7
Callia
Salt air clung to my skin. Not the heavy wetness of the sea below, but something lighter and a bit dry. Stone warmed by sun pressed beneath my feet. There were pale cliffts, and the scent of rosemary, olive wood and distant fires wafted through my nose. My breath caught.
Thalassara.
My city, rising golden against the horizon. I looked around, my eyes taking in the tide-marked streets, the lattice of the merchant stalls, the high arches of the temple of Thalor and, gods, the laughter. The children were racing past with salt-stiff ribbons. Women balancing baskets of glinting fish. My people were alive. Without me.
I turned slowly, my heart thudding. The breeze teased loose strands from my braif and the weight of my ceremonial collar was gone. I was wearing linen again. I could
