Chapter 1
Durvla
Cold dread dances along my spine as I shove a tome of fairytales beneath my mattress and sprint across my cottage.
My little brother teeters around the house, oblivious to the doom outside our door.
I snatch his knitted earflap hat off the armchair and shove it onto his head before hoisting him into my arms. “Sorry, sweet boy. Time to go play in your secret space.”
I rush over to our drying rack where small articles of clothing hang, and I overturn the whole thing.
There’s a trapdoor beneath the sheepskin rug, but before I can even get it open, a Forayer barges into my home, sneering, torch ablaze.
“Durvla Garrick, you’ve been caught harboring an Undesirable!
” he shouts. “You’ll be hanged, along with that monstrosity. ”
He points at my brother and marches toward us.
“Please. He’s not a monstrosity. He’s a child.”
The Forayer yanks his sword from his belt and raises it, set to bring it down upon us. He swings and—
I jolt awake.
Cold sweat trickles down my back, sending a tremor through me. My heart competes with my lungs, and I wheeze as I try to get my breathing under control.
There are no Forayers here.
No torchlights.
The room is dark and I’m in bed. Beside me, my five-year-old brother stirs, his little body tangled in the sheets, his curls spilling over his face.
Thank the goddess Sunlagh, it was just a dream.
I fight to steady my breathing, and my heart rate gradually calms as Taig rolls onto his stomach. I place my hand on his back. If he wakes fully, that will be the end of our night.
For a while longer, I stare at him, at the steady rise and fall of his back as he drifts into deep slumber.
Tomorrow, I need to be awake before the crack of dawn, as always. I need to sleep. I slip under the covers again and curl up close to Taig.
Eventually, sleep takes me again.
This time without any nightmares.
In the morning, Taig hobbles in circles, repeatedly squeezing his little hands together.
Our fluffy sheepdog, Finn, licks remnants of breakfast off the floor.
I try to finish getting dressed for the fourth time, wrestling my hair into thick braids and pinning the stray curls in place at the back of my head.
Loose coils still fall across my forehead and temples, but this process has been interrupted so many times by Taig getting into mischief that I don’t bother to wrangle them.
My head is pounding, no doubt from my restless night, but there’s no rest for the weary on this side of the bridge.
I regard Taig for a moment before approaching my desk.
Last night, he was eager for my constant attention, and I left my desk completely disorganized.
I meant to clean up after I finally managed to get him to sleep, but I’d just been so tired that I left it all in disarray.
I’ve already fallen behind on work this week because I’ve been wrapped in the vise grip of my malady.
I’m usually able to manage the daily headaches and other nuisances, but every now and then an unyielding episode attacks my body and flays me into submission.
I’m still recovering from the mild episode I had a few days ago, and it’s a bleak reminder of who I am. Of what I am to the crown.
Undesirable.
Unable to perceive any sounds by now, I’m not sure how much longer I can hide in plain sight.
Regret nudges me as I stare at the bundles of various plant samples and incomplete drawings scattered among my finished catalogue notes. My scissors are hiding beneath this mess somewhere …
Finn appears at my side as soon as I sit, shoving his shaggy black and white head against my leg. I jump to my feet, expecting the worst as Finn runs toward the door. His tail wags eagerly and he paws at the wood.
I tug the sleeve of my tunic down over my leather bracelet and smooth my hands over my hips as I try to steady my erratic pulse.
When I open the door, I’m met with bright blue eyes and an even brighter smile.
Finn leaps onto Osheen, his tail slapping so hard against my thigh that it stings.
Osheen manages to give Finn enough attention to satisfy him, and the dog runs off to continue his quest for stale breadcrumbs on the kitchen floor.
“Good morning!” Osheen hand signs as he speaks—a habit he’s developed for my sake over the years.
“Good morning,” I respond, also speaking aloud as I sign. “Aren’t you late for your post?”
“Yes.” He runs his fingers through his deep auburn hair. Behind him, ribbons of pink streak the brightening morning sky. “Bhugearan must truly be struggling because there isn’t much to harvest yet. I’m almost sure I’ll be home early despite arriving late.”
We’ve already had a tough winter, but the crops aren’t bouncing back as they should. Even nature is as reluctant as Mainland to ensure our survival.
He scratches his close-trimmed, auburn beard and continues. “I have bad news. You’re needed in the greenhouse.”
My stomach sinks and I quickly glance over my shoulder at Taig who is now making a beeline for my desk.
I hold up a finger to Osheen before rushing away and sweeping Taig off his feet.
His skinny little body shakes with laughter, his brown eyes lighting up with glee.
I spin him once just for fun and my head screams at me.
Bad idea. I set him down and close my eyes for a moment.
When I open them, Osheen’s concerned gaze is on me. “Are you alright?” he asks.
“Never better.” I rub my forehead and sign one-handed. “Why am I needed in the greenhouse?”
“I’m not sure. My mother just asked me to get the message to you. I can stop by and feed Taig lunch later and get him in a fresh nappy if you’d like.” He studies me cautiously.
I hesitate. “Well … are you sure? Wouldn’t Granny wonder where you are?”
“It’s not a big deal, Durvla.”
I loose a breath. “Well, if it really isn’t too much trouble—” I stop abruptly to intercept Taig as he turns to head back to my desk.
Taking his hand, I walk him over to his safe space on the opposite side of our humble abode—an enclosure made with wooden slats and a sliding gate.
It’s a glorified cage, really, but a rather comfortable one filled with his favorite toys, fluffy pillows, and blankets.
A little haven to keep him busy while I’m out.
Whenever a raid is expected, that enclosure is very easily disguised as an indoor nesting area for newborn animals in need of additional care. It’s the perfect excuse in an agricultural town.
I pick up my boots from their spot beside the door and shove my feet into them. As I bend to lace them up quickly, my head protests the position. Osheen stands there, still scrutinizing me as I stand upright again.
“Are you sure you’re alright? I can tell the girls that—”
“I’m fine.” I give him a tight smile. Taig is walking around, tilting his head side to side as though he’s dancing to imaginary music.
A grin is plastered on his face, but already his unruly curls have tumbled into his eyes.
He scrunches up his little nose and swats the curls away.
I freeze, considering going back to fix his hair—annoyed about this deviation from my planned schedule.
Unease settles into my bones, and when Osheen lays his hand on my shoulder, I nearly leap out of my skin.
“I’ll fix his hair. You go ahead,” he motions.
This time, my smile is genuine. “Are you sure you aren’t a Mind Whisperer?”
He laughs. “I just know you.”
It’s hard to deny. “Make sure you burn any soiled nappies. I’d hate to be bested by poo.”
Osheen smiles. “Durvla, I know the drill.”
I sigh and speak aloud without signing. “I’m leaving, sweet boy.
” I glance over my shoulder at Taig as I grab my triangular shawl from the rack near the door.
I drape it over my shoulders, wrapping it around my torso twice and fastening it with my leather belt to keep it in place.
I thank Osheen again, rising onto the balls of my feet to kiss him on the cheek, and step out into the crisp air.
It’s spring, but early mornings still feel wintry.
I wrap my arms around myself and inhale the fresh, damp air.
Already, the village has come alive. Women and children of different ages are outside hanging laundry on clotheslines.
Their lips move as they chat amicably with each other.
Toddlers run around barefooted, unbothered by the cold, wet soil.
I can imagine their giggles and it makes me smile.
My boots sink into the earth and moisture seeps into the weathered leather.
I need new ones, but I also need to put food on the table.
I hurry past an elderly man who’s polishing a pair of worn-down shoes even worse than mine.
A mother straightening her young daughter’s apron lifts her head to smile at me, and a few other people busy themselves repairing the holes in their roofs.
The mud turns to green grass. Cows and sheep graze leisurely in a massive expanse of meadow to my right. Osheen’s mother stands in the pathway ahead of me. She waves both arms above her head, a bright smile on her face.
“Good morning, Orla,” I say when I’m within her hearing range.
“Good morning, dear.” She doesn’t know how to sign, and it’s not safe in public, but she always makes sure to face me so I can easily read her lips.
“Sorry to pull you away from your cataloguing, but we seem to have a problem. Quite a few of our plants are withering, so we could use your expertise.”
I simply nod and Orla’s thin lips curl into a tender smile before sadness glosses over her eyes. Her fading auburn hair blows in the breeze that sweeps across the path, and she ties it back with a ribbon as we begin the short trek to the greenhouse.