Better to Look Like a Fool

A disorienting wave of doubt crashed over Cera. She replayed Cy's instructions in her mind, wrestling with whether he had dispatched her to find Perla at this specific hour as a matter of pure chance or as a calculated test of her fledgling flame abilities. The ambiguity was unnerving. The only path to understanding his motives was to confront the man himself. She offered Slade, the clearly smitten shopkeeper, a hurried farewell, promising to return later to give his wares the attention they deserved.

Lacking any experience in tracking, Cera concluded that a meandering patrol through the woods was her most viable strategy. It would at least keep her senses on high alert, poised to detect the signature of Ignis magic—a sudden, unnatural burst of fire. You probably don't deserve to find her anyway. She turned Slade's final, possessive words over in her mind, trying to fathom being the object of such fervent devotion. The very notion felt exhausting. Unless I felt the same way about them, she mused, a faint warmth rising in her cheeks.

Cera picked up her pace, as if she could outrun the disquiet left by the encounter, to escape the flush of youth that seemed to ensnare her so easily. Before long, she stepped into a clearing dominated by a colossal oak, its ancient branches reaching toward the heavens like gnarled, arthritic arms. The tree itself posed a question: could she scale it? As she neared the trunk, her hands found ready purchase on the coarse, textured bark. The limbs were thick and solid, forming a natural ladder that ascended into the dense canopy. With a lithe dexterity that surprised even herself, she climbed until she was perched at least forty feet above the forest floor. While it was not the highest point in the woods, the vantage it offered was commanding.

For ten minutes, the landscape below remained a serene tapestry of brown and green. Then, she saw movement. A solitary deer emerged into a sun-dappled clearing, where it began to nibble delicately on a leaf. In a heartbeat, the idyllic scene was annihilated. A roaring, immense torrent of flame erupted from the deeper woods and engulfed the animal. Rather than being incinerated, however, the deer was flash-cooked on impact—a stunning testament to the user's precision. A wave of professional awe washed over Cera. This was not an act of brute force; it was artistry. The user had cooked the meat to perfection, a display of control that was leagues beyond simple destruction.

Her heart began to hammer against her ribs with anticipation. Where Cy’s power was a sledgehammer, this was a scalpel. With a jolt of absolute certainty, Cera understood that Perla was, without question, the superior warrior.

She scrambled down the tree, concealed herself within a thicket of dense bushes, and began to move cautiously toward the enticing aroma of cooked venison.

A few moments later, Perla materialized from the trees, her dark eyes darting in every direction, scanning each shadow with practiced intensity. She moved with the predatory grace of someone who commanded the forest. Cera stepped out from her hiding place to greet her, but Perla spun in a blur, a ball of incandescent fire instantly materializing in her palm. The threat was immediate and absolute.

"Wait!" Cera cried out, instinctively throwing her hands up in surrender.

The fire in Perla's hand dissolved into harmless wisps of dissipating heat, and her severe expression softened. "Oh, it's just you," she said, her voice layered with a relief that did little to conceal the suspicion Cera recognized from their first meeting.

"Yes," Cera replied, feeling a sudden compulsion to apologize for the intrusion. "I'm sorry to disturb your hunt, but your brother sent me. He said I was to study under you."

Perla's eyes widened, and in their dark depths, Cera saw a flicker of something that looked remarkably like panic. "Study what?"

Registering the other girl's alarm, Cera improvised. "The secrets of the marketplace," she said smoothly. "Since Carmine has assigned me my own legion, Cy thought it would be advantageous for me to understand the local supply lines."

Perla’s smile was wry and devoid of humor. "It won't be much of a legion, I'm afraid. The entire Ignis clan numbers fewer than fifty souls. Carmine would never have entrusted you with all his warriors." She paused, her gaze hardening. "But our numbers aren't the real problem."

"What is?"

"The Ignis clan is filled with misogynists," Perla stated, her tone flat and matter-of-fact. "Why else do you think I'm out here in the forest, charring my own dinner? It's because everything I touch has a tendency to ignite like dry kindling."

Cera looked at the older girl as if truly seeing her for the first time. She saw it then: a secret, incandescent rage simmering deep within the raven-haired warrior’s eyes, her lips pressed into a hard, unyielding line of defiance.

"They've underestimated us," Cera whispered, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place. "To them, I am just a pawn, and you are just the waitress sister."

"Believe what you will," Perla’s tone softened fractionally. "But I respect Cy too much to drag him into my battles. This isn't his fight, and he has already done more than enough for me. This way, he saves face with the elders, and I get my practice in." She gestured toward the fallen buck. "Besides, out here, I catch better game."

"So you'll train me?" Cera asked, a tremor of hope in her voice.

Perla subjected her to a long, appraising stare. Cera instinctively straightened her spine, meeting her gaze. "You can begin by retrieving that axe from beneath those bushes and helping me break this down into restaurant-sized portions."

"Yes, ma'am."

The axe was buried under a thin layer of earth and fallen leaves. Cera hefted it, testing its balance, before swinging it at the deer's carcass. The impact of the blow jarred her entire arm, and the sound of splintering bone was nauseating. She fought to steel her nerves against the sight of the blood. Seeking a distraction, she changed the subject. "That boy, Slade, is completely obsessed with you."

Perla's head snapped up. "Did he tell you where to find me?"

Cera hummed in affirmation.

With a sigh of pure exasperation, Perla snatched the axe from her. She brought it down in a single, fluid, and powerful motion, severing the deer's head cleanly from its neck. A fine spray of blood dotted her cheek, but she didn't so much as flinch. Cera could only stare, awestruck by the tremendous upper-body strength such a feat demanded.

"You need more muscle," Perla stated, handing the axe back to her. She gestured for Cera to try again. "You would do well to build your throwing arm. Picture fifty enemy soldiers, spread out across a field, with the last row a full mile away. You will need both immense power and pinpoint precision to take them all down." She watched Cera's next swing, which managed to crack several of the deer's ribs, and offered a curt nod. "Better."

Perla resumed her work as she spoke. "I will have to have a word with Slade. Still, the boy is useful for acquiring new clothing."

"I gathered as much. Is that where you got that shirt?" Cera asked, glancing sardonically at the now blood-spattered black fabric.

"Blood doesn't show on black," Perla said, hacking the legs off with practiced efficiency. "Besides, the other clothing vendor is a spiteful old hag who refuses to haggle. She acts as if every scrap of leather is worth its weight in gold. This conversation is making me late. We need to hurry. The restaurant closes not long after the market does."

"So early?"

Perla sighed deeply. "No one wants to be caught out after dark. You and I might soon be able to handle ourselves, but the other villagers? They don't stand a chance."

"What comes out at night?"

"Bats," Perla said vaguely, her attention suddenly consumed by a particularly stubborn rib. "Among other things."

Cera held her tongue for the remainder of the butchering and throughout their trek back to the marketplace. But as they approached the restaurant, each laden with vegetables and hefty cuts of venison, her curiosity finally overwhelmed her. "How do you usually hide the blood?"

Perla let out a low, throaty laugh. "It's simple. I only ever wear black. And everyone in this village is well aware that I’m clumsy. They assume I bought this meat from the butcher and tripped on my way home, spilling a bag of bloody offal all over myself."

"And Cy believes you get meat this fresh by flirting with the butcher?"

"No," Perla deadpanned, rolling her eyes. "He thinks I trade off a few family jewels now and then." Cera tried to determine if she was being serious. "The safest way to exist around here," Perla’s tone shifted, becoming grave, "is to ensure that everyone underestimates you. It is far better to seem a fool than to be made one."

In that moment, Cera understood. When it came to navigating the treacherous currents of this archaic, patriarchal society, Perla was a far more valuable mentor than Cy could ever hope to be. Cy represented power and skill. Perla was strength born of shrewdness, an ability to manipulate perception with finesse rather than force. And now, by some incredible stroke of fortune, Cera would have both.

They entered the kitchen through the rear door. "About time," Saku grumbled from the counters he was wiping down, his voice thick with cynicism. Willem had apparently stepped outside for a smoke.

"Where's Cy?" Cera asked, her stomach rumbling in anticipation of dinner.

"The little squirt went back to the training grounds," Saku muttered, his dislike for Cy almost a tangible thing in the air.

Perla chuckled at Cera's uncertain expression. "Don't look so worried, Cera. On most nights, Cy can be found at the grounds, teaching fundamentals to the local children."

"He's a proper teacher, though," Saku added, a note of grudging respect coloring his tone.

"What gives him the authority to do that?" Cera asked, setting her bundles down.

Saku and Perla both shrugged, a silent, mutual admission that they had never really given the matter much thought. Sighing, Cera accepted that she would glean no more information from them. She opened her mouth to say something else, but her gaze was caught and held by Perla's.

Perla's attention was fixed on Saku. He was leaning over the counter to wipe it down, and his sleeveless, grey button-down shirt did little to conceal his powerful, well-defined arms. As he worked, his biceps flexed beneath the skin. Witnessing the older girl’s unguarded stare, a small, sly smile touched Cera’s lips. She filed the observation away—another fascinating piece in the complex and compelling puzzle that was Perla.

"You two can lock up?" Saku asked as he headed for the door.