Married To Darkness-Chapter 389: To Jess’s Harbor House

The woman paused, fingers trembling briefly before she tied off the necklace. "You speak of things best left forgotten," she said, not unkindly. "But if you must ask... talk to the glassmaker. Milligan. His booth’s the one with the lanterns shaped like moons."

Lucius rejoined them just as Salviana pointed it out — a crooked little stand at the edge of the boardwalk, where colored glass swung in the breeze, catching sunlight and bending it.

They approached.

The glassmaker was a man with ink-stained fingers and one cloudy eye. "Looking for something?" he asked, as though he already knew.

"A mirror," Salviana said gently. "One that’s been touched by the sea. Looked into by something more than human."

Milligan leaned back in his stool, regarding her. "You’re not the first to ask. But you’re the first with eyes like that." He tapped his temple. "Divine blood. You’ll see more than you want to, you’ll find that mirror."

Lucius stepped forward. "Do you have it?"

"I had it," Milligan replied. "Traded it to a collector who didn’t know what it was. Said it gave him nightmares." He scratched his beard. "Lives past the cliffs. Name’s Devon. Bit mad. Builds cages for birds that can’t fly."

Alaric groaned. "Of course he does."

Salviana’s eyes gleamed. "Then that’s where we go."

Lucius nodded, and as they turned from the harbor, the scent of salt and sunlight clung to them — like a memory too old to forget.

They hadn’t even taken ten steps from the glass maker’s stall when the wind shifted and the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the harbor’s crowded boardwalk.

Then came the voice—desperate, breathless, breaking through the market hum like a cracked bell.

"Your Highnesses!"

All four of them froze, hearts clenching in tandem.

They turned slowly, hands inching toward blades or cloaks or spells, only to find a young girl bolting toward them, skirts hiked, feet bare, hair tangled by the sea wind.

She nearly skidded to a halt before them and dropped to her knees in a hasty, reverent bow.

"What are you doing this far?" she gasped, eyes wide, cheeks flushed. But the moment the question left her mouth, her expression twisted in horror, as if she realized the weight of what she’d just done. "I—I didn’t mean—I mean—I shouldn’t—"

"You shouldn’t," Alaric muttered under his breath.

Lucius’s eyes narrowed. "Who is she?"

Jean stepped forward, folding her arms. "She’s the girl who poisoned my lady’s tea the other day."

The girl’s face drained of all color. "L-Lady Jeanette!"

Jean snorted, one eyebrow raised. "Lady Jeanette?" she repeated mockingly. "Please."

"Stop bowing. You’re drawing attention," Salviana said gently, her voice soothing despite the weight it carried. She placed a hand lightly on the girl’s shoulder. "How are you, child?"

"I’m alright, Your Grace," the girl replied, still trembling. "I hope you are well."

"I’m fine," Salviana said, tilting her head. "But we never learned your name."

Lucius subtly scanned the harbor; the crowd was beginning to take notice—passersby slowing, whispers starting.

"I’m Jess, Your Grace," she said with a timid smile. "If there’s anything I can do to help—"

"You can," Alaric cut in briskly. "You can run along."

"Alaric," Salviana chided, shooting him a look.

"This is your home, isn’t it?" she asked Jess kindly.

Jess nodded. "Yes, Your Grace. My family has lived by the sea for generations."

"We’re headed past the cliffs," Salviana said, lowering her voice. "To see Devon."

At that, Jess’s face paled again. "Devon?"

"Yes," Lucius confirmed, stepping closer.

"He’s... he’s no longer there," Jess said, wringing her hands.

"What?" Lucius’s voice dropped. "What do you mean? Why not? Where did he go?"

"With the pirates," Jess whispered. "He’s taken to the sea."

"Fuck," Alaric hissed.

"It’s only been a few days since they sailed off," Jess added quickly, trying to be helpful. "They might still be nearby. You could catch them if you had a fast enough vessel..."

"Still unreachable, though," Jean muttered under her breath.

Before anyone could speak again, a sharp voice rang out across the boardwalk. "Jess! What are you doing?!"

A stout woman in a salt-stained apron approached, balancing a wicker basket overflowing with gleaming fish, herbs, and what looked like strings of kelp-wrapped parcels.

Her eyes narrowed as she caught sight of the group—then widened as realization dawned.

"Mama," Jess said quickly, stepping aside. "Meet the royals of Wyfhaven... the House Velthorne."

The woman’s basket nearly fell from her arms. "The Velthornes?" she whispered.

A long silence stretched between them.

Lucius raised a brow. "Are there other Velthornes in Wyfhaven?"

"No. Of course not." The woman shook herself and straightened. "Please—you must come in. Let me welcome you properly."

"No, no. That’s not necessary," Salviana said, clearly embarrassed by the attention, though her voice remained warm.

Lucius stepped forward, urgency tightening his jaw. "We don’t have time for courtesies."

"Your Grace," the woman said earnestly, "you’re in our little harbor village—it would be an honor. Let me show you around, at least. I make the best saltfire eels on this coast. And my daughter helps me prepare the lemon-gilled cuttlefish. Not to mention the kelp-cured crabs. Just a taste before you go?"

Alaric perked up, despite himself.

Around them, the harbor buzzed louder. Word was spreading. Eyes were watching. Every second made their presence more noticeable, more dangerous.

"We could use a place to speak," Jean said grudgingly.

Salviana glanced at Lucius, then nodded.

"Alright," she said. "Just for a moment."

Jess lit up like sunrise. "This way, Your Graces!"

And so they followed—deeper into the heart of the harbor town, toward fish-laced alleys and weather-worn homes, toward saltfire eels and secrets of the sea.

Toward whatever came next.

By the time they reached Jess’s home—a crooked little house pressed into the cliffs like a seashell—salty wind swept the linen curtains and the faint sound of gulls circled above.

The structure itself bore the scars of sea weather: stone darkened by brine, wooden beams that creaked with memory, ropes of drying fish guts hanging from pegs by the door.

But it felt lived in, warm, and protected from the eyes that lurked on the boardwalk.

Inside, Jess hurried to arrange the mismatched cushions around the low driftwood table. "Please," she gestured, breathless with excitement, "sit. Sit anywhere you like."