Chapter 6
Isigh in the unforgiving morning sun. This sweltering weather isn’t normal for early autumn, and I’m not fortunate enough to have even a few sparse clouds to shield me.
At least Evie can sit in the shade of an oak a few paces away.
She’s supposed to be inside sleeping, but she said she was bored and insisted on watching me do my chores.
Dad is tending the chickens, and Mom is irrigating a field with her water-wielding Gift. Both are out of sight from us.
My forearms ache as I rake reeking compost over the garlic bulbs. I force myself to breathe in through my mouth and not my nose. A tomato that’s too bug-eaten to salvage splits open and squirts murky, browned juice onto my legs.
The stench reminds me of the draugr. It’s infuriating that the waterlogged barrow was the only one I’ve discovered this month.
That fae prince was right; I might have to hike for hours away from Nettlerock to find an unraided barrow.
And with all my duties at home, I don’t know if I’ll have time.
Yet that’s the only way I’ll save up enough marks to find Evie a better healer.
Next time I can sneak away, I’ll search farther south.
“This is insufferable,” I mutter, swatting at flies. I can’t hear myself think over their incessant buzzing.
Evie looks up from the sock she’s darning and makes a face. It stretches the black vein on her neck. “I still prefer it over drowning rats.”
We fall silent, my hands locked in monotonous motions with the rake. Push. Push. Sweat stings my eyes. I want to rip off my dress and corset. “I need a break. You should go inside.”
She rolls her eyes. “I feel fine.” Yet she’s still pallid. Her fingers quiver as she slowly darns another hole. “And you’re not finished.”
“I know, but it’s felt like hours.”
“That’s because you won’t stop complaining.” But she pauses, scratching her stomach. “It itches,” she says quietly. “Do you think men will find it unsightly?” The darning needle trembles in her hand.
A lump catches in my throat. “If they do, they’re fools. You’re the most beautiful woman in all of Avedor.” I kneel before her. “And I’ll find a healer who can mend it. I promise you.”
She averts her gaze and nods. “Mom told me that Sebastian left for Mythos to start a new shop.”
I want to apologize again, but I think she wants to pretend that everything is fine, so I oblige. “Ore prices are rising. He and his mother will make more marks if they have two locations, even after paying taxes in Mythos. There’s not enough traffic here.”
My best friend wants to transition from smithing nails and horseshoes to smithing blades.
He reveres bladesmithing as both an art and an act of worship to the war goddess, Rhea.
With all the mercenaries, adventurers, and guards in Mythos, he’ll have customers for his stalwart swords and daggers.
Here in Nettlerock, no one has a use for more than one blade. Nor could they afford it.
Evie and I should’ve visited him in Mythos, but I don’t know where his new forge is.
“And you’re not going after him. Right?” Evie hugs herself, her gaze lingering on my feet.
It’s still hard to believe that he left me. I envy him. Even though I didn’t tell him when we said goodbye, I think he still read it in my expression. “No. For the last time, we aren’t a couple.”
“But surely there’s someone you like.” Evie’s face lights up.
There’s nothing she enjoys talking about more than romance.
“Dad said that after you’re married, maybe your house can be right by that big spruce.
” There’s an imploring edge in her voice.
“We could still wave goodnight to each other from our windows.”
I frown, but I quickly suppress it. “What if I don’t want a house here?”
“Where would you go? Mythos? Dad and Mom need you to farm.”
“Our parents will never stop needing us.” The words taste bitter.
Evie doesn’t reply. She knows we’ll always be needed just as well as I do.
“We’re done,” I announce, setting the rake down. “I’m rinsing off.”
Her eyes light up. “I’m coming with!”
“No, you’re not!”
“Yes, I am! Help me stand, Cyn!” she commands like a true lady.
I shake my head, grinning as I help her to her feet. I’m glad she’s feeling better.
We stroll between the stone and thatch houses. Chickens strut across the dirt path and young children race by, carrying bundled lumber or livestock feed. They shriek and laugh as if their chores are a game, too young to understand that they’ll be working for the rest of their lives.
As we reach the stream feeding into Mirror Lake, Evie waves to the miller, not bothering to call out over the grind of logs on the track.
I wade into the lake first, sighing as the cool water rinses the stink of sweat and rot from my body.
“You’re supposed to undress first,” Evie says as she steps out of her skirt.
“So? I’m going to wash my clothes later anyway.
” I backstroke, then float so the sun kisses my face.
We came here all the time as children. I would levitate rocks, and Evie would pool water on them.
We’d watch the little waterfalls cascade and pretend that fae sprites might bathe in them.
But we don’t know how big sprites are or what they look like.
That fae prince must know. He’s probably had all sorts of adventures. A thread of jealousy winds through me.
“Mom says it’s bad luck.” Evie tenses as her toes test the cool water, then wades after me. “The selkies might grab your skirt and drown you.”
I paddle toward her. The ripples wrinkle the deep green reflections of the conifers. “There aren’t selkies in the lake. Someone would’ve seen one by now.”
“One could come from the faery door in the barrow,” Evie argues.
“I doubt it. They abandoned that cavern.” Or Avedor’s soldiers slaughtered them all during the war. The prince did claim that deceased fae don’t leave bodies behind. The thought sends a shudder through me. “Evie, do you remember the stories the elders told us about the fae High Court?”
She smiles as the water laps up to her shoulders, like someone who’s returned home from a long journey.
I can see it in her eyes, the joy as her magic binds with the liquid around her, two halves making a whole.
Then she swivels, staring at me as she registers my words. “Most of them, I think. Why?”
“What do you know about their prince? His name, any rumors about what his Gift might be?” I do my best to sound nonchalant.
If she knew I had not only met him in a market full of illicit goods but also tried to punch him, she’d panic.
She’d want to hide me in our cellar. If I told her it was for her sake, she’d hug me, call me a fool, and then panic.
“The elders said that he’s an Elite and that his Gift is scary, but the fae won’t tell anyone what it is because he’s their secret weapon.
Or that the fae don’t even know, and only his family does.
Where he goes, death follows.” She pauses, her brows adorably scrunching as she thinks. “His name is Desmond.”
Desmond. It’s refined, but a little rugged. It suits him.
A whip of water slaps my cheek, too playful to sting. “Hey!” I splash her, and she giggles.
“Sorry, I couldn’t resist.” Evie stretches out. “It’s been so long since we had a water fight.”
“Because those ‘fights’ are terribly one-sided.”
We swim, me splashing her and her effortlessly drenching me. Our laughter echoes across the ripples until she asks, “Do you really hate it here?”
I balk, treading water as I stare at her. “You heard us last night?”
She winces. “A bit.”
Gods, I never meant for her to know. It’s worse to think she only caught snippets, that she may not have heard me explain everything.
“I’m saving up to earn us a new life,” I tell her.
“I don’t hate being here with you. I hate that this is our home.
I hate worrying that we’ll starve every winter after paying the tithes. ”
The fae prince’s—Desmond’s—offer replays through my mind.
“If we were wealthy, you wouldn’t have to stay in Nettlerock, marry a farmer, and tend to a field your whole life,” I add. “You could do anything!”
And I could do anything, too.
Her nose scrunches. “But I have to stay. Who’s going to care for our parents when they’re old?”
“They don’t have to stay here, either,” I point out, exasperated.
None of them will try to imagine a life elsewhere.
They don’t dare to believe that it’s possible.
Yet I do. “What about Prince Ronan?” I challenge.
“Imagine moving to Mythos and wearing gowns every day, mingling with aristocrats until you meet him again. You saw how he looked at you.”
She smooths her hair back with a tendril of water, frowning at me.
“You used to daydream about it. You’d make tiaras out of twigs and flowers.”
“Would he think I’m beautiful now?” Her voice cracks. “It was a foolish daydream. Please let it go, Cyn.” Her dark eyes widen, imploring me. “This is the life we were born for.”
How could she say that? Born for. I want to scoff. “I’ll think about it,” I mutter, just to end this miserable conversation. Besides, I’m not sure why I’m arguing about it when I’ve already turned down our one chance at that life.
“Mom heard a rumor that Brill may propose to me,” Evie says. “His prospects in Elmstead are low, since many of the women there have better dowries than we do.”
Panic floods me, and I grab onto her arms. “That snake of a farmhand? You’d be better off as a spinster than marrying him.”
Evie flinches as if I’ve struck her. “What other options do I have?”
“You won’t accept. Promise me you won’t accept his proposal, Evie. I’ll find another way to support us.” I’ll never forgive myself if she marries someone just for their land. Not when she’s so young, her heart so pure.
Her eyes widen. Slowly, she nods. “Alright. I trust you, Cyn.”
Then I let go.
She floats back and closes her eyes. The tranquil quiet, punctuated only by birdsong and branches cracking, is a lullaby to her.
I feel exposed. It’s too quiet. I wait for the selkies to give us a good fight, but none come.
And even if there were selkies, it’s the fae prince with the brown curls and cutting cleverness that my thoughts circle.
His promised riches are the sun and I am the moon, fated never to reach them.
Yet, there’s no such thing as fate. At least not one that I believe in. That treasure is my only chance at saving Evie from a scoundrel’s proposal.
I told myself I’d mold reality to my making—but what am I waiting for?
Another yield of vegetables to pickle until my skin reeks of vinegar?
Another chicken to pluck under Dad’s watchful eyes?
Another scalding lecture from Mom? Another famine that hollows us to skin and bone?
Another chance to lose Evie to a man who doesn’t deserve her?
I can’t lie to myself any longer. The fae Prince of Death gave me the proposition of a lifetime.
One tomb raid. Then I’ll buy my family a home with glass windows and finials and beds large enough to stretch on.
I’ll find a healer to mend Evie. I’ll join the adventurers’ guild and go on quests across the continent.
My family may despise me, might even believe I’ve abandoned them, but when I return, the treasure will serve as my plea for forgiveness. They will never starve again.
This time, I’ll raid a tomb without endangering anyone I love. And I need to leave tonight.
The rest of the day would’ve dragged on if I hadn’t been writing a mental checklist. During supper, when Dad tells me he’ll be accompanying me on every supply run to the neighboring villages, I agree with practiced indifference.
It won’t matter. He glances at Mom, my lack of obstinacy perhaps a little suspicious, but he doesn’t question me.
After chores, Evie and I retire to bed. Our parents do the same.
I count the seconds until Evie’s breathing turns deep and rhythmic. She doesn’t stir as I light a lamp. I shove my dress and corset into a canvas rucksack and quickly change into a loose tunic and outgrown pants that leave my ankles bare.
Then I slip on my dagger holsters and my crossbody sword sheath. Sebastian sharpened the sword for me after I found it in a tomb. It took a little pleading to convince the village guards to show me the basics, and a little lying so my parents wouldn’t know how I acquired it.
Last, I carefully unwrap the beautiful dagger Seb gifted me for my birthday. In the pale lamplight, I admire the deep blue rope around the handle and the delicate crescent moon engraved on the blade. Then I sheath it at my hip.
Slowly, I creep down the ladder to the hearth room.
Now there are only two things left to do.
I try to craft a note in my head that will assure them I’ll be fine, but think of nothing that they’d believe.
So I hastily dip my quill into ink and write on parchment, I’ll return soon.
If there are any emergencies, dig holes in the cellar, four paces from the stairs.
That’s where I’ve hidden the barrow treasure I’ve found.
Finishing the note makes it real. The finality of what I’m doing is heavy in my chest. In a few hours, I’ll be in Mythos.
Before my head can start spinning, I don my family’s treasured heirloom bow and quiver, passed down through generations on my father’s side.
He gifted both to me when I turned eighteen.
My heavy pack and weapons will make my back ache by the time I reach Mythos. But my gut tells me it’s leave now on foot or never.
I step outside. The autumn night is laden with a cool breeze.
A fox watches me from the tree line, its amber eyes blinking once before it darts off.
Crickets chirp, and a lone owl hoots as I leave the dim light of Nettlerock for the darkness of the forest. Just as I pass underneath the first cluster of conifers, I hear a door fly open and bang into its wall.
“Cynthia!” Evie screams at the top of her lungs. “Come back!”
My feet falter. The grief in her shrill voice paralyzes me with guilt.
No. I steel myself. I can’t go back. This is for them just as much as it is for me. But that admission stuns me. Something about this is for me. Something in me is ready for this.
As Evie screams my name again, I take my first step into the adventure that awaits me.