Page 76 of Ashes of Aether
“That’s what I just said. An enormous shipment of moon-blossom arrived earlier this evening, and we’re going to miss out on it. Think about all the aether swirling inside every sweet, sweet drop. Drinking plenty of moon-blossom wine would ensure our bodies are fueled with magic for Wednesday’s trial. It’s such a shame we’re going home.”
“Fine,” I say, heaving out a sigh. “You win.”
Eliya beams triumphantly at me. “I knew you would eventually come to your senses.”
The offer is too tempting to turn down. Moon-blossom wine is like liquid gold poured into a bottle, and certainly costs as much. Only the moon elves of Lumaria brew it, so we have to import it from the elven continent of Belentra.
Long ago the magi tried cultivating moon-berries, the aether-infused fruit which flowers into the precious blossom, but they never had any luck. Lumaria is situated upon more nexuses—clusters of ley line intersections—than Nolderan, and even imbuing the soil with aether isn’t enough for the moon-berry trees to grow. Maybe it’s because the plant prefers the eternal night of Lumaria. Unfortunately, we don’t have our own equivalent aether-filled fruit.
Most people can’t afford moon-blossom wine, and those who can only drink it on special occasions. Such as New Year’s Eve.
When we started at the Arcanium, Eliya and I regularly drank moon-blossom wine, thanks to Eliya’s uncle. We only ceased our exploits when he became suspicious over his mystery thieves and tripled the security of his warehouses.
I hope he’s dropped his guard over the past four years.
“To your uncle’s warehouse, then?”
Eliya’s grin widens. “Let’s go.”
Eliya’s uncle, Garon Whiteford, is unequivocally the richest man in all of Nolderan. While he possesses no aptitude for magic and was never selected for adept training like Eliya’s father, he more than makes up for it with his trading expertise. Whatever goods you want from the three kingdoms, or even from Belentra, Garon can get them for you. He holds shares in at least half of all businesses in Nolderan: from taverns to barbers to tailors. Even those he hasn’t invested in owe him many favors. And most importantly, he’s the key supplier of moon-blossom wine here in Nolderan.
While a merchant as illustrious as Garon lives in the Upper City, his warehouses are situated away from his own residence and lie along the docks: the perfect location for receiving his latest shipments.
Eliya and I emerge from a cloud of violet light. The gentle sea breeze rustles through my hair, and the smell of salt wafts into my nose. Behind us, ships of all sizes sit docked at the many wooden piers traipsing out to sea. There are huge galleons carrying silks from Selynis, and there are also small fishing vessels which have not long returned from their evening haul.
In the shadowed horizon, far beyond the slumbering ships, mountains from the mainland of Talidor rise above the sea’s tumultuous surface.
Ahead of us are the vast stone buildings of the Warehouse District. Eliya takes the lead, starting down the street and gesturing for me to follow her. Garon’s storehouses are clustered together, and they are some of the largest in Nolderan.
The buildings loom over us, and their towering height blocks out the night sky. No specks of snow are visible down these narrow streets.
Our hurried footsteps sound tremendously loud against the silence. After a few strides, I glance back over my shoulder. I’m not sure why I do, since we are yet to break any laws, but I can’t shake away my paranoia. If we are caught, the consequences will be dire.
This is such a stupid idea. Why did I agree to it?
My pace falters. Eliya immediately notices. She frowns at me.
“What’s the matter?” she hisses.
“What if we get caught?”
She shoots me an exasperated look. “We’ve already been through this. It’s only my uncle. I promise it’ll be fine.”
I press my lips together. “You’re sure?”
“Very sure.”
I hesitate for a moment longer. Before I can change my mind and teleport home, Eliya grabs my arm and pulls me deeper into the Warehouse District.
A few blocks later, Eliya stops behind a corner and peers around it. The warehouse Garon uses to store his liquor is up ahead, but she doesn’t take another step forth.
“What is it?” I whisper.
“My uncle,” she mouths. “He’s here.”
“Maybe we should go back.”
Eliya continues to stare at the street around the corner. I can’t see past her.