Chapter 2
Grief I’ve struggled my entire life to contain assails me as I heal the worst of Rolf’s injuries. It thickens my throat. It squeezes my lungs. By the time I wrap the last bandage around the sleeping boy’s splinted wrist, my heart hammers so viciously that my chest aches.
I rise and straighten my skirts, give Rolf’s mother instructions on how to care for him tonight, and then I take off.
The warped door slams shut behind me. I wince at the disrespect, but I don’t stop moving. Not when the cool morning air bites into my flushed cheeks. Not when my dramatic behavior catches the baker’s attention. Not when I hear the familiar footfalls of the boots trailing after me.
Sadness, anger, hopelessness, and frustration war within me. I need space. I need to breathe.
Lev waits until we reach the road that leads back to the healing quarters to finally call out, “Elara. Wait.”
Debris stabs the soles of my feet, but I don’t slow down.
“Elara, stop!” Lev grabs my arm. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” I whirl around. My hair flares out and sticks to my cheek. I swipe it away. “What’s wrong?”
His brown eyes search mine, and he inches closer, invading my personal space, cupping my cheek. “Yes. Tell me what just happened. Talk to me.”
But that’s the thing… I can’t.
I can’t talk about magic with Lev. I can’t talk about my parents.
I want to tell him to forget it, but I know Lev. When he’s concerned, there’s nothing he won’t do to try and make things better. He won’t allow me to back out of this conversation without discussing something.
So, I grab onto the second-most bothersome thing to happen today.
“Fief abuses his wife,” I snap, a fresh jolt of anger coursing through my veins as I remember the terrible things the man said about his son. “I’d bet my last coin he abuses his poor son, too. And yet there is nothing I can do about it.”
“That’s not true. The Elders—”
“Don’t care about anything but their precious mines and enabling the soldiers who protect the town from beasts and raiders.” I shake my head. “It isn’t fair, Lev.”
I don’t remember my parents, but I know they didn’t deserve their fate. Juniper says they were kind. They were good. And yet, people like Fief get to run amok while my mom and dad are…gone.
Lev sighs and runs a hand through his thick hair. “I know. I know it's not fair.”
“And yet he gets away with it.” I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms. “And you…you just accept it.”
His jaw tenses. “I do not accept it.”
For a heartbeat, Lev’s image as an imposing soldier vanishes.
In his place stands the boy I once chased through the forest, the one who kissed me beneath the canopy of stars…
the one who saw worth in me even though I was Kinless.
That boy is here again, ready to defy the town’s rules, ready to fight for something greater than himself.
“But every Verdanthian, man or woman, must do what they can with the hand they are dealt,” he adds. “It is not for me to defy the Elders’ rules.”
The illusion shatters. Disappointment tears through me, but the fight trails out of my exhausted body. We’ve discussed this subject before, always with the same outcome. Why did I think today would be different?
“I need to get back to the barracks.” I turn away and hike my satchel higher on my shoulder. “I imagine there is a line of new recruits with fresh wounds waiting to see me.”
“I’ll go with you.”
Unable to think of a reason why he shouldn’t, I nod.
Lev falls into step at my side. Silence stretches between us, filled with words we both wish we could say, but know will not make a difference.
We pass through the market, several in the crowd waving at Lev. My closest friend’s waves are more subdued.
When we reach the barracks, Lev leans in and places a kiss on my cheek before turning on his heel and walking away.
I watch him go, my lips pressed together to refrain from complaining about everything in our life that I wish I could change, while the magic inside me pulses, aching for a release that never comes.
In this world, there are countless dangers that keep Verdanthians on our toes—that fuel our fear in this dark world the Fae created when they conquered our continent.
Our fragility—our mortality—is drilled into us at a young age. It is our main disadvantage when compared to our Fae overlords. Though it’s not the only one.
Not by a long shot.
Caw. Caw.
I rub my tired eyes and look up, shielding against the rising sun shining over the moisture left behind from last night’s rainstorm.
An Aella eagle soars through the sky. The incredible creature circles once, its wings casting long shadows as it dives, flying toward the barracks’ aviary in the center of town.
Fingers point in the sky, and the murmurs begin as my neighbors wonder what missive the Fae have sent this time. More astlerium? Faster shipments of the precious metal our men already mine at break-neck speed?
Whatever it is, the Elders will fall over themselves to comply. They always do.
And none of us protest. No one wants to give the Fae a reason to return.
I sigh and lower my arm, then twist my hair into a loose updo for the long walk ahead.
Verdanthians are handed endless rules by the Elders, all in the name of safety. Most of them make sense. But the most absurd? The town smithy—easily the most important building—sits on the outskirts, so near to the Forbidden Forest that I swear glowing red eyes track my steps every time I pass.
You’d think the place where all the mined astlerium is stored, refined, and prepped for shipment to the Fae would be better protected, maybe even at the center of town.
But no.
With our homes and shops made of wood and hay, the Elders say one stray ember from the smithy could destroy everything.
I suppose it’s not a ridiculous fear. But honestly? A tipped candle seems more likely to burn the town down.
Not that my opinion matters. I’m just a woman. A healer. The Elders know best.
I snort and hike my pack higher, sidestepping men and women preparing their booths with wares to sell in the market.
I should be doing the same.
Instead, I’m dragging my aching feet across Verdanthia, bracing myself to make the steep climb up the uneven path that leads to the smithy—a path that’s continually repaired but swiftly re-damaged when wagons weighed down by refined metal travel over the surface.
I round the corner of the abandoned house at the town’s northeastern edge and halt. Two soldiers ride past on freshly brushed horses, finishing their perimeter check. Their polished saddles gleam in the morning light. I step aside quickly, my heart skipping, to avoid being trampled.
Soldiers claim they’re extensively trained to ride the creatures before being assigned one for patrols, but with the number of contusions and fractures I’ve treated from people knocked over by a horse, I’m not so sure their training is sufficient.
I lift a hand in greeting, searching the small openings of their helmets between the forehead and bridge of their noses. They look familiar, but their names escape me.
According to Lev, most of the soldiers our age took leave for the next few days to enjoy the upcoming celebrations. Dian’s even organized a gathering at Odden’s Tavern following tonight’s town meeting. I’m not sure I will join them. It depends on how today goes.
The soldier riding closest to me dips his head in acknowledgment. His horse huffs in my direction. I wait for them to pass, readjust my hold on the strap looped over my shoulder, and begin my ascent.
Smoke plumes in the air in the distance. The breeze brings the smoldering scents to my nostrils. I cough and raise my scarf, not interested in experiencing a breathing attack hours before the festivities are set to begin.
Sweat trickles down my spine by the time I crest the hill ten minutes later.
I prop myself up against the exterior wall, catching my breath, once again cursing myself for not being in better shape. Inside, the clang of metal striking metal reverberates through the air. Wood cracks and sizzles from the large fire in the hearth.
“Anton!” a familiar feminine voice screeches. “How many times have I told you? You cannot add saltdusk into the crucible until you start to see the separation of metal!”
“I did see separation.”
“Then you are blind, Anton. Blind as a Cardovian fox,” Ferria snaps. “Why I waste my time with you is a mystery to all six Gods!”
Rather than leave Anton to endure more of my sister’s feisty temper, I rap my knuckles against the doorframe and step inside. “Good morning, everyone!”
Ferria’s head whips around, her wayward red curls flying. She stands with her hands on her hips, a scowl twisting her lips. Soot streaks her cheeks and forehead. Her worn leather apron doesn’t look much better, but the soft gray dress underneath appears miraculously unmarred.
Her annoyance doesn’t falter when she sees me. “You’re late.”
I balk. “The sun just rose!”
“Anton and I have been working for hours,” she retorts, waving a hand at the apprentice she’d been yelling at. “Though working is a loose term for what Anton’s done. We’ll likely have to smelt this batch all over again and pray to Ignar that the metal can be salvaged.”
I wince at the vitriol in her voice when she utters the God of Flame’s name. But when a second passes and we aren’t smote where we stand, I glance at her poor apprentice and confirm Anton is not put off by her scolding.
Like many men in Verdanthia, he’s infatuated with my stunning, hot-tempered twin. But unlike other men, he doesn’t mind being taught a trade by a woman. It's one of the many reasons I’m fond of the young man who stumbled into our town ten years ago.
“Your work ethic makes you an example to all Verdanthians,” I deadpan. “Now, are you ready to go? Most of the tradesmen are already setting up their booths for the market.”