Chapter 4
Chapter four
The Bleeding Oak
Elena and I were walking through a forest. But she was impossibly small—no older than three or four. She ran down the trail, tripped, skinned her knee, jumped back up, and continued on as if nothing had happened.
Father was there, guiding us to our favorite spot: the wishing well in the middle of the forest. A cool summer breeze made the trees sway, creating dancing shadows on the forest floor.
“Be careful, children,” he said as we ran up to the well to give our offering of seashells. Elena squeezed her eyes tight, then threw her shell in. A soft splash echoed up.
“Don’t ask me what I wished for,” Elena said to me with a stern look, “or it won’t come true.”
“I know that, silly fox,” I said, rubbing her hair. “Who do you think told you?”
I closed my eyes and wished that the boy at the farm next to ours would kiss me. Bren was his name. So far, it seemed like he had barely noticed me. My shell banged against the side of the well on the way down, making a sharp crack.
I thought I heard a mocking laugh, but when I looked up, Father and Elena were talking to each other softly. I spun around, looking for the source of the laugh.
“Did you hear it, too?” Father said, noticing my confusion.
“Where did it come from?”
“You can hear the whisperhawks, like me. See it?” He pointed up at a golden-and-brown hawk perched in a tree, looking down at us. “It’s your special gift. But you must keep it a secret. Tell no one.”
“I promise,” I said, though I longed to tell Bren. He was sure to be impressed.
The hawk stared at me with golden eyes, blazing like the sun. It tilted its head. There was something in its gaze. Not judgment exactly—more like it could peer into my soul.
Everything in the world darkened around me except for those two golden eyes.
They moved toward me, getting closer and brighter.
Soon I could make out the shape of a dark figure framing the eyes.
The shape was familiar. I let out a gasp as it resolved into the golden-eyed thief.
He was within reach, his features still obscured by the mask. I longed to rip it off.
“Who are you?” I said, but it came out as a choked gasp.
The figure opened its mouth to speak.
“Cas, it’s time to get up,” said four-year-old Elena, who had appeared next to me.
“We’ll be late,” her voice called again, more insistently, but this time from the edges of my perception, stirring me from my slumber.
A fucking dream. This golden-eyed thief had worked his way into my subconscious.
The sunlight was warm and bright on the backs of my eyelids, and I dragged the blanket over my head and buried my face in the pillow. The smell of hay mixed with burlap flooded my nose, comforting and familiar.
After discovering the secret message last night, I’d lain awake for a long time.
How could I possibly sneak up to the top of that tree, which was heavily guarded and sequestered in the far reaches of the Citadel Gardens?
Perhaps a scouting visit was called for…
but maybe after a bit more sleep. I longed to return to the golden-eyed thief.
“Get down here, Cas!” my sister yelled from the room below. For a sweet girl of fourteen, her voice rivaled those of some of the best merchant barkers in the city, which came in handy when trying to sell wares but was less desirable when I was trying to sleep.
I blinked several times, shielding my eyes from the rays of sunshine streaking through gaps in the ceiling. Dust motes floated lazily through the beams of light, carried by a slight breeze that blew through the loft.
“If we don’t leave soon, we won’t get a good spot,” Elena pleaded.
“Coming,” I said, my voice raspy with phlegm. I cleared my throat, then lazily dragged myself out of bed. “What time is it, anyway?”
“Almost second bell.”
Shite. I really had slept in. The best spots were always gone by second bell, with all the merchants eager to take advantage of the heavy foot traffic in the morning.
After throwing on clothes, I opened the hatch to the loft and slid down the ladder, a thing I’d done so often that the wood had smoothed to a fine polish.
“He’s alive!” Elena quipped in a far-too-precocious tone.
I mumbled an unintelligible response.
Of the two of us, Elena was clearly our father’s daughter.
She had his sharp wit and was already nearly as tall as I, with bright green eyes that gleamed above her heavily freckled nose.
Dust, that dream about Father had been so vivid.
I had forgotten just how much like him she was.
Something inside me tightened, sharp and brief, like a plucked string.
Most who inspected Elena and me side by side wouldn’t suspect that we came from the same parents. I took after our mother, inheriting her dark features, slight build, and nimble fingers. But Elena and I were bound by more than blood. Every hardship, every scar, had helped forge the bond we shared.
“I made some breakfast,” Elena said, handing me a bowl of scrambled eggs from the hens we kept in a coop on our small patch of land outside the barn.
“Thanks.” I took the bowl and scooped up the eggs with the wooden spoon.
A slight smirk on her face hid the unasked question: What were you up to so late last night?
She never asked, but Elena was far wiser than a typical fourteen-year-old.
She knew of my talents and my rage. Perhaps not the depth of it, but we had the same history, the same wounds.
Those lies of omission weighed on me, but they were the price I paid to preserve her innocence for just a bit longer.
“We’d better get going soon,” she said. “Second bell will be any moment.”
I scarfed down the remaining eggs. “Let’s go.”
The Citadel Market wasn’t far, but the herb cart’s wheels kept catching on the broken cobblestones of the Wharf District. Unlike the fucking pristine roads of the Garden District.
I cursed as the wheels caught in a rut for the fifth time. “This fucking road!”
“Language, Cas!” Elena scolded, but she was smiling. “You’ll taint my delicate ears.”
“You already curse like a tavern drunk,” I quipped back.
“The hells I do!”
We locked eyes, trying to look serious, then burst into laughter and traded insults the rest of the way.
When we reached the Citadel District, it was like we had entered a different city.
Trees and gardens lined the streets, and elaborate banners hung from poles, each adorned with a serpent wrapped around a sword—the emblem of the Tarnasau Dynasty.
The homes had intricate stone facades. The people on the streets in their luxurious clothes scurried around like mice, all undoubtedly heading to very important engagements.
Stationed at every corner were members of the Royal Guard, eyeing us with our ragtag cart, worn shoes, and peasant clothes.
The Citadel District was at the center of Analon, so this was the ideal spot for vendors to sell their wares.
The kingdom knew this, of course, so the tax was atrocious.
As we walked into the large central square that housed the Citadel Market, an imposing guard wearing gilded gold armor put out an arm to stop us.
“Six coins,” he said flatly, holding out his hand.
It had been five coins last week, but I bit my tongue and fought down the rage. Arguing with a guard was like yelling at a brick wall. A wall that would likely fall on you if you yelled too loudly.
I handed the guard six coins from my purse.
“Move along,” he said without a second glance. When I peeked back, I caught him putting five coins into a chest and slipping the sixth into his pocket. I held back the urge to punch him.
The market was already bustling, with countless carts and tables lined up under canopies and customers buzzing between them like bees. Merchants from across the kingdom sold everything imaginable: fish caught this morning, hand-painted pots, fruits and vegetables freshly picked from local farms.
As we pulled the cart, the booming sound of the second bell rang out. The mechanical clock tower rose high above the Citadel Library. People miles away could hear the bells.
“We’re late,” Elena groaned.
Most merchants had already set up their carts.
We claimed a less-than-ideal spot and folded down the side doors of our cart, turning them into long tables on which to display our wares.
Inside the cart were dozens of small drawers filled with dried plants, herbs, minerals, and a hundred other items that could be used for everything from formulating medicines to flavoring stews.
It was a slow morning for business. One young woman needed lavender to scent a candle she was making.
I let Elena handle the sale as I watched, but I had nothing to worry about.
She answered the woman’s questions with ease and haggled a price that was fair but still fetched us a decent profit.
My heart swelled at the young woman she was becoming.
This was why I took the risks I did—to make a better life for us. If I could save enough to buy a farm of our own, we could escape the city’s corruption and live in peace. Maybe just one more year of stashing away coins. Perhaps two.
As the morning wore on and the drought of customers continued, I rested my head on my arms and daydreamed about the Bleeding Oak and how I might scale it. The Citadel Gardens were not far away.
It took only a bit of convincing to persuade Elena to watch the cart by herself for a while.
“Only if you’re off to woo some handsome man,” she said.
I rolled my eyes. “I’ll be back soon.”
It was a short walk from the market to the Citadel Gardens.
The city’s laws restricted most amenities in the Citadel Districts to highborn residents only.
My kind was explicitly forbidden from the library, theater, and eateries, among other things.
But the gardens were open to all. However, that didn’t prevent the Royal Guards from giving me long, suspicious looks as I walked by.