The tour began properly once they descended from the high walkway into the older heart of the capital.
Sarisa had expected grandeur. She had not expected warmth.
The upper city had been impressive, all obsidian towers and floating trams and glowing rune-lines pulsing beneath the streets like veins of fire.
But the lower terraces were something else entirely. Here, the capital breathed closer to the skin. Shops leaned into one another beneath striped awnings. Balconies dripped flowering vines in jewel-dark colors.
Children darted between stalls chasing little mechanical beetles that clicked and shimmered.
Everywhere, there was life.
Not the restrained life of court, where every breath had to be measured. This was messy, vivid, fragrant.
A man with sapphire horns argued with a floating basket that refused to follow him. A woman sold glass charms that changed color depending on the buyer's mood.
A group of students in dark uniforms crowded around a stall selling fried dough spirals dusted with powdered sugar.
Above them, a tram slid through the morning air, quiet as a thought, carrying passengers across the city on a line of gold light.
Sarisa looked everywhere at once.
Lara noticed, of course. She walked beside her with one hand loosely at the small of her back, not controlling her, merely keeping contact as they moved through the crowd.
Every now and then, someone recognized Lara and nodded respectfully. No one approached too boldly.
They seemed used to her presence, perhaps even fond of it, but there was still a careful distance in their manners.
Sarisa wondered what Lara was to them.
Not queen. Not ruler.
Something else.
A woman of the royal family who did not sit on the throne, but whose shadow still lay across the city in fire wards and security routes and old stories.
"This district is older," Lara said, guiding her around a corner where a row of lanterns hung overhead despite the morning light.
"It survived three reconstruction efforts because the merchants kept threatening to riot every time someone suggested modernizing the whole thing."
Sarisa smiled. "And did they riot?"
"A little."
"A little riot?"
"Mostly throwing bread at city planners."
"How very civil."
"This is the bakery district. Bread becomes political here."
Sarisa laughed, and Lara looked entirely too pleased with herself.
They passed a shop window stacked with pastries so artful they looked like tiny sculptures.
Another bakery had enchanted ovens visible from the street, glowing blue at the mouths while loaves floated in neat circles inside.
The air smelled heavenly: butter, sugar, warm fruit, yeast, cinnamon, toasted nuts, and something smoky Sarisa could not identify but immediately wanted to eat.
"You said we were just touring," Sarisa said.
"We are."
"This feels like a trap."
"It is a cultural experience."
"Lara."
"What? You need to understand our people."
"Your people seem to be mostly pastries."
"An excellent people."
Before Sarisa could answer, a voice called from the open doorway of a small bakery with dark red shutters.
"Well, well. Lara. It's been a while."
Lara stopped so abruptly Sarisa almost walked into her.
The voice belonged to an old woman standing beneath the bakery awning, hands dusted with flour, silver curls piled messily above her head.
She was short, round-faced, and sharp-eyed, with two small ivory horns curling back from her temples.
Her apron was covered in flour, jam, and what looked suspiciously like chocolate.
She looked at Lara with the sort of authority usually reserved for generals, mothers, and women who had known you when you were too young to pretend dignity.
Lara's face changed instantly.
Sarisa had never seen that exact expression before. Embarrassment, affection, and alarm all collided at once.
"Madame Orvena," Lara said.
The old woman's eyes flicked toward Sarisa.
"And you brought someone with you," she said, voice warming with delighted suspicion. "Interesting."
Sarisa felt Lara's hand twitch faintly at her back.
"This is Sarisa," Lara said, a little too quickly. "Sarisa, this is Madame Orvena. She owns this bakery."
"I do more than own it," Orvena said. "I keep half this district alive and the other half properly fat."
Sarisa immediately liked her.
"It's an honor," Sarisa said.
Orvena waved one floury hand. "None of that elegant nonsense. Come inside. If Lara brought you here, you must be important. Or she got lost, which would not surprise me either."
Lara groaned. "I was not that bad."
"You once hid behind my flour sacks for three hours because your tutor was looking for you."
Sarisa turned slowly toward Lara.
Lara looked away. "I was young."
"You were sixteen," Orvena said.
Sarisa covered her mouth, but the laugh escaped anyway.
Lara shot her a betrayed look. "You're enjoying this."
"I would never."
"You absolutely are."
Orvena stepped aside and gestured them in. "Come, come. I have tarts cooling, and apparently I have many stories to tell."
Lara muttered something under her breath that sounded like a prayer for strength.
Sarisa entered the bakery smiling.
Inside, the shop was even warmer than the street. Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, piled with breads of every shape and color: dark loaves with cracked tops, golden twists, tiny seed rolls, glossy buns filled with fruit.
Behind the counter, trays of pastries cooled near the ovens. Little floating labels hovered beside them, naming each item in glowing script.
The whole place smelled so good Sarisa forgot, briefly, every tragedy in her life.
Orvena led them to a small table near the window and brought over two strawberry tarts without asking.
"You'll eat," she said.
"We had breakfast," Lara said.
Orvena glared at her.
Lara picked up a fork. "We'll eat."
Sarisa bit back another laugh.
The tart was beautiful: crisp pastry shell, soft cream, strawberries arranged like red petals under a glaze that shimmered faintly with magic.
Sarisa took one bite and had to stop herself from making a deeply undignified sound.
Orvena saw anyway. "Good?"
Sarisa nodded. "Very."
"Of course it is."
Lara was already eating, and despite her attempts to appear casual, Sarisa noticed the quiet pleasure in her face. This was not simply food. It was memory.
Orvena leaned on the chair beside them. "She used to come here covered in dust, bruises, and terrible attitude. Always hungry. Always pretending she wasn't."
Lara pointed her fork at her. "That is slander."
"That is history."
Sarisa looked at Lara, softer now. "You came here often?"
Lara shrugged, too casual. "Sometimes."
"Every week," Orvena said.
"Sometimes every week."
"Sometimes twice a day."
"That was one summer."
"Three summers."
Sarisa laughed outright this time.
Lara closed her eyes briefly. "I regret bringing you here."
"No, you don't," Sarisa said.
"No," Lara admitted. "But I regret Orvena having a mouth."
The old woman cackled and disappeared behind the counter. When she returned, she carried a small wooden box.
Lara went still.
"No."
Orvena smiled. "Yes."
"Absolutely not."
Sarisa straightened with instant interest. "What is it?"
"Evidence," Orvena said.
"Blackmail," Lara corrected.
Orvena opened the box and began taking out little glossy pictures, enchanted stills that moved slightly when turned toward the light.
Sarisa leaned forward, and the first image nearly destroyed her.
It was Lara, much younger. Perhaps twelve or thirteen. Tall already, all knees and sharp elbows, hair badly cut, expression furious.
She stood behind the bakery counter with flour smeared across one cheek and a pastry in each hand, looking like she had been caught mid-theft and would rather fight a war than apologize.
Sarisa pressed one hand to her mouth. "Oh my gods."
Lara dragged both hands down her face. "I hate this."
Orvena placed another picture down.
Teenage Lara sat on the floor near a stack of flour sacks, asleep with her head tipped back against the wall, one arm around a loaf of bread as though protecting it from enemies.
Sarisa's laughter became helpless.
"You hugged bread in your sleep?"
"I was tired."
"You were attached," Orvena said.
"I was hungry."
The next picture showed Lara wearing an apron that said Little Flame, holding a tray of misshapen buns. She looked murderous. The buns looked worse.
Sarisa wiped at the corner of her eye. "Little Flame?"
Lara stood abruptly. "We're leaving."
Sarisa caught her wrist, still laughing. "We are not."
Orvena looked deeply satisfied. "She was sweet, underneath all the growling. Always paid for younger children who couldn't afford sweets. Pretended she didn't. Left coins under the counter like a criminal."
Lara froze again.
This time Sarisa's laughter softened into something quieter.
She looked up at Lara, who had gone suddenly uncomfortable in a way that had nothing to do with childhood embarrassment.
There she was again, that hidden kindness Lara always tried to bury under sarcasm and violence and terrible posture.
"You did?" Sarisa asked.
Lara sat back down slowly. "It wasn't a big thing."
"It was to them," Orvena said.
Sarisa reached under the table and took Lara's hand.
Lara looked at her, a little startled.
Sarisa only smiled.
For a while longer, they stayed there. Orvena told more stories. Lara objected to all of them.
Sarisa ate her tart, then somehow another half tart because Orvena insisted she looked too thin, which made Lara choke on her tea and Sarisa kick her under the table.
By the time they finally stood to leave, the morning had deepened outside, the market growing louder beyond the window.
Orvena packed two more pastries in a little paper box and pressed them into Sarisa's hands. "For later. She gets difficult when hungry."
"I am right here," Lara said.
"I know."
Sarisa smiled. "Thank you."
Orvena's eyes softened as she looked between them. "Take care of her."
It was not clear which of them she meant.
Sarisa answered anyway. "I will."
Lara said nothing, but her hand found Sarisa's back again as they stepped out into the bright, bustling street.
For a moment, the bakery door closed behind them, cutting off the warm scent of sugar and old stories.
Sarisa looked at Lara, still smiling. "Little Flame?"
Lara pointed down the street. "Tour continues. No more talking."
"Oh, we are absolutely talking about this."
"Sarisa."
"My fierce little bread guardian."
Lara groaned, and Sarisa laughed as they walked back into the glowing heart of the demon capital.