Hardly had we entered the city before the work began… Or so we thought, because unlike the small villages we were used to, the old man wasn't the only merchant in the Green Rose and thus certainly not the center of attention. No, the marketplace of the Green Rose was alive with activity, brimming with the daily hustle and bustle of its inhabitants.
I saw a juggler, juggling not with balls or knives, but with flaming knives. Flaming knives! How does a knife even burn? Well, now I know, but back then I had no idea. Like the others, I was awestruck by the diversity of people and sights around us.
For days, we wandered the stalls, too captivated by the exotic grandeur of the big city to even think about stealing anything. We were five boys from the countryside, and here someone was selling glass so fine we doubted human hands had crafted it. Spices that overwhelmed our palates, and – oh, gods – coriander. I loved coriander.
There was so much more, too: fabrics dyed in impossible colors, street performers playing instruments I couldn't name, and, most intriguing of all, the fortune-teller's stand.
We visited it on the third day. Well, Ninefingers and I did. We were the only ones eager to step into the fortune-teller's tent – though neither of us would admit, it was because of the allure of something magical. The others weren't interested. I didn't particularly want to go alone with Ninefingers, and he probably felt the same way, but the draw of a possible miracle outweighed our petty grudge.
The tent stood near the edge of the marketplace, its vibrant fabrics shimmering in shades of deep purple and gold. Strange symbols adorned the entrance, spiraling patterns that seemed to shift and dance if you stared at them for too long. Incense wafted from within, along with the scent of sandalwood and something unfamiliar yet intoxicating.
We exchanged a brief glance before ducking inside.
To our surprise, the tent was not empty. It held not only the fortune-teller but also someone else. I stopped abruptly and held Ninefingers back. "Sorry," I said quickly, "we didn't realize you were busy."
The fortune-teller was concealed behind a veil of hanging beads and silken scarves, her features barely discernible in the dim light. But the man seated across from her was not hidden. As we entered unbidden, he turned to look at me.
This was the first out of five times I met him.
His hair was a deep, fiery red, swept back neatly, and his face was strikingly handsome, with sharp cheekbones and a jawline that seemed carved from stone. His eyes, however, were what truly froze me in place. They burned with an intensity that felt all-consuming, as though they could see straight through me and beyond, yet his expression remained perfectly calm.
It was as if he were the embodiment of a fire – capable of both gentle warmth and devastating destruction.
There are men, I thought then, who light a room with their presence. This one looked like he could set the world ablaze.
Ninefingers shifted nervously beside me, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from the man. I felt small and insignificant under his gaze, like a moth drawn to something that would inevitably burn me.
It reminded me of my father. With him, the fear had been cultivated over years, each cruel word and blow adding to the freezing grip he held on me. But this man – this stranger – needed only a glance. In five seconds, he had achieved what my father took nearly a decade to instill: the sense that defiance was futile.
Regardless of our state, the fortune-teller spoke. "Please wait outside. I have guests."
We nodded hastily and fled the tent. But just before the curtain fell back into place, I heard the fortune-teller's voice again. My breath hitched as my curiosity wrestled with my better judgment. My body remained outside, rooted to the spot, but I leaned closer, pressing my ear against the gap in the curtain.
The muffled voices within seemed louder than they should have been, as though the tent itself was conspiring to let me hear. Every muscle in me tensed, torn between the instinct to flee and the desperate need to know what was being said.
"See?" the fortune-teller said. "I'm always right."
The man's answer came a moment later, his voice slithering into my ear like a cold shiver. "Both?"
"The smaller one. Or his older brother."
They're talking about us. They're talking about us, aren't they?
My mind raced, each thought tripping over the next. My breathing quickened as a wave of unease washed over me, the open space outside the tent suddenly feeling suffocating.
Ninefingers suddenly grabbed my wrist, his touch startling me back to the present.
"Come on, we should go," he said. He tried to pull me away, but I resisted.
"No, wait a moment," I said, still straining to listen.
Ninefingers looked at me as if I were insane. "Are you blind? That guy in there looks dangerous! And he probably is!" He tugged on my arm again, but I shook him off.
"Go ahead," I told him.
Ninefingers narrowed his eyes at me. "Tsk," he muttered before turning and walking away.
He's actually leaving. I told him to go, but...
My train of thought was shattered when a shadow fell over me. I looked up, and there he was. The man from the tent stood behind me, the curtain pulled aside. He looked down at me, his presence suffocating. My voice died in my throat.
You don't scare me, I told myself. You're not worse than my father.
After what felt like an eternity, he spoke, his voice low and deliberate, each word slicing through the tense silence. "Didn't your mother teach you not to eavesdrop?"
His tone carried a quiet authority that sent shivers down my spine, and though his expression was calm, there was a faint, knowing glint in his eyes that made it impossible to look away.
I nodded, barely, though my mother had never taught me anything but loneliness. He smirked, studying me closely, and then walked past.
It was then I saw an opportunity. An opportunity to prove myself to the world. My heart hammered in my chest as I hesitated, a voice in my mind screaming at me to stop. But another voice, louder and sharper, urged me forward.
You don't live in fear anymore, it said. You're not that helpless boy hiding in the shadows.
With trembling fingers, I reached out, pausing just long enough to feel this strange heat radiating from him. One deep breath, then another. My hand darted out, quick as a striking snake, and I snatched the small pouch hanging from his belt.
He didn't even notice.
And then he was gone. He simply walked away, vanishing into the bustling crowd outside the tent. Yet as his figure disappeared, a wave of doubt washed over me. What if he noticed? What if he turned around and read my thoughts as easily as an open book?
The sudden urge to flee overwhelmed me. Without thinking, I darted back into the tent, slipping behind the veil as if it could shield me from his piercing gaze.
The fortune-teller looked up; her hands folded onto the table in front of her. She gestured for me to sit without a word.
But I didn't want to sit down. I wanted to know what was going on.
The fortune-teller saw me calmly. Too calmly, for my heart was still hammering in my chest, and I couldn't understand how anyone could remain serene amidst all this noise. "Hello, Corin," she said.
My eyes widened, and I drew the small knife from my belt. Like everyone in our group, I carried it, though I'd only ever used it to carve apples or make small repairs. But the moment demanded something sharp in my hand. I was afraid, but I refused to freeze again.
"How do you know me?" I asked, pointing the blade at her. It must have looked absurd, even laughable, a small boy holding a trembling knife. She glanced at the blade for a moment, and then her eyes changed into crescents. Through the veils, I couldn't tell if she was smiling or grinning.
"I know everyone who enters my tent. This is my home. Do you invite strangers into your home without knowing who they are?"
My hand steadied at last. I straightened myself as much as I could and tried to sound as intimidating and confident as possible. "I wouldn't go to someone I didn't know. So tell me, who are you?"
Now, I could clearly hear her laughter. "Well said, little wanderer. I am Madame Eva. Some call me by other names, but I prefer Eva. And as you can see, I am a fortune-teller."
I narrowed my eyes. "Would one of those names happen to be the Chance?"
She seemed surprised. "You are clever indeed."
I'd played enough Draw Thirteen to know all 156 Sprouts. One of them was the Chance – a Sprout of the Dice, depicted on its card as a curtain, symbolizing a passage to the unknown.
She leaned forward. "But please, call me Madame Eva."
My knife slowly lowered. I was standing before a Sealbearer. No knife in the world would protect me. Once more, she gestured for me to sit. Cautiously, I did.
"Now tell me, what is troubling you, little wanderer?"
I hesitated. But the need for answers was too much. "Who was that man? What did you tell him? What does he want from us?" The questions poured out, unstoppable.
"Those are powerful questions. But I do not offer answers. Only chances."
My mood turned even more sour. "What do you mean? I don't understand."
"You cannot yet. You bear no Seal, so I cannot grant you chances."
Then she smiled. "But I will give you a hint for your cleverness." She leaned forward, her voice dropping low.
"Flee the city. Leave your brothers here and flee."
That was more than just a hint, I thought. "I'm not going anywhere without my brothers!" I protested, though I didn't even know why I was arguing with her.
She shook her head but said nothing more. I tried again to draw more from her, but she remained silent.
Eventually, I stood. Her words had left me hollow and full all at once, my mind spinning with what felt like riddles. As I went to leave, she said one last thing, her voice cutting through the air like a blade.
"Come back to me when you're in need of a chance, Kingslayer. Maybe I can grant it."
I froze at the title but forced myself to keep moving, stepping out into the chaotic marketplace. Once outside, my eyes scanned the marketplace for the mysterious man. But instead, the world revealed something else.
At the far end of the marketplace stood a figure cloaked in darkness, holding the reins of a nightmarish steed. His face was old, handsome, yet somehow wrong. He looked at me.
And I knew. My past had come to claim me.