Eira
Eira's boots let out a muffled thump with each step as she sprinted up the Great Stair.
The High-Tier did not welcome anyone from the lower levels past a certain hour; it was a policy intended to insulate the ruling officials from the "scheming rats" below.
Reaching the summit, Eira paused to catch her breath, quickly smoothing her skirt and adjusting her cloak. She stepped through the twin gates, which stood like gleaming silver pillars reflecting the morning sun.
On the other side, the High-Tier was a blur of activity. Unlike the earthy bustle of the Mid-Tier, this was a place of polished marble and silk.
Delivery wagons darted between ornate carriages, and high-ranking scholars moved in clusters, their long robes sweeping aganist the white cobblestone. The air smelled of expensive perfumes and ozone.
A sharp, piercing whinny snapped Eira out of her daze. She yelped, leaping backward as a man on a white stallion missed her by barely an inch.
The rider didn't even look back, his golden cloak billowing behind him. Eira heart hammered against her ribs as she realized she had been standing directly in the center of the road.
Eira had only been to the High-Tier a few times in her life. Her father would always bring her along when he had consultative meetings with the High-Healers.
After those long sessions, they would always visit the most prestigious apothecary shop in all of Oakhaven.
That was exactly where Eira was headed now.
A small, melodic bell chimed as she stepped inside, the familiar, sharp scent of eucalyptus and crushed cloves filling her lungs.
The shop was a cathedral of glass jars and silver scales, placed with gentle care in each of the cuddies. Behind a worn, dark oak counter sat a young man in his early twenties. He looked remarkably relaxed, with a smal book of poetry perched on his lap.
His lantern, sitting atop the counter, glowed with a powerful, reddish-amber hue.
The man himself had dark, messy hair that fell over his brow in sharp contrast to his gray eyes, his skin appearing pale in the light.
Slim, round-rimmed glasses were perched gently on his nose as they gave his face a low-key, vintage vibe.
Soren, Eira thought, He reminds me a bit of Soren.
"You look like you've just run up a thousand stairs," he said, "Or like you've seen a ghost. Which is it?"
"The stairs," Eira said, "And nearly a horse."
The man let out a short, dry huff of a laugh. "They don't believe in anything that exists below their own chin level." He leaned closer, squinting. "Are you… Eira?"
"Yes. From the Mid-Tier," she said, stepping toward the counter. "I'm here for Moon-Lily nectar. Purest grade."
Julian continued to stare at her face. "I haven't see you since Master Elian used to come through those doors." He grew quiet for a second, his gaze softening as he looked at her more closely.
Eira nodded stiffly. "Yes. Those were… the days. I need the nectar for a noble's heart tonic. It's urgent."
Julian didn't move toward the shelves immediately.
He rested his elbows on the oak counter, looking at her with a curiosity that wasn't rude, but definitely persistent. "I'll get it for you, but it'll take a moment to decant. The heat-lamps keep the flowers in a permanent state of blooming, but the nectar is temperamental."
He turned to a glass behind him, but kept talking over his shoulder. "So, how is life in the 'Grout'? That's what the people up here call the Mid-Tier, you know."
"It's... busy," Eira said, her mind drifting back to the apothecary shop, the scent of chamomile, and the weight of the secret she had left behind. "And a bit more honest than this place, I think."
Julian chuckled as he adjusted a tiny silver valve. "Honest. I like that. Up here, everyone's lantern is so bright you can't see their faces."
He glanced at his own reddish-amber lantern. "The Council leaders don't like my red flame. They think it's too 'aggressive' for a shopkeeper. They prefer a something more pale. Like watery yellow. Very obedient."
Eira watched him, fascinated. He was so comfortable in his own skin, so unafraid of the judgment of the High-Tier.
It made her wonder what Soren would be like if he wasn't a fugitive. If he could just sit in a shop with Pip and be 'aggressive' with his light.
"You remind me of someone," she blurted out before she could stop herself.
Julian turned back, holding a small, crystalline vial filled with a shimmering liquid. "A boyfriend? A brother? Who knows?"
"Just someone I know," Eira said, reaching for the vial. "Thank you, Julian."
"Tell Mrs. Gable I sent my best," he said, sliding the vial across the wood. "And Eira? Watch out for the horses on the way down. The High-Tier doesn't like it when the Grout starts moving up."
Eira tucked the nectar into her satchel, and slipped out the door.
As she stepped back out into the blinding silver light of the Great Stair, she felt a strange mix of relief and longing.
It wasn't just Soren waiting for her.
Every step down felt like a heavy beat against her conscience. The mention of her father still hung in the air.
She hadn't visited him in too long. She had been too angry, too frozen, and now, too busy protecting the very person who had been there when he fell.
A sharp wave of grief hit her.
She needed to stand in the quiet and explain herself. Before she could return to the warmth of the bakery, she had one more stop to make.
I'm coming, Fatehr, she thought, tears stinging her eyes. I'm so sorry it took this long.