The Half Light

[4.1] Books and Herbs

~

The first thing that Aryial noticed was the smell, the smell of smoke and herbs and ash, of burning wood and dry air.

The second thing she noticed was the noise, the raging of flames and fire and storekeepers, of screaming men and frightened onlookers. 

Her mouth was dry as she forced her body, half asleep, out of bed and to the window. Warmth flushed the dark night, the horizon covered in a mist of orange light.

The city burned.

Everywhere, flames bloomed and danced, oblivious to the desperate cries that rose from the crowd already gathered on the street. 

Aryial had to squint, her eyes not yet adjusted to the brightness, scanning the damage and making calculations in her head. There were too many fires at once, separated, which meant they couldn't have spread from one source. 

Even through her sleep-ridden thoughts, one thing stood out, one conclusion that made her feel ill. 

They weren't accidents. 

The whole city must've been awake now because of the noise, ringing in the background as Aryial hastily pulled her clothes on.

Not caring if she looked presentable enough, she ducked out the window and scaled down the walls, her body naturally adjusting to the familiar rhythm of lowering herself and digging her toes between the cracks in the stone.

Climbing out her window wasn't the most traditional way to leave a house, but was faster than running through the giant estate. It wasn't as if anyone would pay attention to her through all the commotion anyway.

Aryial let out a string of curses. Her dagger was still in her room! She debated the worth of going back for it but decided to continue on without it. 

She headed towards the closest fire, weaving through people on the streets and past the bends on the roads before finally reaching it. 

The flames were humongous. They lorded over the building, eating away at everything inside, painfully slowly. No matter how much water the nymphs were heaping into the flaming mass of heat, the fire never wavered.

"Oh blithering, blasting funderhorns!" A figure nearby swore into the flames, gesturing crudely.

"Can I help you, sir?" Aryial asked as she approached, wary of the sharp tool hanging on his belt.

The figure hopped off the crate he was standing on, marching up to Aryial with a rage that only a dwarf could summon. "Help? Help? Fine. If you think you can find a way to save this, then by all means! Help!" 

Aryial took a step back at the sight of the furious dwarf. Nevertheless, she quickly gathered herself and rushed to help. 

Though she couldn't handle the cold as well as most faeries, she could handle the heat. It prickled against her skin as she walked towards the flames, ignoring the cries of the shopkeeper lamenting the destruction of his precious herbs. 

Aryial knew that the herbs were most likely already gone, there was nothing anybody could do about that. 

She couldn't shake off the feeling that this was all still planned. But, what could one possibly gain from burning down a herb store?

Aryial walked closer yet again, this time, ignoring warnings from onlookers. The heat still prickled her skin but did not increase. She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, her fingers fiddling with the frayed edges of her shirt in agitation.