one that caught the light. Ember spun with it, her copper hair flying, feet pattering against the cobblestones. Sarah watched, noting every detail - the way her daughter¡¯s nose wrinkled when she smiled, the particular skip in her step.


    They passed the silk quarter quickly, Sarah¡¯s eyes fixed ahead. Each familiar guild face was a reminder of what waited beyond this afternoon, of decisions that couldn¡¯t be undone. She found herself suggesting another puppet show, another sweet - anything to keep this moment untouched by tomorrow¡¯s shadows.


    ¡°Mother, you¡¯re hurting my hand,¡± Ember said, trying to pull free.


    Sarah eased her grip. ¡°Sorry, darling. The crowd¡¯s thick today.¡±


    As they watched a woman weaving flower crowns, Ember¡¯s eyes grew heavy. Time to leave, though Sarah¡¯s feet seemed rooted to the spot.


    ¡°One more treat?¡± she offered, leading Ember to a baker with honey cakes still warm from the oven.


    Ember nodded, leaning against her side. Sarah held her close, breathing in the scent of her hair - sunshine and sweet bread and childhood itself. The afternoon light was fading, and with it, their borrowed peace.


    Sarah guided Ember through Aldermere¡¯s streets as the vendors folded their awnings and packed their carts. The last copper rays of sun caught the grime on shop windows and the worn edges of cobblestones. Behind them, Marcus¡¯s steady footfalls kept pace - near enough to reach them in two strides, far enough to let them pretend at normalcy. Rodrik¡¯s outline slid between buildings parallel to their path.


    ¡°And then the bird spoke!¡± Ember swung their joined hands. ¡°Did you hear it, Mother? It said ¡®good day¡¯ just like a proper gentleman!¡±


    ¡°I heard, love.¡± Sarah shifted her grip on their market packages. The paper crackled, and she forced herself to loosen her white-knuckled hold.


    ¡°Can we come again tomorrow?¡± Ember hugged her new wooden fox. ¡°The juggler said he¡¯d teach me to toss three balls at once!¡±


    Sarah swallowed. ¡°We¡¯ll see, darling.¡± She drew Ember closer as they passed a gap between buildings, counting the shapes in the deepening blue shadows.


    ¡°The honey cakes were even better than last time.¡± Ember¡¯s voice carried off the walls. ¡°And did you see how high the fire-eater¡¯s flames went? Almost to the sky!¡±


    ¡°Lower your voice, sweet one. It¡¯s getting late.¡±


    But Ember bounced beside her, lost in the day¡¯s wonders. ¡°The spun-sugar dragon was beautiful too! Father says we should enjoy the market¡¯s treats. He says that¡¯s what they¡¯re there for!¡±


    ¡°Ember.¡± The sharpness in Sarah¡¯s tone made her daughter miss a step. She gentled her voice. ¡°Just¡­ walk quietly now. Please.¡±


    A lamplighter moved ahead of them, torch extended. Sarah counted the pools of light between them and home, mentally marking the darkest stretches they¡¯d have to cross. Her hand kept finding the knife hidden in her skirts.


    ¡°Mother?¡± Ember¡¯s fingers tightened around hers. ¡°Are you scared?¡±


    Sarah met her daughter¡¯s eyes. ¡°Of course not. Just tired from our big day.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not tired at all!¡± But Ember¡¯s feet scuffed the cobblestones, her earlier spring fading.


    They turned the final corner. Sarah¡¯s breath caught at the sight of their shop, then stuttered again as something moved across the street. Marcus closed the gap between them, his sword hand ready, but the shadow resolved into a cat and slunk away.


    ¡°Look what I made the fox do!¡± Ember lifted her toy in a dance. ¡°He¡¯s jumping like the jugglers!¡±


    Sarah worked the lock with practiced fingers, guiding Ember inside. The shop smelled of leather bindings and sandalwood. Thomas stepped out of his office, coins already in hand. He passed them to Marcus and Rodrik with a grateful nod before they returned to their city watch patrol.


    ¡°Can we go to the market again soon?¡± Ember asked through a yawn. ¡°It was the best day ever.¡±


    Sarah held her daughter close, breathing in the lingering scents of honey cake and summer air. Outside, the sky deepened to indigo, and she marked another day¡¯s excursion complete. Safe. For now.

 9. The Last Supper

    Ember sat up eagerly as her mother set down the last dish, steam rising from the stew rich with rosemary and thyme. The wooden chair creaked as she swung her legs beneath the table, watching the ladle dip and rise.


    ¡°How was the market today?¡± Thomas asked, tearing off a chunk of bread. His smile came easier than it had in days, though his gaze kept drifting to the windows.


    ¡°Oh Father, it was amazing!¡± Ember bounced in her seat. ¡°There was a bird that could talk just like a real person, and a man who ate fire!¡± She thrust her hands upward, mimicking the flames.


    ¡°Mind those arms, little fox,¡± Sarah said with a gentle smile. ¡°The stew bowl¡¯s right there.¡±


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Ember dropped her hands but couldn¡¯t contain her grin. ¡°And look what Mother bought me!¡± She produced her wooden fox, making it prance along the table edge.


    Thomas leaned in close, squinting at the toy with mock gravity. ¡°Fine work that. Your mother always knows quality.¡±


    ¡°Watch the tail move!¡± Ember demonstrated, her earlier fatigue forgotten. ¡°It really swishes!¡±


    Sarah filled Thomas¡¯s bowl again, her movements steady even as boot steps echoed outside. ¡°The craftsman carved it from a single piece.¡±


    ¡°We saw jugglers too,¡± Ember continued between cooling breaths on her spoonful. ¡°They had these colored balls that looked like they were dancing.¡±


    A scrape of metal on stone came from the street. Sarah¡¯s spoon clinked against her bowl. Thomas reached over, his callused hand covering hers.


    ¡°Were there honey cakes?¡± he asked, keeping his tone light.


    ¡°Still warm from the oven!¡± Ember¡¯s face lit up. ¡°And Mother let me have spun sugar - there was this huge dragon made of it that glittered!¡±


    Sarah¡¯s grip on her spoon loosened as she watched Ember spread her arms wide. ¡°She had every vendor wrapped around her finger today.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s my girl.¡± Thomas squeezed Sarah¡¯s hand at the sound of another boot heel on cobblestone.


    Ember soaked her bread in the stew, chattering on while her parents¡¯ smiles tightened at each passing footstep. ¡°Can we go again tomorrow? The juggler said he¡¯d teach me!¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll see, love,¡± Sarah managed evenly. ¡°Best finish before it cools.¡±


    Ember filled the room with her stories as they ate, her voice bright and eager. Sarah topped off their bowls while Thomas asked about every detail, his fingers still intertwined with hers across the table. They savored each moment of her joy, even as the night pressed close against the windows and strange footsteps passed their door.


    The market day¡¯s chatter faded into evening quiet. Ember pushed her spoon through the cooling stew, listening to the muffled sounds from the street below their second-floor dining room.


    ¡°More bread, dear?¡± Sarah offered, her hand unsteady as she reached for the basket.


    Thomas leaned toward his wife. ¡°I don¡¯t understand it,¡± he muttered, knuckles rapping against the wooden table. ¡°Markus has everything he needs to destroy us. The coin, the connections¡­¡±


    ¡°Thomas, please-¡± Sarah¡¯s eyes flicked to Ember.


    ¡°He could undercut every price we set,¡± Thomas pressed on, jaw tight. ¡°Take every customer we have. Instead, he just¡­¡± He gestured toward the closed shutters, beyond which they all knew three men stood in their usual spot.


    Ember kept her head down, stirring her stew, but she caught every detail - the way her father¡¯s cup rattled against the table when he drank, how he startled at each creak of the floorboards.


    ¡°Perhaps he¡¯ll grow tired of watching us,¡± Sarah said, fingers clenched around the table¡¯s edge.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Thomas barked out a bitter sound. ¡°Tired? You think that¡¯s what this is?¡±


    ¡°Father?¡± Ember¡¯s question made both parents twitch. ¡°Why are those men down there every night?¡±


    Thomas sighed, the anger draining from his face. ¡°I wish I knew, little fox. Been asking myself that same question. Why watch us night after night when he could crush us with a word?¡± He shook his head. ¡°Something else he wants, has to be. But what?¡±


    A distant sound from the street made Sarah jump, the bread basket sliding in her grip. Thomas caught it, his expression hardening as he glanced toward the shuttered window.


    ¡°Standing there,¡± he whispered. ¡°Night after night.¡±


    Ember abandoned her meal. The dining room felt strange now, all its familiar comfort stripped away by the watchers below.


    Sarah¡¯s chair scraped against the floor as she stood to clear the dishes. Her hands shook, making the bowls rattle together as she stacked them. Thomas looked up from his half-finished meal, watching her closely.


    ¡°I¡¯ll help,¡± he said, starting to rise. Sarah shook her head.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got-¡± A plate slipped through her trembling fingers and shattered on the floor. She stared down at the broken pieces, struggling to catch her breath.


    Thomas crossed to her and gripped her shoulders. ¡°Leave it. Just sit.¡±


    ¡°But the mess-¡±


    ¡°Sit.¡± He guided her back to her chair, then rubbed his face wearily. ¡°This ends tomorrow. I¡¯m going to the guard captain.¡±


    Sarah¡¯s head snapped up. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll hire guards if we have to. Day and night watches. Whatever it takes.¡± He planted his hands on the table. ¡°We can¡¯t go on like this.¡±


    ¡°The cost-¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the point of having money if we¡¯re too frightened to sleep?¡± Thomas glanced at their daughter before continuing. ¡°If you start at every noise, if she-¡± He stopped himself.


    Sarah caught his sleeve as he paced past. ¡°You always said honest merchants didn¡¯t need guards.¡±


    ¡°I was wrong.¡± He gripped her hand. ¡°We might even take on someone permanent.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t mean that.¡±


    ¡°I do.¡± Thomas knelt beside her. ¡°Nothing matters more than keeping us safe.¡±


    ¡°The same man who trusted in fair dealing and his good name?¡± Sarah tried to smile, but tears welled in her eyes.


    ¡°That man didn¡¯t have to watch his wife check every lock and window each night.¡± He bowed his head. ¡°Didn¡¯t have to see his child afraid.¡±


    Sarah stroked his hair. ¡°Then do it. Talk to the captain. We¡¯ll manage the expense.¡±


    They held each other while metal clinked in the street below their shuttered windows. Their daughter sat quietly in her chair, clutching her wooden toy, watching her parents with solemn eyes as they clung together in the lamplight, trying to believe that enough coin could buy them peace.


    Ember sat in her chair, still gripping the wooden fox from dinner. The broken pieces of plate lay scattered where they¡¯d fallen, a reminder of her mother¡¯s trembling hands. She watched her parents¡¯ worried exchange about hiring guards, understanding more than they probably thought. The room felt wrong tonight - the familiar scents of bread and herbs lost beneath a sharper edge of fear.


    Her father gathered pieces of the broken plate, his fingers clumsy with suppressed rage. Mother kept pacing between the closed shutters, her movements sharp and quick. Even with the wooden panels secured, the presence of the men below pressed against them like a physical weight.


    She heard their boots scraping against the cobbles, counting the shuffling steps as intently as she did her arithmetic lessons. They barely moved, just shifted their weight now and then.


    ¡°Father?¡± The word felt loud in the quiet room.


    Thomas paused his sweeping. ¡°Yes, love?¡±


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you do it to him?¡±


    Her father¡¯s brow creased. ¡°Do what to whom?¡±


    ¡°Send men to stand outside Markus¡¯s house.¡± Ember traced the wooden fox¡¯s ear with her thumb. ¡°It works really well. We can hardly sleep.¡±


    The broom clattered to the floor. Thomas stared at his daughter, mouth working soundlessly for a moment as the innocent brutality of her suggestion sank in. Sarah stopped her pacing, turning to face her daughter.


    ¡°Ember¡­¡± her mother¡¯s voice trailed off, as if unsure how to continue.


    ¡°What?¡± Ember glanced between them, genuinely confused. ¡°They¡¯re scaring us. We should scare them back. Isn¡¯t that fair?¡±


    Thomas set the fallen broom aside and knelt before her. He opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again. ¡°I¡­ we can¡¯t just¡­¡± He drew a deep breath. ¡°If we did that, we¡¯d be no better than them. Violence breeds violence, little one. Fear breeds fear.¡±


    ¡°But they started it,¡± Ember insisted. ¡°And it¡¯s working-¡±


    ¡°And where would it end?¡± Sarah asked, her voice uncertain. She joined them, wringing her hands. ¡°If we frighten them, they¡¯ll try something worse. Then we¡¯d have to do something even more terrible. Soon there¡¯d be nothing left but¡­¡± She glanced at Thomas, searching for words.


    ¡°But they¡¯re winning,¡± Ember said simply.


    Thomas squeezed her small hand, his voice rough. ¡°Sometimes winning isn¡¯t¡­ it¡¯s not always about who can hurt the other person more. It¡¯s about being strong enough to break the chain.¡±


    Sarah pulled Ember close, the familiar scent of lavender soap mixing with the salt of unseen tears.


    ¡°There are other ways to be brave,¡± Sarah murmured, though her voice trembled slightly.


    Ember settled into her mother¡¯s embrace but kept frowning, the puzzle unsolved in her mind. Below, a boot scuffed stone, and her parents stiffened. The men continued their watch as evening crept closer, patient as winter.

 10. Last Night of Innocence

    Ember nestled into her bed, the traded silk quilts heavy and familiar. Her father lowered himself into the chair beside her, its ancient wood creaking in protest. The candle on her bedside table cast long shadows across his weathered face.


    ¡°The Clever Mouse?¡± he asked, already reaching for the battered book.


    ¡°Yes,¡± she said, curling onto her side to watch him. The book¡¯s leather binding was smooth from years of handling, its pages yellowed and soft at the corners.


    Thomas opened to the first page, his voice shifting into the gentle rhythm that made even the guard captain¡¯s children beg him for stories. ¡°In the bustling market of Silvertown lived a mouse unlike any other. While other mice were content to nibble crumbs and hide in shadows, this mouse dreamed of adventure.¡±


    A clattering sound from the street made his fingers still on the page. Ember watched his hand become the mouse, scampering across her blanket as he continued.


    ¡°The merchant¡¯s cat was his greatest challenge. ¡®No mouse shall ever outsmart me!¡¯ the cat declared, prowling through the marketplace.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s too proud,¡± Ember whispered, though the words were as familiar as her own name.


    ¡°Indeed he was, little fox.¡± Thomas turned the page. His shoulders tensed at movement beyond the window, but his voice remained steady. ¡°But our clever mouse had a plan¡­¡±


    The story flowed on as Ember¡¯s blinks grew longer. She wanted to stay awake for the part where the mouse outsmarted the cat, but her father¡¯s voice and the warm quilts made that harder with each passing moment. The candle flickered, Thomas¡¯s hands painting shadows of mice and cats across her blanket.


    ¡°¡®You may be bigger,¡¯¡± he squeaked, ¡°¡®but I am smarter!¡¯¡± His fingers tightened on the book at the sound of boots on cobblestones outside.


    ¡°What happens next?¡± Ember murmured, even as her eyes grew too heavy to keep open.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    Thomas leaned closer, his voice softening. ¡°Well, behind the baker¡¯s stall, the clever mouse had hidden¡­¡±


    She tried to focus on his face - the way his expression shifted for each character, how his eyes crinkled at the funny parts - but exhaustion pulled at her. Through half-closed eyes, she caught the quick glances he cast toward the window between lines.


    ¡°Father?¡± The word came out slurred.


    ¡°Yes, little fox?¡±


    ¡°Will you¡­ finish¡­¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± He bent to kiss her forehead. ¡°The clever mouse had one last trick to play¡­¡±


    Sleep took her then, the story fading into unconsciousness. Through the fog, she heard the careful tread of her father¡¯s boots as he crossed to the window, then the quiet click of her door as he left.


    The door creaked open, and the scent of lavender drifted into the room. Ember watched through half-closed eyes as her mother Sarah sat on the bed beside her. Familiar fingers began their nightly path through her hair, each stroke bringing her closer to sleep.


    Her mother¡¯s humming started as it always did - barely audible at first, then growing into the lullaby Ember had known all her life. The street noise from below faded away, leaving only the gentle tune and the flicker of candlelight.


    Ember blinked slowly, taking in her mother¡¯s copper hair catching the light, so similar to her own. She wanted to stay awake, to hold onto the quiet comfort of their ritual, but exhaustion tugged at her.


    ¡°Mother?¡± she murmured.


    Sarah¡¯s fingers continued their steady rhythm. ¡°Yes, love?¡±


    ¡°Why did you name me Ember?¡± The question slipped out, one she¡¯d wondered about all day.


    Her mother¡¯s hand stilled for a moment before resuming its path. When she spoke, her voice was soft with memory.


    ¡°You were born during the winter festival,¡± Sarah said. ¡°Every house in Aldermere had fires burning against the cold. The whole city glowed that night.¡±


    Ember shifted closer, and her mother¡¯s free hand found hers beneath the quilts.


    ¡°The smoke from all those hearths rose into the darkness,¡± she continued, her voice catching. ¡°Thousands of bright specks floating up into the night. I¡¯d never seen anything like it.¡±


    Sarah¡¯s voice softened further. ¡°We named you Ember hoping you¡¯d carry that same resilient warmth within you. A light that could push back the darkness.¡±


    Sleep was pulling harder now. Ember felt her mother¡¯s kiss on her forehead and leaned into it instinctively.


    ¡°My precious girl,¡± Sarah whispered. ¡°My beautiful Ember.¡±


    The gentle stroking of her hair continued, accompanied by the soft notes of the lullaby. Ember drifted off to the familiar comfort of her mother¡¯s presence, not knowing it would be their last night together.

 11. The Night of Burning Silk

    Ember¡¯s hands caught on thorns as she climbed down, fresh cuts joining her blisters. The shop entrance waited just around the corner. She dropped the last few feet, her bare feet striking cobblestones. The roar of flames filled her ears as she ran toward the building¡¯s front. Smoke poured from the windows, carrying the stench of burning wood and cloth.


    ¡°Mother! Father!¡± The words scraped her throat raw. Through the smoke she saw it - a heavy beam braced against the shop door. ¡°I¡¯m coming!¡±


    She slammed into the barrier, fingers clawing at the rough wood. The beam was massive, clearly placed there with purpose. She shoved against it with everything she had, feeling splinters pierce her palms.


    ¡°Please!¡± Her voice cracked. ¡°Someone help them!¡±


    Nothing moved. Inside, timbers crashed down. Between the sounds of destruction, she heard movement - her parents, they had to be alive in there.


    ¡°I¡¯ll get you out!¡± She rammed the beam with her shoulder, over and over. The wood burned hot through her thin nightdress. Blood from her hands streaked the surface.


    Glass shattered as a window burst outward in flames. The blast of heat forced her back, but she hurled herself at the door again. ¡°Mother! Father! I¡¯m here!¡±


    She found a gap between beam and door, wedged her fingers in and pulled until something snapped in her hand. The pain barely registered. She had to get inside.


    ¡°Little¡­ fox¡­¡± Her father¡¯s voice floated through the roar of flames. Ember kicked the beam, her feet leaving red marks on stone.


    ¡°I won¡¯t leave you!¡± The force of her next hit knocked her down. She pushed up, choking on smoke. ¡°Please! I can get you out!¡±


    The roof creaked ominously. Flames danced behind the windows, swallowing any sign of movement within. She screamed and threw herself at the barrier again.


    ¡°Not without you,¡± she choked out. ¡°Please, not without you¡­¡±


    A deafening crash shook the building as part of the roof caved in. The fire surged higher, forcing her away despite her struggles. Her face burned, her hair singeing.


    She tried to stand but her legs gave out. Her bloodied hands left marks as she dragged herself toward the door. The beam hadn¡¯t moved. Behind it, everything she loved turned to ash.


    The screams had stopped. When had they stopped?


    ¡°No,¡± she whispered. ¡°No, no, no¡­¡±


    Ember screamed until her voice gave out, the sound bouncing off the alley walls as flames consumed her family¡¯s shop. Each cry tore at her raw throat, but she couldn¡¯t stop.


    ¡°Help! Someone please help them!¡±


    People emerged from their homes, drawn by her desperate calls and the roar of fire. They gathered at a safe distance, faces lit by the blaze. A woman clutched her shawl tight. A baker still dusted with flour shook his head slowly.


    ¡°My parents are trapped!¡± Ember lunged for the nearest man, her bloody fingers catching his sleeve. ¡°The beam - help me move it!¡±


    He pulled away with gentle firmness. ¡°There¡¯s nothing we can do, child. The fire¡¯s too fierce.¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°No!¡± She spun toward the shop where her father¡¯s prized silks fed the flames. The fabrics he¡¯d traveled so far to find, that her mother arranged each morning with careful hands, vanished in bright bursts before crumbling to nothing.


    Smoke carried the sickly-sweet stench of burning flesh. Her stomach clenched and she doubled over, heaving up bile as muttered sympathies drifted from the crowd.


    ¡°Where¡¯s the watch?¡± ¡°Poor lass¡­¡± ¡°Someone stop her!¡±


    The heat seared her face as another section of roof collapsed. Sparks showered into the dark sky. Ember lurched forward, but rough hands grabbed her shoulders.


    ¡°Stay back! The building¡¯s coming down.¡±


    She twisted against the grip, barely able to whisper now. ¡°Let go¡­ please¡­ they¡¯re still inside¡­¡±


    But she knew better. The screams had stopped long ago.


    A deafening crack split the night as the central beam gave way. People scattered, someone dragging Ember with them as burning timber crashed down. The surge pushed her into a nearby alley.


    The fire raged on. Ember huddled in the alley¡¯s shadows, trembling despite the heat, as everything she¡¯d ever known burned away in the darkness. Her chest felt hollow except for a single burning coal of rage.


    The heat pushed at her back, catching the torn edges of her nightdress as her family¡¯s home collapsed in flames.


    Through watery eyes, she caught movement at the crowd¡¯s edge. Several figures stood apart from the other onlookers, watching not with shock or sympathy, but with the sharp focus of men checking their work. One turned toward her hiding place, head tilting slightly. Even at this distance, she could see the satisfaction in his stance before he stepped back into the darkness between buildings.


    ¡°Wait-¡± The word came out as a broken whisper, her throat stripped raw. Her whole body jerked with shallow, panicked breaths. The figures slipped away into the night while her parents¡¯ screams still echoed in her ears, mixing with the crackling of flames they¡¯d set.


    Each breath scraped her smoke-filled lungs. Her hands throbbed where she¡¯d burned them trying to shift the fallen beam, and she pressed them against the rough cobblestones, feeling the sting of open blisters. The fear drained away, leaving something harder and colder behind - a rage she¡¯d never known she could feel.


    They hadn¡¯t just watched. They¡¯d made certain.


    Another wall fell inward with a roar, throwing sparks high into the black sky. The crowd¡¯s voices faded as people began to leave, abandoning her to the sound of splintering wood and her own ragged breathing. This was no accident. Someone had sealed her family inside their home and watched them die.


    The firelight turned everything blood-red, but Ember¡¯s eyes fixed on the spaces between buildings where those figures had vanished. Her fingers found a broken piece of glass, gripping it until she felt warmth trickle down her palm. The small pain barely registered against the vast emptiness where her life had been moments before.


    As the sky began to pale toward dawn, she watched the last of her home cave in on itself. The hatred grew with each passing moment, as steady and consuming as the flames themselves. She held it close, letting it fill the hollow spaces grief had carved inside her. It was all she had left now.


    This was no accident.


    Her small frame shuddered. Somewhere in the chaos she¡¯d lost her wooden fox, the one she¡¯d carried since she could barely walk. Like everything else, it was gone.


    ¡°Why?¡± The question stuck in her throat, barely carrying over the snap and pop of burning wood. No answer came.


    The fire consumed it all - her father¡¯s prized trade goods, fabrics from distant ports, the delicate laces her mother arranged each dawn. The familiar scents of home turned caustic, carrying other smells that made her stomach clench.


    Her palms stung where they pressed against the cobblestones, dried blood and soot mixing in the creases. She¡¯d tried to move that beam until her hands gave out, accomplishing nothing.


    The crowd had thinned to scattered whispers. No one approached the girl in the shadows. Perhaps they assumed someone else would help. Perhaps they simply looked away.


    Dawn crept across the sky, grey light washing over black smoke. The flames retreated to sullen coals, leaving behind a skeleton of char and ash. The heat faded from the air but Ember felt frozen, as if she¡¯d never be warm again.


    Their faces were branded in her memory, lit by their own torches. She would know them anywhere.


    Blood welled fresh as her fingers curled against stone. ¡°I¡¯ll find you,¡± she said, voice rough but clear. ¡°I promise.¡±


    The words dissolved in the morning air, witnessed only by cooling embers. Something hardened inside her then, something that would outlast the flames still smoldering in the ruins of her home.


    The sun rose over Aldermere. Ember stayed in her alley, watching ash settle over everything she¡¯d ever loved.

 12. Ashes of Innocence

    Dawn crept over Aldermere¡¯s rooftops, illuminating the smoking ruins of the Fletcher family shop. Ember stood before it, her small frame still, her nightgown hanging in tatters and gray with soot. Fresh blisters marked her arms and legs, though the pain had faded to a distant throb.


    The merchant district came alive around her. Cart wheels rattled on cobblestones. Shopkeepers called their morning greetings. Someone¡¯s laughter cut through the air, jarringly bright against the destruction before her.


    ¡°Mother,¡± she whispered through cracked lips. ¡°Father.¡±


    Their voices haunted her - the desperate pounding, her name called out one final time. Her shoulders tensed with each remembered sound, muscles knotted tight beneath ash-stained skin.


    Smoke curled up from the blackened beams, bitter on her tongue with each shallow breath. The windows that once displayed her father¡¯s finest silks gaped empty and scorched. The Fletcher family sign lay broken among the debris, its carved letters lost beneath char and ash.


    A merchant paused nearby. ¡°Terrible business, that. You shouldn¡¯t be standing here alone, child. Where are your-¡±


    He fell silent as he took in her ash-covered nightgown and bare feet. His face shifted from concern to unease, and he hurried past without meeting her eyes.


    Ember kept her gaze fixed on the ruins, on the spot where she¡¯d last heard her parents. Though the morning air warmed, cold seemed to radiate from her bones. The city¡¯s familiar bustle felt distant and strange - a mockery of the night when someone had trapped her parents inside and set their lives ablaze.


    Her fingers curled tight, the raw skin of her palms protesting.


    ¡°Young miss?¡± A gentle voice ventured. ¡°Perhaps you should-¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t.¡± She barely whispered it, but the speaker retreated all the same.


    Sunlight crept across the wreckage, highlighting each loss - her father¡¯s ruined fabrics, her mother¡¯s melted sewing basket, their whole world reduced to cinders while Aldermere woke to another ordinary day.


    But there would be no more ordinary days. Not for her. There was only this new reality, marked by absence and the memory of voices she would never hear again.


    Ember¡¯s bare feet left dark prints in the ash as she forced herself forward. Each step felt like wading through deep water, her body fighting against what lay ahead in the ruins. Her toe caught on something - a glint of silver against the char. With shaking hands, she brushed away soot to reveal her mother¡¯s pendant, the one Father had given her on their wedding day.


    The silver lay heavy in her palm, its surface tarnished but whole. Mother never took it off, not even to sleep. Ember¡¯s fingers closed around it, its edges pressing into her blistered skin.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°Mother?¡± The word scraped from her throat.


    Some terrible knowing pulled her deeper into the devastation. Blackened timbers groaned beneath her feet. The acrid smell grew stronger, mixing with something else - something that made her stomach heave even as she pressed on.


    She reached what remained of the shop¡¯s entrance. The heavy beam that had trapped them lay shattered, revealing what waited behind. There, in the ash¡­


    Two dark shapes lay intertwined, barely recognizable as human. One curved around the other in a final protective embrace. She didn¡¯t need to see their faces to know - these burned remains were all that was left of her parents.


    A sound ripped from her throat - raw and animal. It echoed off the ruined walls as she staggered backward, her legs failing. The pendant bit deeper into her palm.


    They¡¯d tried so hard to reach her. To save her. And someone had made certain they couldn¡¯t.


    Her knees hit the ground. She couldn¡¯t look away from their bodies, together even now. Her father¡¯s final act of protection, made useless by whoever had trapped them inside.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she choked out. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry I couldn¡¯t¡­¡±


    Words dissolved into that awful keening. She pressed her hand against her mouth, tasting blood and ash, but couldn¡¯t stop the sounds that tore from her.


    The morning sun crept higher, catching on the blackened shapes that had been her parents. Ember¡¯s fingers tightened around the pendant until its edges drew blood, the pain a sharp anchor in a world suddenly emptied of everything else.


    Ember knelt in the ash when a shadow fell across her hands. Looking up, she saw Markus Blackwood looming over her, his merchant¡¯s rings catching the dawn light. The same rings she¡¯d watched threaten her family weeks ago in their shop. His eyes moved from her to her parents¡¯ bodies, and his lip curled.


    ¡°Unfortunate,¡± he said with practiced refinement. ¡°The plan was for all three of you to burn together.¡±


    Her mother¡¯s pendant dug into her palm as memories crystalized - his silhouette in their doorway, the quiet threats to her father, his calculating stare after she¡¯d revealed his silk forgeries. The dark figures who¡¯d watched their home burn.


    ¡°Your father might have lived, had he shown better judgment. Had he taught his daughter to hold her tongue.¡± Markus adjusted his silk sleeve with manicured fingers. ¡°Instead, he died screaming while you cowered in the street. A shameful end for a merchant.¡±


    Her world narrowed to his soft, well-fed hand. She lunged without thought, teeth finding flesh. Blood flooded her mouth as she bit deeper, driven by grief and fury. His skin and muscle gave way with a wet tear. His howl echoed off the buildings as he tried to jerk free, but she clamped down harder until something crunched between her teeth.


    His boot caught her ribs, sending her sprawling into the ashes. She curled around the stabbing pain in her side, gasping. The copper taste of him filled her mouth, and though her body trembled, a dark satisfaction bloomed as she watched him cradle his mangled hand.


    ¡°You little witch,¡± he hissed, all pretense of civility gone. His eyes darted to the growing crowd drawn by his scream. Blood soaked through his silk handkerchief. His good hand twitched toward his belt knife, but too many witnesses had gathered.


    She dragged herself back through the ash, ribs screaming. Her fingers closed around her mother¡¯s pendant.


    ¡°Run,¡± he snarled, shoulders rigid. ¡°And pray we never meet alone.¡± Blood dripped onto his fine clothes as he glared at the onlookers.


    Ember pushed to her feet, keeping him in view as she retreated. She absorbed it all - his mask of refinement stripped away, the animal rage in his eyes, his cultured voice degraded to raw hatred. The city guard would ignore her. The merchant guild would shield him.


    His threats followed her into the crowd. She ran until her legs failed and her chest burned, until her home was just another pillar of smoke. The pendant¡¯s edges bit into her palm, each step carrying her toward a new purpose. She¡¯d marked him now - he¡¯d remember her every time he reached for his precious silks with that ruined hand.