Chapter Three
Andi
“Andi. Wake up.”
I jolt awake, soaked with sweat and gasping for air, cautiously scanning the room. Where is the smoke, the blood, the man?
Elana sits beside me on my bed, stroking my head and trying to calm me down.
Tears stain my cheeks from yet another nightmare.
For a whole month, every night, I’ve watched the man switch rooms and kill different people, always ending with my death.
Every night, Elana has to wake me from these dreams, and it’s wearing us both down.
“I’m okay,” I say to her, “go back to bed.”
From her bed, my sister’s watchful gaze remains on me until her eyes close with slumber. I try drifting off to sleep, but it doesn’t come for me. The suffocating smell of ash and smoke returns, clanging armour rings in my ears, the echo growing louder until my eyes snap open.
I throw off my blanket and slither out of bed, clutching the dusty blue, knee-length dress from my drawers that I laid out the night before. Quietly, I get dressed, fastening the belt around my waist and dragging a brush through my long jet-black hair, before tiptoeing towards the door.
Mum’s faint hum lures me to the living area, where she gently sings to herself as she sits on Dad’s favourite emerald-green armchair, watching the birds flutter outside the window.
It’s her preferred resting spot since Dad died.
No one dares sit there, no one other than Mum.
It’s somewhere she can remain close to him, to relish in the lingering oaky smell that’s embedded in the fabric.
“Andi, you’re up early?” Mum says, sensing my presence. She was always the first to wake; early bird catches the worm and all that.
“Couldn’t sleep, figured I would get a head start on loading up the cart.” I reach for my boots.
I hate lying. I hate the disapproving look Mum gives when I do, but it’s better than having her worry over something that I have no control over.
The story of the Tanith dynasty terrified me, tormenting me every night. Mum raises her eyebrow at me; I feel her stare following me as I grab a hot bun and head out the door briskly before she can call me back.
The morning air swishes around me, like being wrapped in a warm towel from beside the fire.
I have always loved our cottage. Hidden in the woods, surrounded by rolling hills bursting with an array of flowers in every colour, like a rainbow skating across the meadows.
Beautiful oak trees are dotted along the fields, which blend seamlessly with the river and the stone bridge that leads into town.
As fearless children, this was our playground. Elana, Wyatt, and I would play hide and seek in the woods, rolling down the hills, making flower crowns. Reaching the top of the trees was considered a badge of honour.
My favourite part was being able to see over the top of houses in the town and watch folk go about their day, unknowingly being observed.
White fluffy clouds glide along the blue sky, over our little piece of heaven. I doubt any other town could compete. Our town wouldn’t be what it is without the folk and the sense of community we have. It’s what makes us, and who we became.
In Vendyl, we look after our own.
Savouring the last of my hot bun, carts rumble across the bridge as townsfolk get ready for the day, setting up their stalls, and cleaning up the roads to make their little corner appear pleasing to the customer.
We have been selling items from our stall for almost a year, offering as many fruits and vegetables from our little garden as we can spare, along with the herbal remedies that Mum makes up: ointments, lotions, and bathing oils.
Since Dad died, it’s been hard. We’d relied heavily on his considerable woodworking skills to earn a pretty penny. He could make anything: chairs, pipes, instruments—to name a few.
Now we sell what we can.
Behind me, Misty’s neigh pulls my focus to the old, worn-down cart at the side of our cottage.
I’m astonished it’s still standing after all these years.
The back wheel has broken off so many times, I have lost count.
Wyatt—my best friend and adopted brother—fixed it just a few days ago, but I don’t trust it to hold.
Luckily, he had been persuaded to help us at the stall today; if it breaks again, at least he’ll be on hand to repair it.
I sigh at the sight of the boxes of bottles and tubs, as well as the enormous pile of produce. Plodding over, I toss them into the cart.
“Good haul this week. Let’s hope we can stash some money for winter.” Mum calls as she comes out of the door, her long golden hair braided into a tidy bun just above her neck. My mum’s calmness is renowned. She may act cool and collected, but inside, anxiety tears her apart.
“When is Wyatt coming? We’ll need to get a move on if we want to get the best spot,” she yells, rushing back into the cottage.
“I’m sure he’s around here somewhere.” I shrug. “But we can leave without him, if you’re that worried.”
Sometimes I think Mum likes Wyatt more than me; she always wanted a son, and all he had was his drunken uncle.
Not that I begrudge him her affection. The image of his skeletal body, drowning in stained clothes, is seared into my mind.
He completes our family, the puzzle piece we didn’t know was missing until he made himself right at home.
With Wyatt’s fair complexion, icy-blue eyes and rosy skin, his boyish look that has always gotten him out of trouble. Mum used to say he was as innocent as a newborn babe, until she realised how mischievous he was.
Taking Misty by the reins, I gently stroke her nose—Dad’s last gift to me. He told me he had picked her because she was the same colour as my eyes.
I lead my horse to the cart to attach her saddle, discreetly grabbing an apple from the nearest box and holding it out to her. As she softly walks towards me, someone shouts from the other side.
“Hey, careful!”
I peer around the cart to see Wyatt holding his left foot; he hobbles towards us, groaning in pain.
“What are you doing hiding under the cart?”
“How about, hey Wyatt, I’m really sorry for rolling the cart on your foot.
Please forgive me,” he whimpers, ducking his head to hide his smile.
“I was checking the wheel, making sure it was still in one piece, if that’s okay with you.
” He grabs hold of his foot. “I think I might need crutches. Don’t worry, I can still help. See, I can hop.”
Wyatt hobbles towards me, before jumping on one foot, using the cart for support.
I approach him to check he is okay, smirking as I notice he is using the foot he claimed was injured.
I tilt my head, raise my eyebrows, and gently push him off balance.
Wyatt stumbles, putting his full weight on his ‘broken’ foot.
“Wrong foot,” I roll my eyes.
Wyatt stares at me in wonderment. “Did you see that? It’s a miracle.” He grabs me by the shoulders. “You fixed me, Andi. You must have been sent by—”
“Misneach, you’re so funny!” I scoff. “Now, can you stop being an idiot. We need to go before Mum screeches at us.” I push him away and walk towards Misty, picking up her reins.
Elana comes bounding out of the house, almost crashing into me. “Off to see Mister Hot and sweaty blacksmith, are we?” she jokes. She turns around, wrapping her arms around herself, pretending to kiss an invisible person in front of her.
I fling a carrot at her. Elana squeals but doesn’t refrain from laughing.
“Better keep your mouth shut or I’ll let slip about you and the baker’s boy,” I reply.
She stares at me with narrowed lips and a scowl.
“What’s that about the baker’s boy?” Mum asks as she appears out of the cottage, closing the door behind her.
Elana mouths, ‘Don’t you dare.’
I blow her a kiss and walk away. “Nothing. Elana was just saying how much she enjoys eating his buns.”
Elana stares at me, eyes wide open, her face turning a shade of scarlet.
Mum pauses for a second, nodding her head before answering, “Yes, he does have some nice buns.”
Wyatt chokes on his water, while I try to hold back my laugh. Elana storms back into the house and slams the door.
“Teenagers,” I say to Mum with a shrug.
Mum glances back at the cottage before looking at me quizzically, understanding that she has missed the joke. Not that I’m going to enlighten her.
Wyatt and I do as we’re told. I click my tongue for Misty to walk on, leaving the tranquillity of our little cottage, and heading across the bridge towards the town.
The cart rumbles over the uneven road that stretches through Old Town, passing by the dated wooden houses, with their patched up, thatched roofs and worn-down shutters.
Continuing along the cobble-stoned road that leads into modern Vendyl, we reach the town square filled with beautiful stone buildings, elegant homes—or they were, before the rise in taxes. Now, even their glow has diminished.
Standing tall in the centre of town, towering over all the buildings, is the magnificent Temple of Pria, the Goddess of harvest and fertility.
Sparkling white marble and tall stained-glass windows, stunningly depicting moments in our history.
I gaze up at the enormous wooden door, decorated with carvings of folk throughout time.
I could spend hours taking in every detail.
Tying up Misty’s reins, we settle between the florist and the wine vendor. Mum greets them both with a cheery ‘hello,’ while I ignore the incessant small talk and organise the produce with Wyatt.
I glance around the town square, my eyes stopping at the blacksmith.
A smile threatens to sneak up on my face as I see Myles standing beside the fire, holding up a sword, admiring his work.
The sun reflects off the sword, lighting up the moisture on his chest. His body glistens, defining his lean muscles, as a bead of sweat runs the length of his face.
The first time I met Myles was about six months ago. Misty sprang a shoe one night while we were out for a ride, and on the way back to my cottage, I met a handsome stranger.
“Do you need any help?” he asked, his voice low and smooth. Two dimples developed as his smile grew wide. His eyes were a russet brown, with a light golden ring around the centre.
I was too awestruck to respond, so he repeated his question. I have never been more embarrassed than in that moment.
“I—Uh—I—horse.” Those were the only words I could manage. Unable to construct a sentence, I pointed to Misty’s foot.
His eyes remained on me with a lopsided smile.
Surely people should worship a man this attractive in a city, handfeeding him fruit and pandering to his every wish and desire.
The stranger let out a small laugh, and I wonder if he could hear my thoughts. Blood rushed to my cheeks, and I lowered my head, hoping to hide it.
He pointed to Misty’s foot, asking if she had lost her shoe. I nodded, my mouth parched, words evading me.
“Follow me,” he said, taking hold of Misty’s reins.
Without a second thought, I did without question. With this naivety, I would be a murderer’s best friend, following handsome strangers into the dark of the night, giving them an easy kill.
We walked in awkward silence until we reached town. With everyone gone, the street had settled into a peaceful quiet.
“I’m Myles, by the way,” he said, looking at me, patiently waiting for a reply.
“Andi.” My voice was hoarse as I forced the words out. I could not bring myself to look at his face again.
“Nice to meet you, Andi. I don’t work with horses much, but let me see if I can help,” he said as we walked into the blacksmith’s shop.
I glanced around, having never been here before. All sorts of weapons lined the room: swords, daggers, big, long ones. I wondered how anyone could hold these giant swords, which were the length of my torso.
The idea of using a weapon like that and taking a life is too hard to comprehend. I shuddered and snapped out of my thoughts as Myles rumbled around the shop.
“I think there might be some shoes around here somewhere,” Myles said as he hunted for his tools.
“Are—are you new to Vendyl?” I spat out, happy I managed a sentence.
“Yeah, I found some work here about a month ago, still finding my way around.”
“Where are you from?” I asked, braving a look at his face.
I focused on every part of his face rather than making direct eye contact: the little creases at the corner of his eyes, the warm brown of his hair.
My head tilted as I eyed the tense muscles in his arm as he fixed Misty’s shoe.
I snapped out of it when he spoke again.
“I was born in Eilia, but I’ve travelled around for a while. What about you?”
“I grew up here. In the cottage across the river, been nowhere else,” I replied.
“We come to town every week to sell some fruit and vegetables, and some herbal medicines my Mum makes; she’s great at it if you’re ever in need of anything.
My Mum and I, that is. I’m surprised I haven’t seen you before—”
I realised I had begun to ramble; I shut my mouth. One minute, I couldn’t form words, then I couldn’t stop talking.
Myles set Misty’s foot down, walking her around a little.
For someone who hasn’t been around horses much, he certainly had a way with them. Misty was normally hard to win over, but she didn’t seem to mind Myles’ attention.
He turned to look at me. “I’ve seen you in town a few times.” Myles blushed a little, looked at Misty, then back at me.
Blood rushed to my cheeks again. Keep your cool, Andi.
“She’s ready to go,” Myles said, stroking Misty’s head. The little flirt neighed at him, tossing her mane. I was not the only one who had been taken in by his good looks and charm. “Come on, I’ll walk you both home.”
“You don’t have to do that, it’s not far.”
“What kind of gentleman would I be, if I let a beautiful woman like yourself walk off into the night?” He stared at me and gave me a little one-sided smile.
My body shivered with goosebumps; my heart thumped out of my chest.
Wyatt smacks me over the head, snapping me from my thoughts, “What was that for?” I moan at him.
“You look like a lovesick puppy. Stop ogling the guy,” Wyatt says as he hands me some apples.
I’m tempted to throw them at his head, but before I make a move, a customer comes up to me. I glare at Wyatt for a second before turning to greet them with my friendliest smile.
The first of many shoppers fervently waiting.