Free A Thread of Time: Firesetter, Book 1 by J. Naomi Ay Page B

The grounds looked
so pretty and inviting, encouraging me to waste my sleep-time amongst them. 
    The icicle fountain, made entirely of
glass, was turned on, an exceedingly rare occurrence in those days.  Spewing
brilliant streams of water, in every color imaginable, the structure rose from
the courtyard like a giant mountain.  Surrounding it were roses in as many
colors as the fountain’s streams.  It was a magnificent sight to behold that
night, made only more so by the rising of the two golden moons.
    With a satisfied sigh, I sat down on a
nearby bench, enjoying the music of the trickling waters and the emerging halo
of the celestial lights overhead.
    At that moment, I felt as if I was living
in a world suddenly infused with magic.  I did not regret any choice I had made
then, despite having still a needle and a thread, instead of a university book
in my hand.
    “Do you mind if I sit down?” a man asked,
interrupting my silent reverie and stealing my eyes away from the color-filled
pageant before me.
    I waved my hand dismissively, while at the
same time sidling over to the edge of the bench, even though there was plenty
of room for him and more.
    He settled in, his weight shifting the
bench slightly in his direction.  For half a minute, he sat prone, as if
holding his breath, his body filled with tension, before he moved again,
leaning back, relaxing into his seat.
    He coughed.  He shifted his weight.  He
lifted one knee and crossed one leg over another.  He fumbled in his pockets until
he produced a cigarette. 
    “Do you mind?” he asked politely, his
accent clipped and highly refined.  “Or, may I offer you one?”
    I shook my head.  I didn’t smoke, and
neither did I care to have to breathe the exhalations of his. 
    “I would prefer that you did not
contaminated the air which we much share,” I replied haughtily, feigning the
accent of the high-born, who lived in the beautiful suites above us,
surrounding us on either side.
    He paused, clearly startled by my
reprimand, the cigarette flicking nervously between his fingers.  The tension
upon this bench increased, but I had claimed it first and would not willingly
relinquish it without a fight.
    Now, lighting the cigarette with a match
he drew across the bench seat, he took a long drag before exhaling over his
shoulder, the one opposite to me. 
    “I shall breathe this way,” he remarked. 
“It shan’t affect you.  It shall not stain those beautiful teeth that you
obviously prefer to hide.”
    I didn’t deign to respond and instead of
smiling, I profoundly frowned.  I may have also sniffed a little, or made some
other noise, for on his next drag, I heard him chuckle.
    I tried to ignore him, preferring to watch
the sunset and the ascent of the moons.  I sat this way, my back turned to him
until he finished his cigarette and tossed it on the ground.  Smashing it with
his foot, he leaned forward on the bench, running a hand through his waves of
dark, disheveled hair, whereupon a wayward lock fell directly in front of his
left eye.
    “It is the last of the summer,” he
commented, trying to draw my attention back to him.  “We are fortunate in this
lovely night.  I fear that soon the rains shall begin.”
    “Indeed,” I muttered and though I tried
not to look his way, I found myself studying him with the corner of an eye. 
    From where I sat, I could not discern the
color of those eyes, or his curly hair, nor could I tell whether he was old or
young, or if I knew his face. 
    “Did you know this fountain was originally
commissioned by the Great Emperor for his beloved wife?  This place was the
very center of the courtyard of their once magnificent Imperial Palace.”
    I didn’t know this and neither did I
respond, which he took as a reason to continue his explanation.
    “The roses that surround us were once a
great garden, another testament to her.  He was quite the romantic, the Great
Emperor was, or at least, that is what we have