Chapter One
Oleander
Two decades had passed since I last went to Everend Market.
I had not been allowed back in my youth, not after my first disastrous journey with my parents.
Mother and Father had granted me the night of freedom with a boy I barely remembered now, but they had not allowed me to come back with them.
I was too impulsive, too unreliable. It also did not help that, while distracted with thoughts of the boy from Gearwick, I had suggested an herbal poultice for an elf with a sneezing fit instead of a vapor Father had created specifically for it.
It turned out the poultice contained herbs and smells that would have only made it worse.
In the years since, I thought back sometimes to that day at the market, to the boy by the river.
I thought of the way his lips felt against mine.
When I first kissed another elf in our village, I thought of his lips against mine.
A few years, a few elves, and a few kisses later, even the memory of that boy’s kiss had faded away into the ghost of a memory, a wisp along a field, barely there and barely recognizable.
Five years had passed since I left the small village of my childhood to move to Emberleigh.
It was obvious that I possessed neither of my parents’ skill for healing nor herbs, that I could not even keep track of what each thing did to sell them effectively.
I was not even good at keeping balance of stock or coin or trade.
I had nothing to offer my family’s business, though one of the children from the family that watched me had a knack and a keen desire to take over the apothecary.
I found work in Emberleigh. I found friends.
I found everything I was looking for, just an hour’s journey from home.
What I did not find was the one thing I craved above all else: love.
I had many flings. I had many opportunities for love and romance, but no one that made my heart sing like the tales of old.
I found no love that felt as if it could be immortalized by the stars, made legend passed down around campfires or riverbanks.
I craved this kind of love. I craved companionship and a family of my own.
It was at the market where I’d felt the first stirrings of love, felt the first craving. I decided to venture back. Perhaps there was magic at the central shrine, something that blessed the marriages formed there. If nothing else, I could find a marriage and love could grow from that.
When I packed for the market, I did not have Mother scolding me for packing and repacking.
I had no one scolding me for choosing my most colorful garments or the trousers that Father often said were too tightly laced.
I had no one to talk me out of packing the kohl I sometimes wore under my eyes when I went out to pubs, hoping to draw attention and courtship from the other patrons.
I had no one to remind me that I was traveling alone and that, when my pack grew too heavy, I would have no one else to help me carry it—a fact I found myself regretting mere hours into my journey.
Without my parents’ cart, the journey took nearly four days.
It would have taken a little less time, but on the first day, I found myself lost in the woods when I went foraging for berries to add to the food in my pack.
I lost hours and barely made it to a clearing to set up my tent before the sun set.
I got lost again on the second day, but soon I found a caravan of other elves, all making the same journey.
There was an atmosphere reminiscent of the parties and festivals in Emberleigh as we voyaged.
Bonfires were built at our campsite, and food was pooled together.
Gem-colored liquors were passed around. I found myself talking to an elf I recognized from a pub in Emberleigh for an hour around the fire.
She, too, was going to the market in hopes of finding a marriage, though she did not have the lofty goals of romance that I had.
She wanted companionship, yes, but she also wanted to travel beyond Emberleigh.
She spoke so clinically of marriage, though it was hardly the first time I’d heard it spoken of like that.
After all, one did not need marriage for love, or love for marriage. Perhaps I was just a dreamer, or maybe I just wanted what I saw with my parents. Mother and Father had both: love and marriage. They’d had both since childhood. I longed for that.
On the fourth day, I arrived at Everend Market.
I found a spot to set up my tent along the same riverbank my family had camped for years.
Somewhere among the tents and caravans, my parents were setting up their own camp.
I would find Mother and Father at some point, make sure they knew I arrived safely, but I did not plan to spend much time with them at the market.
I did not wish to be roped into covering their shop and making a fool of myself. Again.
The air of festivity continued at the campgrounds, and I found myself searching the crowd. One of the gathered could be my future spouse.
As I drifted to sleep, stomach heavy with food and head light with liquor, I tried to imagine who it was I would find and marry at market.
I imagined a woman with long hair the color of strawberries or a man with hair the color of the chocolate I’d spent too many coins on for my last Naming Day.
I imagined an elf with an impish smile full of mischief.
My imagination shifted to a man with a warrior’s build and golden eyes and fair hair.
The image shifted again. The eyes darkened to a brown so dark it was almost black.
The lips filled out and the angular jawline grew less so.
The image kept shifting in my mind, but those dark eyes stayed, a ghost I could not quite put a name to.
My memory did not do Everend Market justice.
It was brighter than I remembered, more colorful.
The smells were more savory. It was more crowded and louder and full of elves from every walk of life.
Their accents were strange music to my ear, and I wanted to listen to each of them speak.
What would my future spouse sound like? Would their voice be lilted or deep?
Would their voice bring me comfort the first moment I heard it, or would it grow to blanket me like my childhood quilt?
My eyes were wide as I walked the main path of the market, attempting to take in everything but taking in very little.
It was overwhelming, and I could not decide if it was in a positive or negative way.
Despite knowing that I was there to find a partner, I could not bring myself to spare more than a passing glance at those around me.
How was I to know which of them were seeking partnerships and which were there simply to shop the vendor stalls?
I was certain there was a protocol to it, but I didn’t know it.
Was I just meant to walk Lover’s Lane and hope that I caught someone’s eye or someone caught mine?
I wished there was someone I could ask. Perhaps I should have asked Mother or Father for advice, but they would take that as an invitation to assist me in finding a partner.
They would choose someone they believed suitable, and I had no guarantee that it would be someone I wanted.
Most likely, it would be someone who craved the peace of village life and didn’t mix up their potions and poisons.
No, it was better that I figure this out on my own.
It would take time to steel my nerves. Maybe I could observe those around me, determine the proper course of action. It would be the easiest way to figure out how I was to go about finding a spouse in this crowd. Yes, I decided, that was the right decision.
In the meantime, I could explore the market the way I had as a boy.
I started down the first path, lined with vendors selling brightly colored fabrics and preconstructed garments.
I ran my fingers over the soft fabrics, softer than even my finest clothing.
Some of them were dyed in tones so bright they made me think of gemstones, and others made me think of the flowers I’d seen neighbors grow in my old village.
“Do you need help finding something?” an elf with vibrant red curls asked from behind the counter, eyeing the way my finger traced delicate embroidery on a snowy white shirt.
I drew my eyes away from the delicate stitch work and to the man speaking. He was older than me with fine lines around his eyes and thin, delicate fingers that reminded me of my mother’s. “Do you make these?” I asked, unable to stop the words from leaving my lips.
“I do,” he answered. “Is there something you’d like to try on or examine more closely?”
There were many things I wanted to examine more closely. There were many things I would love to try on, but they all felt as if they’d cost more coins than I’d brought with me. I needed to conserve my coins. “No,” I told him reluctantly. “I am just admiring the craftsmanship.”
Perhaps I would come back. I thought about what I’d brought with me. What would it cost me in trade to take home one of these beautiful pieces of art? What would I be willing to trade? I sighed and withdrew my hand from the needlework.
“If you have any questions or need any assistance, let me know.” With his parting words, the shopkeeper went back to what he was doing, and my presence transformed to no more than something in his periphery.
He did not spare me another glance, and I admired the craftsmanship a little while longer before moving to the next booth.
Maybe if I found someone to marry at the market, I would come back and choose one of those beautiful creations for my marriage outfit. An elf could dream.