Chapter 6
The harvest moon hangs like a pearl in the night sky, and the tang of smoke floats heavy on the air. Torches crackle beneath the evening’s silver glow, a circle of warmth blazing around the chilly village green.
Feasting tables are laden with summer’s final blooms and boast more food than I’ve seen in years past. In the center of the green lies the roasting pit, which should be empty since the hunters still have not returned.
Instead, a boar hangs on the spit—thanks to the animal’s poor decision to flee the western hills and head toward Silver Hollow not long after sunset.
Surrounding the pit are barrels of ale and fermented wine, men singing and making music, and a crowd of villagers losing their senses to the drink.
Everyone is dressed in whatever finery they own, our traditional homespun put away this one night of the year.
Some are happy, while others are sad, worried for their loved ones who never came home from the hunt.
I stroll to an empty table and sit. Earlier, when I returned from the cottage to find Finn, he and his family had gone home. I’d wanted to ease his worry about his father, somehow. To try to assure him that Warek is all right. But Finn is bitter with me, and I can’t blame him.
I’m leaving, and I think he knows.
The day’s events have left me with a sour stomach, but the sweet scents of stone-fired bread and baked apples awaken my hunger. I break off a chunk of the loaf, dip it in the soft fruit, and savor the warm bite.
I turn when a herd of children runs behind me, laughing and playing war. One snatches a torch, and then they disappear into the valley’s darkness.
Smiling, my mother walks up and sets her wooden custard bowl beside a spray of stardrop blossoms and jasmine.
“Don’t you look beautiful. I knew you’d be lovely in blue.
” She runs her hand over the sleeve of the dress she made me and begins braiding stardrops into my hair.
“There. That’s perfect,” she says when she’s finished.
“All this white is so pretty in your dark hair.”
I look up at her tender eyes and kind face. Am I doing the right thing? Will I even be able to convince her to come with me to see the world when this is over?
She pinches my chin. “Do try to be happy, Raina. You look as though you carry the moon on your shoulders. There’s no collection this year, and tonight we must say goodbye to the light and welcome winter, a night of celebration and earthly balance.
Let us show the Ancient Ones our thanks for the giving season and the time of rest to come. They’ve blessed us.”
She’s wrong, but it isn’t like I can tell her that.
In time to the music, she dances around the table and toward the roasting pit, where she plunges a mug into a barrel of wine. Smoke from the torches and bonfire twirl around her while little glowing embers flicker and float into the night sky.
My mother is sun and warm breezes, always comforting, and tonight, in her white gown, with her graying curls waterfalling down her back, she shines brighter than moon or flame.
Her joy is a living thing. I stare in amazement as the villagers become enthralled with her laughter and merriment.
She’s life and light and love, and for a moment, I do as she asked.
I smile and allow myself a few seconds of true happiness.
Because if I’m thankful for anything, it’s her.
Mother’s stare finds mine, and she catches my smile. She grabs a second mug, dunks an amphora into the barrel to fill it, and then dances over to me.
“There she is.” Face glowing, she fills the mug with rich, ruby liquid. “Drink, my girl.”
One glance at the wine’s dark red surface makes me think of my scrying dish and what I should be doing right now: watching for the Witch Collector and Warek. But the wine smells so delicious…
I turn up my mug and take a long drink.
When I look over the rim, I notice Hel and the rest of the Owyn family walking with Tuck across the crowded green. My guilt from before only deepens. As I lower my wine, I watch Finn stop to chat with some of his friends, though Hel spots me and heads my way.
How gorgeous she is in her golden gown, the silken fabric draped over her statuesque frame, complementing her brown skin. Her dagger is sheathed in a black and gold leather belt that I’m certain Emmitt, the tanner’s son, made for Hel and Hel alone.
As she strolls toward me, an image drifts across my mind’s eye, one of Hel wearing a golden crown. It’s a fitting picture. If I didn’t know her parents, I’d think she was half-goddess, half-warrior, born from a line of ancients.
Her face is downturned, her distress and concentration obvious.
I should be pricking my finger every hour, asking to see her father.
Instead, I’m at this celebration wearing a fancy dress with pretty paint on my lips and eyes, a dagger burning ice-cold against my leg while I fill my belly.
I’m an awful person, because my mouth waters with want the second the wine’s scent tickles my nose again, and I suck down another drink.
Hel slides onto the bench in front of me.
“Here.” Mother hands Hel her mug of wine and pats her shoulder. “You look like you need this more than I do. I’ll leave you two to talk.”
“Still no word about your father?” I ask once Mother has gone.
Hel downs a gulp of wine and shakes her head. “Nothing.” She lowers her voice. “I’m thinking about heading south to look for him. Before dawn. Before Mother wakes. Want to come?”
Gods. I would, and that’s the only way I’d let her take to the Northlands’ open land alone. But I don’t plan on being here.
I lean forward. “Hel, give Warek more time,” I sign.
“I can’t, Raina.” She glances around with wary eyes.
“I swore that if I wasn’t chosen for Winterhold this year, I would convince my father to take me to Malgros to enlist in the Watch.
If something happened to him…If he doesn’t return…
” She sets her mug aside and frames her face with her hands. “I can’t leave my mother and sisters.”
My mug hits the table harder than I intended. I need two hands for this. “The Watch? Surely you are not serious. Why are you only now mentioning this?”
The moment the words leave my hands, it hits me that I have no right to chastise Hel for not sharing this news. As much as I don’t understand it, this is her choice. One I know she’s made willingly.
“I didn’t mention it because I knew how you’d react.” She gestures at me, brown eyes leveling me with a pointed glare. “And I was right.”
“The Watch is a difficult life,” I sign. “My parents lived it. You never know who or what might sail into port. It is a life of constant worry and fear.”
She shrugs. “Only if you’re scared of the Eastlanders or the Summerlanders.”
I widen my eyes at her. “As anyone on the coast should be! War is but a breath away from their shores.”
“I don’t expect you to understand,” she says.
“And it’s all right that you don’t. But I believe I can find purpose in protecting my land and my people.
I could learn so much in Malgros. No one will look at me and hope to keep me safe by sticking me behind a forge or in the fields or harvesting apples.
Sometimes they even send sentries to visit other lands, like Persei and Mapor.
More is meant for my life than Silver Hollow, Raina. I just know it.”
I don’t doubt that, but I still don’t know what to say.
We’ve sparred by the stream every single week for three years now, the blacksmith’s talented daughter giving me covert fighting lessons.
And still, I had no idea she wanted any of this.
I’m one of the people so protective of her, but I can sympathize.
I know what it’s like to want a different life.
Though where I want a life of peace and exploration, Hel wants a life of noble duty.
To a king who doesn’t deserve it.
Emmitt strolls up to our table, his light brown eyes glittering. His smile is like a strike of lightning across his ebony skin. “Raina.” He tilts his head in greeting, then turns to Hel and extends a calloused hand. “Care to walk with me, Hel? The bonfire is warm.”
Hel takes one last sip of wine and slips her hand into his. “Sure. Why not?”
They stroll toward the fire, leaving me to wallow in my wine. Drenching my body with drink feels foolish but necessary. I’m weary from days of anticipation, but I also fear I might need the liquid courage for what lies ahead—especially after my eyes lock with Finn’s.
Dressed in a forest-green brocade jacket, a long white tunic, and dark twill trousers, he pulls away from his friends and moves toward me like a man with a purpose.
I tilt my mug and drain it, relishing the earthy bite.
Finn stalks around the table and captures my hand. Tousled hair perpetually hanging in his eyes, he tilts his head toward the green where my mother and other Witch Walkers move to the music. “Come on. Dance with me.”
Every muscle in my body tenses with irritation. It wasn’t a question but a command, and I don’t take well to commands. Still, it’s Finn, so I find myself following him toward the stone circle I helped Mena cast today.
Hel stands near the bonfire with Emmitt and a few of her friends. She looks away from them long enough to give me a small, knowing smile and arches a sharp brow when I pass. I roll my eyes and glare at the back of her brother’s head.
It’s just a dance.
We pause at one of the torches we set today, one whose flame is dying. “Fulmanesh,” Finn whispers, and the flame flares back to life.
I should’ve harnessed the power of fire magick. I could’ve simply burned my way to Winterhold.