Chapter 1 The Void Left Behind #2
Hesitating, I pull the drawer open to find empty envelopes and a bit of white fabric. My gaze softens. It’s her embroidered handkerchief, the one she sewed herself, with blue rose petals stitched into it. Her favorite flowers.
My throat tightens as I take it out and hold it close, pressing the fabric against my chest. It feels like the last piece of her I can cling to.
The last part of her in a world that suddenly feels so empty.
I stare at it longer than I should before shoving it into my pocket.
I don’t know why . . . it just feels right.
Like keeping her with me, even in the smallest way, is something I need to do. My vision blurs again.
It’s too much. The scent of herbs in the air, the unbearable silence of the house, the way everything still feels like it’s waiting for her to return—it’s too much.
I can’t stay here.
My legs shake as I make my way out of the house, wiping my tears as I go. The air outside is biting and cold, but it’s nothing compared to the void she left behind.
The soldiers are gone, and the village of Tárnov is bathed in the dull light of a pale moon struggling to pierce the clouds above. Even the stone buildings, which have stood for generations, seem lifeless, like cold statues in the night.
When I first joined the army, they told us Tárnov was one of the largest villages in the world. A place shaped by the great tsar himself, who, as the stories go, poured his soul into its very foundation, making it second only to the capital, Velháven, in size and resources.
His influence is etched into every stone, every road paved with care, not for beauty, but for control. Every path, every towering wall designed to ensure that no woman escapes. Our lives dictated by rules we did not create.
The vast granaries, always full, are said to be proof of his foresight to ensure Tárnov never knows famine.
The aqueducts, a marvel of engineering, carry fresh water from the mountains, a luxury envied by other villages.
Tárnov’s workshops produce the finest weapons and armor, forged with techniques passed down by the royal smiths themselves.
The marketplace, the heart of the village, still bustles despite the late hour.
Military men patrol the streets or stand stationed at every corner, scanning their surroundings.
Women, clutching their children’s hands, make their way home.
In the shadows of dark alleys, cloaked women blend into the dim light.
The night workers, watching for the soldier who might become their next customer.
The hard stone that shapes every wall and path was meant to symbolize the empire’s strength and power. But tonight, it feels like a prison.
It always has.
Ahead of me, the inn stands, the interior glowing warmly against the cold night.
For now, it’s my only way out.
A figure stands just outside the shadows, her familiar face lit by the inn’s windows. An older woman, her gray hair wrapped in a scarf. Her knowing eyes lock onto mine.
“Noel?” Her voice is soft, and I stop in my tracks. “Is that you?”
Swallowing against the knot in my throat, I nod. “It’s me, Nina.”
I remember her from childhood. One of the few women who sometimes came by our house for herbs. She always kept to herself, quiet but kind.
“I heard what happened to your mother,” she says. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you.” The words feel heavy as I say them. I try to move past her, but something in her expression stops me.
There’s a look, one I can’t quite place, but it makes my heart quicken.
She steps closer, lowering her voice to a near whisper. “Not long ago, your mother came to the market,” she says, her eyes narrowing. “She never spoke much, never stayed long, but that day . . . that day, she bought bundles of rosemary and salt.”
I blink. “She used them to keep us safe from illness,” I say, my voice coming out more defensive than I intend.
Nina shakes her head. “No, child. This was different. I thought it was odd too. Those herbs, they weren’t just for sickness. They’re used in old rites, ancient ones, for protection against things far worse.”
A chill runs through me. “Protection?”
She hesitates, then continues, “I asked her why—why she needed so much. She looked at me, Noel, and . . . she was afraid.”
Afraid? The word feels foreign. My mother was never afraid. She was strength itself. “No, you must have been mistaken.”
“I wasn’t.” Nina’s gaze searches mine. “Your mother was never scared, but that day, she was.”
Her words hang between us, and my skin prickles.
“You . . . you think something else happened to her?” My voice barely comes out.
Nina glances at the patrolling soldiers before settling back on me. “I don’t know what to think. But you should be curious, Noel. Ask questions. Look deeper. Things in this village, in this empire, are not always as they seem.”
I’ve always known Tárnov has secrets, always felt them pressing beneath the old stones.
There are things we were never allowed to talk about, rules we had to follow that seemed to go against everything natural.
I always believed that nature should not be restricted, but here I am, standing in a village that has never allowed me to touch a living tree.
But standing here, with Nina’s warning in my ears, it suddenly feels too real.
I steel myself. “I will. I’ll find out the truth.”
She nods, a sad smile pulling at her lips. “Be careful, child. They’re watching. Always watching.”
I murmur my thanks, and she slips back into the shadows, vanishing as if she were never there. But her words stay with me as I turn toward the inn.
The warm light ahead no longer feels like a refuge. It feels distant. The world is far darker than I ever realized. I have no strength left, but I know one thing.
I will not stop until I know what really happened to her. I owe her more than grief. I owe her truth. And I won’t rest until I find it.