CHAPTER 193: SOUND

He had been there, had spat at her, cursed her, struck her before the fire consumed her.

Now, that face stared back from her daughter’s eyes, smiling with cold vengeance as the world turned upside down.

The last sound he heard was the wet splatter of his body hitting the cobblestones below.

Silence fell, heavy and absolute.

Kiara stepped lightly over the broken rail, her uniform dusted with stone grit.

She exhaled, slow and steady, her fingers smoothing the hem of her blouse as if preparing for a lecture.

"Messy," she murmured, her tone clipped, almost annoyed.

Her eyes dimmed back to their natural icy blue, the pink glow fading, but her lips curved, soft and hungry, a predator sated for now.

She glanced down at the crumpled form below, the garden shadows swallowing Renval’s broken body.

"You should’ve known better," she whispered, her voice barely audible, a private judgment.

"I have to get to the academy," she said to herself, brushing her long hair over her shoulder, her movements calm, precise.

The thought of Lor—his lips, his warmth, the way his breath caught when she kissed him—pulled a wistful sigh from her throat, tinged with impatience.

"I want to kiss him already."

With that, she turned from the balcony’s ruin, her footsteps silent as she slipped back into the estate’s darkened halls, leaving the corpse of Lord Renval sprawled in the shadows below, as the guards spotted it and caused havoc.

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The wooden wheels of Ameth’s cart creaked over uneven cobblestones, each squeak piercing the morning’s stillness like a needle through cloth.

She leaned into the handle, her arms steady, her long blonde braid swaying with each step.

Her gray tunic clung to her frame, the fabric worn but fitted, accentuating the strong curve of her hips and the subtle swell of her breasts, though she moved as if unaware of the eyes it drew.

Her icy-blue eyes stared straight ahead, flat and unyielding, but faint hollows beneath them betrayed a sleepless night, the weight of too many hours spent staring at the ceiling, counting coins that weren’t there.

She hated this—the grind, the market, the necessity of it all.

But hate was a quiet thing for Ameth, locked behind her mask of cold efficiency.

The square was already stirring as she arrived, the air thick with the scent of river fish and warm bread.

Merchants unrolled canvas awnings with sharp snaps, their voices rising in a chorus of calls—apples, linens, smoked meats.

Boys hauled barrels, the briny stink of fish clinging to their clothes, while bakers arranged trays of steaming loaves, their crusts golden in the morning light.

The hum of commerce swelled, familiar and suffocating, wrapping around her like a net she could never quite slip.

Her cart drew glances—not the usual sneers at rot, but curious looks, assessing.

The vegetables were different today, meticulously sorted per Lor’s strange, possessed advice.

Neat rows of lettuce, cucumbers, and tomatoes, each separated to halt decay’s spread.

Older stock sat aside, priced to move, while fresher produce gleamed in tidy stacks.

Separate rot from life. Freeze what you can’t sell, thaw only what you need.

It was obvious, she told herself, her lips pressing thinner, though the thought had never crossed her mind before his voice—deep, unnatural—had carved it into her.

She set up her stall with mechanical precision, stacking wooden crates into makeshift shelves, draping a faded cloth over the top to shield the sun’s heat.

The air was cool, mist clinging to the stone square, and with a flick of her hand, a shimmer of ice rippled through one crate, chilling the lettuce and cucumbers to a crisp stillness.

Her magic was subtle, controlled, a tool she wielded like a blade—sharp, efficient, hidden in plain sight.

By mid-morning, customers began to drift past.

Housewives with woven baskets, their eyes sharp with scrutiny. Old men counting coins with gnarled fingers.

Apprentices rushing through errands, impatience written in their hurried steps.

"Are these fresh?" a woman asked, her voice skeptical as she lifted a tomato, turning it in her hand.

"Yes," Ameth replied, her tone clipped, calm, betraying nothing.

The woman’s frown deepened, but the tomato’s skin was taut, red, unblemished.

She nodded once, setting two more on the counter. "These’ll do."

Ameth weighed them with swift precision, her fingers steady as the coins clinked onto the table.

More followed—a butcher’s apprentice demanding onions, his sack slung over one shoulder; a tavern cook buying carrots in bulk, his eyes lingering on her braid, her figure, before he handed over his coin; a boy with wide eyes, no older than twelve, pointing at cucumbers and dropping his mother’s coin into her palm with trembling hands.

Not once did anyone wrinkle their nose at the scent of rot.

Not once did they walk away.

The day flowed like a slow river, steady and unrelenting.

Ameth spoke little, her words sharp and sparse, her face a blank mask as she weighed, counted, sorted.

She noticed eyes on her—not the usual disdain, but curiosity, calculation, perhaps even respect.

Men lingered a moment too long, their gazes tracing the curve of her hips, the way her tunic hugged her frame.

She ignored them, her focus unwavering.

As the sun dipped toward the horizon, painting the square in hues of amber and violet, her crates stood half-empty.

Her cart was lighter than it had been in months, the weight of unsold stock no longer dragging at her shoulders.

She packed with methodical care, flicking frost over the remaining vegetables to preserve them for tomorrow, the faint shimmer of her magic fading into the dusk.

She counted the coins before leaving the square, her fingers brushing the cold silver in her palm.

Her breath caught, a sharp, involuntary hitch.

The stack was heavier than she’d expected—more than she’d made in weeks.

Not enough to rival nobles or guilds, not enough to change her world, but to her, it was staggering.

A lifeline.

Her face didn’t move, her lips a flat line, her jaw tight.

But her eyes blinked once, slow, and didn’t close fully the second time.