Eira
"Eira!" Mrs. Gable cried. "Whatever happened to you? Why are you bleeding? Did Boris do that to you?"
Eira winced as Mrs. Gable grabbed her face. "I'm fine. I'm the one who should apologize. I instigated the fight."
Mrs. Gable threw her arms up in disgust. "That boy has no shame! He slaps a woman without even thinking twice."
Eira did not respond. Her eyes were fixated on the place where the person with the violet lantern had been. Her eye twitched. She would find whoever was responsible for what happened to her father.
Mrs. Gable gently led Eira back into the shop. "Come, child. I'll tend to your wounds and see that Mr. Novak has a word with his son."
Eira sat on the tall wooden stool, the scent of lavender and eucalyptus swirling around her as Mrs. Gable began dabbing a cool salve onto her cheek.
"Children these days. Always picking fights," Mrs. Gable muttered, "But you, Eira... you shouldn't have provoked him. You know how the High-Tier families are. They think their light is the only one that matters."
"But it isn't about the fight, Mrs. Gable," Eira said. She pulled away from the cloth, her gaze drifting toward the frost-covered window of the shop. "I saw a lantern... but the flame wasn't amber. It wasn't even a dark red."
Mrs. Gable's hands froze. She slowly lowered the tin of salve, her face pale. "What colour, child?"
Eira closed her eyes. "Violet," she whispered. "The same shade that ruined my father."
The older woman turned away quickly, busily working with some jars on the counter to hide the sudden tremble in her eyes. "The Low-Quarter is a place of shadows and sickness, Eira. The river's mist plays tricks on the eyes. You likely saw a flicker of swamp gas or a rusted reflection. Forget the docks."
"I can't forget what's standing right before me," Eira replied, standing up.
Eira couldn't stay at the shop. After Mrs. Gable finished dabbing the salve on her face, the air in the apothecary felt too thick.
She, however, didn't go straight home. The air in the apothecary felt too heavy, but the silence of her own house felt too daunting. Instead, Eira wandered into the heart of the Mid-Tier.
The snow was falling in large, lazy flakes, dusting a small pine tree that grew on the cliffside. Everything was muffled and soft. She found a small, iron bench outside a closed hat shop.
Eira sat, pulling her cloak tight. She watched a group of younger children playing in the square, their laughter ringing out like bells.
Eira closed her eyes and just breathed. The cold air stung her lungs, but it cleared the fog of anger in her brain. She looked at the trees, their branches bowed under the weight of the fresh snow.
For a moment, her anger faded. In its place was an aching curiosity. Her mother had always said that every light was a responsibility. If that person with the violet heart was truly down there in the cold, were they scared? Were they alone?
She sat there for a long time, watching the snow pile up on her boots.
Slowly, she stood up, brushing the snow from her lap. It was time to head home.
When she entered, her father was exactly where she'd left him, a silent statue in a high-backed chair. She knelt at his feet, holding his lantern up to her own.
"I saw something, Dad," she said. "A person with the violet light."
She waited for a blink, a twitch, anything. Silence. Eira stood up, grabbing her satchel. "Don't worry, Dad," She hesitated, tears pricking her vision. "I'll find a way to fix you."