Chapter 6 Evera
EVERA
Numb disconnect separated me from the crowd as I walked, keeping my head down. With each step, I watched my boots land, first heel then toe, knowing there should be a sound connected to the motion. That if I were alone, the stone road would echo my pathing.
Stopping, uncaring that I stood in the way of others as they parted and passed in both directions, I released a breath. I shivered, suddenly aware of the cold. It was a bone-aching frigidness, one that went beyond the chill of an early spring night.
One of the shapes moving through the street brushed against my shoulder, and I mumbled incoherent apologies, my voice meek as I stepped to the side.
The touch of daylight was long vanquished. My feet were sore from walking, my mouth dry and parched. The colorful dresses of ladies of the higher class appeared muddier in the dark; they blended in with the simple earth tones of the commoners’ skirts. A blurred division.
A bitter taste tainted the back of my throat.
Vile, teeth-clenching anger consumed me in a wave of heat; it left just as quickly when the breeze blew, ruffling my skirts and reminding me of the cold.
Tears threatened, but this time I held them back.
I was every bit the healer Aureus was—less seasoned, perhaps, but no less gifted.
In tinctures and the lore of healing plants, I even surpassed him.
My fingers curled, restless, and I struck out at a loose stone; it leapt across the cobbles before surrendering to stillness.
A sigh escaped me, heavy and hollow. To drown in my own misery, I felt selfish when others—the alidian girl, the homeless—suffered cruelties far greater than mine.
Yet guilt flooded me all the same, a tide of injustice and selfishness colliding in my chest until I could scarcely breathe.
To feel bad for myself, even as I stood before a mental cliff, left me feeling vain.
Stepping back from that edge meant returning to my brother, returning to the life he had set out for me, and taking it in stride.
It was the correct thing to do. A young couple passed me, the woman holding to the man’s arm and giggling shyly, and my gaze lingered on them.
Glancing back over my shoulder to where the road led downhill, winding with shops crammed in close together along each side, I released a shuddering breath.
Aureus was right. About everything. What I wanted—to heal others, to offer a more substantial contribution than my womb to this life—wasn’t a dream within reach.
To accept that, to comply, would make the lives of those I loved so much easier.
Married and living with Ruairc, any rumors of me being a witch would fall away like the crumbling clay from the cliffs of Elrune. My soul would collide against the rough stone in its descent, breaking down until the last clumps that remained were devoured entirely by the murky sea.
Applause drew my attention back up the hill where light spilled from the stone archway that led into the castle’s outer courtyards.
Two gatehouses, one on either side, stood as sentries.
Yet, on this night, when the two moons shone full overhead and people came together to celebrate Ayrenven, the harsh divides of society were hazed.
Obscurity.
My hand went to the shape of the mask beneath the flowing fabric of my skirts, and I withdrew it from my pocket.
Turning it over, I traced my index finger along the silver filigree outlining the eye slits.
My exhale fogged the air, and when I raised my gaze to the archway once more and the courtyards within, a flutter filled my chest.
For one night, I could be anyone. Or it could be no one.
Could drink expensive liquor, dance with a stranger, lose myself to pleasure, and the rush of being alive.
I could take control of my life while the moons shone overhead.
Cast aside Aureus’s relentless rules and the weight of all that lay ahead.
Fueled with the thrumming rush of excitement, with the draw of the unknown and new, I raised the mask to my face.
It was cold over the bridge of my nose. Looking through, I blinked, and my lashes fluttered against the rim of the eye slits.
I tied the silk ribbon behind my head to secure the mask and stepped toward the castle and the allure of a night of anonymity.
The hum of voices rose as I drew nearer and, passing into the courtyard, I was forced to stay still momentarily and catch my breath.
The flooring was marbled with swirls of ebony, white, and gray, with pearlescent flecks that caught the light and sparkled. To my right, a bard performed atop a platform stage, drawing the cheers and laughter of onlookers. Most were unmasked, but a handful bore festival coverings similar to my own.
Girls danced, twirling about carelessly. A few couples swayed, their dance slower, closer, more purposeful—the brush of cheeks, the trailing touch at a woman’s waist. My heart leapt, and I closed my eyes, remembering the feel of a man’s breath on my neck. It had been some time ago. Too long.
Beyond the dancers and the stage, an open hall of arches ran parallel to an overhead balcony. A creeping ivy of sorts, speckled with little white flowers, grew into the stone. I recognized the flower as one that clung to the manor house I had played in as a child. I used to tuck them into my hair.
Wistfulness drew me forward, and I skirted the busier areas until I stood near the edge of the courtyard before the row of arches. Humming thoughtfully, I plucked one of the flowers and brought it to my nose, breathing in the sweet, nostalgic scent.
Through the arches came a boy of perhaps eight or nine, leading a man in guard’s livery.
The child’s seriousness was striking, so unlike the carefree children of Elrune.
His hair was dark as midnight, and his long, curled lashes caught the light like spun silk.
He halted before the wide double doors and spun on his heels with a precision that seemed rehearsed, addressing the guard at his back.
They exchanged words, but I was too far to hear.
The guard, who kept his back to me, had hair so translucent it appeared almost white in the sconce light, long and braided in sections along one side.
Perhaps older for the coloring of his hair, he stood straight and tall with the confidence and stature of a younger man.
The guard, his rigid, stark-black uniform contrasting with the light, flowing layers of the festival visitors, disappeared into the room. Curiosity tingled throughout my body, and when a group of three women entered after the man, I sucked in a breath and adjusted my mask.
Shoulders back, standing tall, I feigned belonging as I entered what appeared to be a greeting room of sorts.
It was a large rectangular room; the marble floors were carried in from the courtyard.
Chandeliers hung overhead, their dripping beeswax candles that lent the room warmth.
Gold filigree trimmed the room along the base of the walls and met with the faintly domed ceiling in a purposeful uniformity that added to the elegance of the space.
“The castle interior is for the King’s family and guests only.”
Clenching my teeth, I looked over my shoulder. I’d been caught. The women ahead of me gave no notice to the exchange and disappeared down a hall. Likely the wives or daughters of a lord, then.
The dark-haired boy from before had a blank expression.
Beside him, a boy a few years older—perhaps ten or twelve—with fair blond hair and round green eyes held my gaze with studying intensity.
Dressed in fine clothes and clean-faced, the children were more put together than most adult men from my village.
I adjusted my mask and feigned ignorance. “I was just looking for a place away from the fray to sit for a moment. I’m feeling a bit faint.”
The fair-haired boy considered a moment, then nodded to a seating area near the center of the room. “Watch her,” he said to the dark-haired boy and dismissed himself into the courtyard.
Pushing past the idea of being watched by a child, I made my way to a tufted velvet upholstered chair and took a seat.
Heavenly. The emerald fabric gave with just the right amount of cushion under my weight and, strangely, smelled almost floral.
I looked around and caught sight of a bronze bowl perforated with pinprick holes atop its decorative lid. A potpourri dish.
I detected lavender and orris root, perhaps. Letting the healer’s curiosity get the best of me, I leaned forward and lifted the lid from the small container to study the dried plants within.
“What are you doing?”
The boy’s voice just behind my shoulder took me off guard, and I started, knocking over the brass dish and spilling the contents across the glass tabletop and onto the marble flooring. I squeaked, a terribly unladylike little sound.
“Gods, you startled me.” I held a hand to my heart. What am I doing?
“You don’t belong here,” the boy observed, cocking his head as he addressed my outfit.
Little prick. I narrowed my eyes.
A door opened, drawing both of our attention.
The guard from before, his silver hair tousled and his jaw set, stepped out from a side room.
He was not old, as I had suspected by the coloring of his hair.
Perhaps mid or late twenties. His dark uniform fit perfectly to his body, suggesting concealed muscles beneath. Gods, he was handsome.
A woman’s voice stopped him, and he looked over his shoulder and adjusted the cloth of his collar as she came into view.
Her gown was elegant and threaded with jewels that glistened in the chandelier’s light.
Her gloved hands went to the belt about the guard’s waist, and he cast his eyes down as he spoke beneath his breath.