Chapter 5
As we walk back home, we’re too solemn for words. I drop the velvet bandage into a fire basket that illuminates the path. The flames lick and devour it. Nothing remains from my encounter with the fae prince except the memory of his piercing gaze and the fearful whispers surrounding him.
An owl calls, low and throaty. Crickets trill in answer. The glare Mom sends me communicates one thing clearly—I’m due for a scathing lecture. I’m too exhausted to fight it and sit at the table without Mom needing to utter a word.
She sits across from me as Dad carries Evie upstairs.
We sleep in the attic since the two rooms downstairs are our parents’ bedroom and the hearth room, where the table and wash basin are.
Water steadily drips from our thinning thatch roof.
The sky must’ve sprinkled while I was at the docks.
Pails are meticulously placed beneath the leaks, one on the table, several on the dirt floor.
I’ve memorized the maze-like path around them.
Mom crosses her arms. “You never should’ve raided that tomb, Cynthia. I would rather starve than offend our gods. And your foolishness almost cost your sister her life!”
I bristle. “I’m so—”
“An apology won’t cut it!” Mom sucks in a tight breath. “With that scar, Evie will be lucky to find a husband now. Her prospects were always so much better than yours. Water-wielding is a desirable Gift here. And unlike you, her virtue is intact.”
I bristle, shame lighting my cheeks on fire. Twice, I’ve entangled myself with handsome travelers passing through to Mythos. But I never mentioned those trysts to anyone. “What I do is none of your business,” I tell her, fighting to keep my voice level.
The other thing she said wounded me even more. Water-wielding is a desirable Gift here.
Mom’s eyes narrow. “Everything you do is my business. We are a family. We need each other to survive.”
“I raided that tomb to help us survive!” I argue. A tear rolls down my face, so hot against the cool air that it burns. “One day I’ll save enough that you can hire a farmhand for a season. Then I can join the adventurers’ guild—”
“How utterly foolish,” Mom cuts in, the words stabbing through my heart.
“Some of those quests pay more than we can make in a season.” We pay half our profits each year to our queen, leaving us with only enough to buy necessities. Even during the famine, Queen Meirden demanded the same tithe.
Mom tuts, unconvinced.
“Then what about Evie’s dowry? That farmhand who’s hinted that he wants her hand? I’ve spoken with the girls from Elmstead, and they say he’s a drunkard who charms unwed women until he tires of them. That’s not the future we want for Evie!”
“No one will marry her now!” Mom snaps. “You ruined her! Besides, you wouldn’t last a day in the adventurers’ guild! You’re a woman, for one thing. If traffickers don’t capture you, the fae certainly will.”
My hands clench into fists. She’s shredding through every dream I’ve ever had until I’m trembling. “I can defend myself!”
“With your Gift?” Mom scoffs. “Untethering isn’t fire-wielding, Cynthia!”
The words cut deep, a shard of glass thrust into my chest.
“You’re lousy with a sword,” she continues. “You never inherited your father’s aim with a bow, though I suppose that’s to be expected when you didn’t inherit his farsight magic either.”
I recoil.
“If you want to help your family, you can start with adding your sister’s chores to your own. Who knows how long she’ll need to recover?” Mom grips the sides of her chair as if steadying herself.
Dad climbs down the ladder alone. Evie must be swaddled in our bed. He looks at me, his brows furrowed and lips pressed tight. “I heard everything, Cynthia. Your mother is right.”
His betrayal burns, and I stand, my chair scraping back. “I don’t want to die less than a hundred steps from where I was born. I want to see the world!” Tears burn my eyes, blurring their shocked expressions.
“And look what that foolish dream brought you,” Mom says, her face darkening. “Your sister on Osian’s doorstep. Was your treasure worth it, Cynthia?” She stands, shouting. “Have we not given you a good life here? Why do you loathe us? Why do you want to run away?”
This is exactly what I feared they’d say. “It’s not running away!” I shout back at her.
“Both of you,” Dad scolds us, “lower your voices. Evie needs to sleep.”
The thin timber walls are a poor barrier against sound. My parents scarcely need to breathe to wake us up in the mornings.
Mom and I glare at each other. The crackle of the dying hearth and my pounding heartbeat are the only sounds until Mom tsks. “Don’t you dare set foot in another barrow. And in the morning, explain to your sister why you so selfishly endangered her life.”
I swallow the scream clawing up my throat and turn away, my jaw locked so tight it hurts. The metal pails shake as my magic lashes out, the water inside them sloshing. I should’ve lied about everything.
The anger simmers into shame. The pails fall still.
Maybe they’d change their minds if I found someone to heal Evie. If I had enough treasure to afford that, maybe they’d understand. Maybe they’d finally accept me.
I hold my head high as I turn on my heel. My climb up the ladder is only unhurried because I’m determined to hide how deeply my mother’s scorn has carved into my heart.
When I open the door, I see Evie curled up in our shared bed, lips parted with a hint of drool on her pillow.
She’s still alive. I shut the door, close my eyes, and lean against it. That’s all that matters. Her peaceful breaths are music in the quiet room.
She’s alive.
Footsteps creak inside the house as my parents retire to their cramped bedroom downstairs. I hear Mom murmur a prayer to Elowyn, then Dad tells her that everything will be alright. How can he say that when they just shattered me?
I change into my summer nightgown and clean my dagger with a rag. My best friend, the village blacksmith, crafted it for my last birthday. It’ll always be my favorite blade. I sheathe it into my thigh holster, just in case.
Then I climb into bed beside Evie, but I toss and turn. I don’t know how much time has passed when there’s suddenly a thunk against the exterior wall. Another follows. The Ettingford kids must be throwing rocks again. They’re going to wake Evie up, the little shits.
The anger from my parents’ lecture boils up inside me, swears blossoming on my tongue as I hurry down the ladder and to the front door. I throw it open.
“Go home before I tell your—” My breath catches as I find not three children up past curfew, but him.
The fae prince from the market watches me with another rock in hand, not a hint of emotion in his gaze.
“You,” I hiss.
A crow lands on our roof and caws, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. I untether my dagger and levitate it beside me.
He’s just as handsome in the dark. The night’s shadows are a blade cutting across his jaw, illuminating the scar on his chin. “If I planned to hurt you, I would’ve done it already.”
“You’re a fool if you think I’ll lower my guard.”
The cloak is gone, and his short-sleeved tunic reveals tight cords of muscle that shift with every movement. He drops the rock and holds his hands up, palms facing me. Then he frowns. “Do you always answer the door dressed like that?”
I glance down at myself, flushing as I notice how the thin nightgown reveals every curve and barely brushes my mid-thighs. The village men who tried to court me would have stared too long, smiled too easily. Their honeyed interest always felt either entitled or shallow.
His gaze is nothing like theirs.
It lingers for a breath too long on my bare skin, a dark hunger flickering in his eyes. Then he blinks, and it’s gone. His expression becomes as still as ice, cold and unreadable.
Heat creeps higher in my face. I shift, moving one leg in front of the other in a failed attempt to seem less exposed. “I’m shocked you didn’t notice, but this isn’t the kind of village where people expect strangers past midnight. Have you been spying on me?”
He shrugs. “You haven’t done anything worth spying on.”
“Which you know because you were.” Even though he’s standing seven steps away from the doorway, it’s too close for comfort.
I keep one hand on the door’s handle, warily watching every move he makes.
This is just like every tale I’ve ever heard.
Fae come in the night, and they get what they want. You are never seen or heard from again.
My chest tightens. “Leave, or I’ll scream and wake the village. I won’t let you take me to the Hollowlands.”
“The Hollowlands?” he asks in what sounds like genuine confusion. “You think I came all this way to steal you, and then what? Make you my bride?” He frowns derisively, as if the idea both offends and amuses him.
Does he think I’m hideous? “I’ll have you know that several men in Nettlerock have wanted my hand!” Yet none of them held any interest in me, only my dowry and the promise of children.
“Is that so?” His eyes narrow with skepticism. “Surely coming with me to the Hollowlands would be better than what you endure here.”
Gods, if I weren’t so fearful of fae glamour, I’d consider his point.
“Then what do you want?” My magic thrusts my dagger at his neck, halting it within an inch. “If you want your ring back, I already traded it.”
He doesn’t flinch. I hate how easily he casts a dismissive glance down at the blade, like it’s an inconvenience and not a weapon against his throat. “You’d regret stabbing me before you heard my proposition.” He pauses, daring me with a knowing smirk.
What could the High Court’s prince want with a peasant like me? I thought I’d do almost anything to leave this life behind, but now Evie needs me to find her a healer. My parents need me to do her chores.
“What do you want?” I ask, even though it would be wiser to pretend I’m not interested.
“I need your help with a tomb raid.”
“A what?” I can’t have heard him right.
“I know how absurd that must sound after our first encounter—”