Radiance - The Alight Archives Book #1

1. The Girl of Light

"That'll be four bronze, miss," Marlow grumbled, scratching the hairy caterpillar under his nose. 

The price had gone up since last week, and Elaine groaned at that. Marlow was a corpulent man who loved his tokens almost as much as he loved the emberleaves she'd catch him snorting on occasion.

"I don't suppose I can get you to lower the price, now can I?" Elaine asked, offering him but a fraction of a smile. 

When he didn't reply—aiming instead an unamused scowl—Elaine knew she wouldn't make much progress with him. Not today. And so she fiddled with the satchel resting on her waist, digging up the four tokens he'd demanded.

He snatched them from her with his bloated, sausage fingers, resting three of them on the table and raising the last to his lips. He bit it. "It isn't fake," Elaine said, rolling her eyes. 

When the chip didn't budge Marlow grumbled in disappointment. Was he hoping it was fake so he could call for the military officers? He did favor the spotlight, that Marlow.

"Can't ever be too sure around here," he grunted. He ducked behind his market stall, and he was fiddling with something that clanked and scratched. Glass bottles, maybe? When he stood up again, his half-opened eyes crashing into her, he plopped a paper bag on the table.

Elaine leaned closer to peek inside. All of them were there, all six of them. Plump, partially ripe plumberries. These would help to make Mother's rash elixir not taste so bitter. "Plucked them fresh myself. There a problem?"

"No problem, no," said Elaine. "Actually, I was wondering about something."

"If you're asking about the farroots then save your breath. I haven't received any word as of yet."

Elaine frowned. "Fritz..."

"Hey, language," Marlow protested, arms folded over an inflated stomach, partially bulging out from beneath his shirt. "Didn't your folks teach you any better, missy? Wasn't expecting that outta such a prim face."

"Sorry," Elaine sighed. "It's just, with those roots we could—"

"Not to sound cold-hearted," Marlow interrupted, scratching his set of wavy, rusted hair, "but even if you lot did get those surgin' roots, who's to say they'd work? Word on the streets is that it takes a special touch that only the, erm, magically inclined can offer. I'm by no means trying to underrate your plight, no sir. But, I doubt a little miss like yourself who hasn't so much as even used a wand can pull it off. As for your folks, well..."

Elaine launched a glare at him. "Just what are you insinuating?"

"That I wouldn't take my chances. Lest you're hoping to waste your time and tokens making a cauldron of burned farroot soup, I'd say your safest bet is hiring a Professional Sorcerer. Then again, they aren't cheap to come by, and I highly doubt one of them would be interested in visiting this sleepy old town."

Elaine snatched the bag in her arms and started on a strut from his stall, defiant. Her emotions were sizzling, that wasn't good, she might say something she'd later come to regret. "We'll never know unless we try, right? Magic is a Gift my parents are capable of utilizing. I'm no different. Surely we can do something to help."

"Don't say I didn't warn you, missy!" she heard him call in the distance. "There's a reason sorcerers exist!"

Elaine ate a breath—taking a whiff of the stale, street air that polluted the winds—and then she blended into the crowd, fading inside fluid anonymity. The marketplace today was crowded, well, as crowded as a small town like Page could possibly get.

The sun poured onto her like golden rain. She was grateful for the passing of winter, but boy did it get unbearably hot in the country. There weren't any buildings in town that were equipped with those fancy arcanetech devices that could lower the temperature. What were they called again? Well, whatever they were, she'd heard that goldbloods used them to combat the summer months. Some were even capable of making ice, or so she was told.