Merran crossed the threshold and gasped in surprise. While the store appeared to be small on the outside it was massive on the inside. She assumed the illusion was on account of the mirrors that lined every inch of the interior. It wasn't only the walls, floor, and roof, but the doors, the decorations — even the furniture. It was disconcerting. The angles made it impossible to tell where the shopkeeper was.

"Merran," reverberated in the air, "come on sweet pea."

She followed the voice through an open door, up a flight of stairs and into a cosy outdoor sitting room that thankfully had no mirrors. In their place was a view that was quite splendid. The second floor overlooked the night market. It flashed with spasms of colours and the chorus of voices and music swept over her. The woman was lounging in a great chair, and she smiled when Merran arrived.

"At last," the woman said mystically, "the end begins.

"Sit sit," she pointed to a cushy chair opposite to her while she poured a steaming brew into a large cup. It smelt of mint and lemon. "Drink, it's your favourite."

Merran sat, taking the cup without a second thought. It was all too weird. She couldn't even find the words.

"You're confused," the woman said as if that were an unknown fact, and she was answering some unasked question. In fact, everything about the woman seemed mythical. From her elaborate hairdo, done up with Perrin feathers, to her over the top make-up, blood red lip stick, pale base, and the glittering blue eyeliner. She wore so much jewellery that the pieces reflected the lights of the night life below.

"Who are you?" Merran finally managed, taking a sip of tea, it was bitter just the way she liked it — she held it as far away from her as she could. What on earth was she thinking, sipping something offered by a stranger.

The woman seemed to realise her internal crisis and reached for her cup, her bracelets jingling with the movement. She grabbed the cup, took a sip, and then handed it back.

Merran managed a small thanks.

"I've no intention of harming you Merran of Temis, my name is Olga Dia and I have seen your future...'

The music sounded louder in her ears, the lights flashed until it was almost blinding, but Olga just sat in her chair, watching, waiting...

"You're a seer?"

Olga nodded, her chin wobbling with the movement. The brightness of the lights revealed her wrinkled yellowing skin, and aged eyes, a dulling green.

"You don't believe in me, in my powers, but you do believe in this," Olga held out a hand and Merran sucked in a breath.

Resting in the setting of the huge ring was a pale rose stone. A Gift-stone.

"Impossible," she said despite it being right in front of her. The rose gifts were supposed to be extinct. The ability to see the future destroyed by a king who granted only God that right.

Olga didn't deny anything, she simply folded her beefy hands onto her lap and began her tale.

"I've seen this moment many times Merran of Temis," her voice was distant, as if she were recalling a long-forgotten memory, "I knew when to interrupt your investigation of the Sulphite smuggler, after, you got the information you needed and before she killed you for it."

The lights and music were a frenzy now, blaring sound, dancing colours.

"Here is the last bit of information I can provide..." She paused, and so did the lights, the music, everything stilled as if the festival took a breath. "You will take up the King's Gift ability and the Shield will fall. The Forician's will come. You will need allies. You will need the creatures of Zandok and Jeraille or Temis will fall, and then Aradia will sink. They are coming! Be ready."

Merran exhaled, and then as if it had been waiting for this moment, the sound and light turned back on, the burst of it so bright and loud she blinked. When her eyes opened again, Olga Dia was gone...

***

Merran didn't move from the cosy chair, she replayed the conversation over and over. Herself destined to absorb the Gift-abilities, to win the tournament. Not in her wildest dreams did she think she could defeat the other leaders, those bathed in myth, sang about on drunken nights, and idolised by children far and wide. The defenders of Aradia.

However, there was another part to the prophecy; the shield would fall. She wasn't worried about that, every time the Gift-abilities were passed from one ruler to the next, the shield went down, and the new leader was responsible to re-create it.

But why had the prophecy mentioned Jeraille and Zandok?

Nobody had travelled to those continents in centuries, it was impossible, nobody could bypass the shield. It kept people in as much as it kept other things out.

"It could be the rise in Forcian sightings," her mind whispered.

But it didn't sound like that. The people had been dealing with the offspring for a long time now, the purposeless rampage of those creatures was a threat, but it didn't deem aid from other continents. She could only imagine venturing across those deadly waters to request assistance from those legendary creatures if the true Forician's descended. If the minds behind the madness arrived with cruel intent and careful plans. The things the shield had been made to keep out.

Otherwise, it wasn't worth the risk. They could handle the offspring, they had before. The prophecy could've meant something else, some other threat, maybe an internal one. She thought of the vendor with the blue Gift-stone and Misa's threat. Civil war hadn't touched Aradia's shores for decades, but if it did and the opposition had access to Gift-stones, well...

But the Gift-abilities were far more powerful than the stones, it is what prevented the Sulphites once before. There might be a gap when she received the abilities, when they were new, and she struggled with them. If she was targeted then, she could be overwhelmed, the shield wouldn't go up and then...

"You're getting ahead of yourself Merr," her mom's voice brushed her imagination and made her smile.

She always overthought things. And right now, she was over-analysing based on a prophecy made by a woman holding a pink-stone that could've been a painted rock.

She rose from the chair, she couldn't be foolish enough to base her future on the word of a random self-proclaimed seer, no matter how much she wanted to believe her.

She didn't fancy going back through the house of mirrors and then out into the narrow alleyway where Misa, or any other dangers could be lurking but she no choice. She had to find the others and see if they'd found anything. The thought of Gift-stones being made available to citizens was worrying. The number of abilities that could be spread... considering she'd seen two in the space of a few hours. Even if one of them wasn't real. It still troubled her. It wasn't really fair to regulate the powers the way the king did. But the people who were in positions to help were holders of the respective ability they would need, and the rest, well, if the wrong person had access to the right ability, she shuddered to think.

The rooftop terrace was an open plan patio with nothing more than the two chairs and a small table between them. Above her, the Aradian sky was alight with its trademark beauty. Merran was seventeen years old, and even after all that time looking up at the same sky, it was still breathtakingly exquisite, the glowing orbs of every colour fizzed around like there was some great game far above her, the trail of sparks created a blurry highway that she longed to walk. She traced the strange patterns until it reflected off a translucent surface. The Shield. Crafted with the King's gift abilities was so much more than just a barrier, it was enchanted, powerful, a means of protections that didn't just stop its enemies but made them turn around and leave. It was magic. And it was all that stood between death and the life that existed below her feet, she could feel it thrumming from all sides. She moved away from the shadow-alley and found herself standing at a railing and overlooking the Festiva below. She leaned forward. Merran had heard of the Amphitheatre before, but she had never been. The rocky ground was carved deep into the earth and then crafted into seating, so it looked like an upside-down pedestal only with more platforms, the top layer was the biggest shaped like a square, and then the next square was smaller and so on until the smallest square resembled a stage that the audience looked down on.

She leant over the railing to get a closer look and spotted a ladder fasted onto the side of the building. Merran didn't think twice, she climbed carefully over the railing and descended the ladder until she stood on the top of a single-story shop. She moved to the ledge and looked over, the Amphitheatre was in the centre, surrounded by semi-circle of shops that by the smell sold a variety of foods and beverages.

Below her a young man slept in his chair, his head leaning back over the back, his mouth open in the soft note of a snore only she could hear over the music. Again, he exhaled with a gurgle, and Merran couldn't help herself, the scene was just too comical. She cracked up but tried to stop the laugh escaping at the same time, she failed miserably and all that came out was a loud and distinctive snort.

The boy's eyes flew open and locked onto hers. He didn't move though, he just maintained eye-contact in that awkward position. Merran broke into a fit of laugher.

"What are you doing up there?"

Merran wiped the tears from her eyes, taking a deep calming breath. "I came from," she pointed behind her, "that row."

The boy had rightened himself now and was standing staring up at her. "What are you laughing at?"

He was much better looking without his mouth hanging open, and his features distorted by gravity. She managed. "Um you."

"Why?" His eyes were hard, his lips a thin line, hands on his hips.

"You were snoring."

"I don't... snore,' he struggled to even say the word.

Merran shrugged. "Would you mind helping me down?"

The boy was outraged. "You just laughed at me."

"It was funny," she teased.

"Now you're teasing me."

Merran grinned. She was having fun now.

"At least I don't snort."

She blushed. The boy enjoyed that. His green eyes glowed with mischief. "Not very lady-like," he added.

Merran stumbled for a reply. "And it's not very gentlemen-like to deny a lady help."

That got him. But he was quick as a whip this boy. "Says the girl sneaking around on roofs, that come from the Dark." He motioned his head towards the row behind her.

"I was lost," she lied.

"How do I know, you could be dangerous, you could be a thief. A murderer or running from a crime."

"And you think a girl like me could overpower a big strong boy like yourself?"

That had him grimacing. Merran found herself drawn to the way his lips tightened when she spoke. Interesting, she mused, she didn't shy away from attraction. It was as natural as breathing. But the image of the boy snoring made it a strange occurrence. Normally, she found attraction a mere passing of infatuation. It didn't last long, she found personality weighed more, the ability to find and share something deeper. She had just met this boy; she didn't even know his name. But her body whispered its cravings. His green eyes were like emotive emeralds, his nose straight, his jawline strong, his lips thin and expressive, the panes of his face sharp angles and his skin was a glowing olive. His head was purposefully shaved, and polished like a beautiful marble, she longed to rub it and then found herself amused by the thought.

He regarded her wearily, his green eyes darting around for possible help. "Fine, but you try anything funny and I'll — I'll um drop you."

She covered her mouth. "You wouldn't dare."

He rolled his eyes at her sarcasm. "You're definitely an evil one." It was said with a light laugh that tingled her senses.

He lifted his hands and helped her down with ease. His body wasn't big, but it was toned, a strength that came from heavy lifting and hard work. She could see the muscle shift beneath his white shirt as he carried her down.

"Thank you," she managed when she was settled on the uneven, rocky ground.

"It was nothing really, you're light as a feather." He didn't say it as a compliment. And unlike most boys his eyes didn't linger on her. She found herself annoyed by that. Which was a first.

"What's wrong?" He asked picking up on her expression.

Maybe he was more perspective than she'd seen. "Nothing," she smoothed down her white dress, brushing some of the rusted metal off it.

"What exactly were you doing there?" Again, he looked towards what her mind called the shadow-alley with distrust plain in his expressive features. "Nobody gets lost and ends up in Deathrow."

The name alone made her shiver and the boy picked up on it.

"I was looking for someone," she didn't know why she was explaining this to him, but she didn't want him to think bad of her.

"Who could you possibly want to find in that place?"

"A vendor," she balanced on the brink and then decided it couldn't do any harm, "he had a Gemstone, and we were trying to track him down and ask where he got it. I ended up searching in that row."

"Brave of you," he said looking at her in a new light. In fact, there was something different about him. A spark in his eyes. A flash of knowing that he smothered almost as quickly as she'd picked up on it.

"What is it?" She asked. "I saw your face, there was something there, you know something."

He was impressed that she was so perceptive. She could see it. But it didn't mean he would share whatever it was he knew. He was weighing her up, wandering if he could trust her.

"Who are you?"

"Merran," she answered plainly doubting he'd know of her.

"Merran of Temis," her title exploded out of him, "the same Merran who slaughtered the biggest Forician ever recorded on Aradia."

She nodded determined not to blush. To own it.

"Well, then I do have something to tell you. But not here. Not where someone might overhear."

She looked around. There was no one remotely close to them. Everyone was still grouped together in and around the Amphitheatre, the music had slowed now, and most of the audience were lying back, their heads staring skywards. But nobody was listening to them...

"What do you mean, there's no one —

The boy cut her off with a look. He then pointed at the rocky ground and mouthed they hear everything.

She caught on. The Stone-ability could allow those in possession to overhear everything, and where better to listen than at the Festiviva, where people were inclined to loosen up and share more than they normally would.

"So, when will I see you again —

She blushed realising she didn't have a name.

"Avesh." He extended his hand, and she took it, she felt a pulse of energy that set her nerves singing, but his eyes were impassive, like he'd locked any emotion behind them. Or he felt nothing.

"If you want to spend more time with me," his voice had taken on a cockiness that didn't suit him, arrogant, as if he were doing her a favour, "I work on the lowest level in the mornings, you can meet me there."

"I'll be there," she wondered if he were embarrassed about working there, or trying to act confident because she'd told him who she was.

"The performance is about to end, and I'm going to get busy."

Merran had never been dismissed before, but she knew what it sounded like.

"Thank you for your help Avesh," she said.

A nod was his only response. 
Merran couldn't help but feel a little hurt at that. But she retreated.

"Wait!"

Her heart leapt, and she spun to find him holding a delicately wrapped pastry. "Nothing like what you're used to princess, but I get my fair share of compliments."

"Thanks," she managed, not liking the way he called her princess. But she took the pastry, anyway, realising just how hungry she was. Avesh turned back to his store and busied himself without another word.

She had made it to the middle row, it was an easy deduction to make. She had basically climbed over the wall of shops dividing the two lanes and ended up here. The storefronts she passed were empty apart from a single shopkeeper, either asleep or waiting for the Festiviva to break and the customers to return. The goods were innocent compared to those sold on Deathrow. There were smoking goblets, dark ale, roasting meat, and hot breads. Eventually, the music swirled to a crescendo and then died, but the silence was quickly replaced by the noise of movement, the crowd poured around her, jostling her. She didn't mind, it was nice to walk by unnoticed, with no responsibilities or purpose. She bit into the pastry and found herself savouring the smoking hot, apple, custard and cinnamon filling surrounded by the crispy tart.

"Merran," Tia's voice was full of relief, "we've been looking everywhere for you." Merran could see genuine concern in her blue eyes.

"We thought something had happened to you," Kaijan said, "we should never have let you walk down Deathrow by yourself, it was..."

"Horrible," Khumo whispered, for such a huge man, his voice was soft, deep but still gentle.

"I'm okay," she said, "but I agree next time one of you can take that row."

They laughed.

"Did any of you find anything?"

They shook their heads.

"Did you?"

She glanced around. The crowds streamed passed them. She nodded, but Avesh's warning hung in the forefront of her mind. "I'll tell you on the way back to the castle,' she murmured looking around and touching her ear.

"What's wrong with your ear?" Kaijan asked oblivious.

Tia elbowed him and whispered something into his ear. "Got it," he said, "you found nothing either, how disappointing."

Merran shook her head, laughing at his forced attempt at a lie.

"Come on," she said let's get back to the castle, "I'm over the nightlife of the Festiva."

Everyone murmured their agreement. It was definitely overrated, Merran thought, but it hadn't been boring. Oddly enough it was the meeting with Avesh she found the most exciting, and when you considered, jumping off a cliff, walking down Deathrow, being threatened by a little Sulphite, meeting a seer who prophesied a terrifying future and finding out about a cave of prisoners, a young man making such an impression was rather... exhilarating.