Prologue #2
So she reluctantly dragged herself back into the woods as the sun set. Hours later, she heard the chime of the dinner bell on the breeze. She had eaten already with the korrigans, but as delicious as their fish stew was, she longed for a taste of the traditional Solstice roast.
She would settle for just seeing it. She crept back through the woods to the spot from which she’d watched the boys earlier. There was no need to sneak—the korrigans would not be angry with her for going—but she did so nonetheless. Perhaps it was herself she was hiding from.
The windows of the manor were lit with flickering candlelight. Smoke poured from a dozen chimneys, leaving a hazy cloud over the great building.
It was so warm, so inviting. The cold barely touched her now that she had lived among the korrigans for so long, but she was still tempted by the promise of a night spent beside a roaring fire, a cup of hot cocoa in hand.
It was almost enough to make her forget what had happened to her in that house.
The dining room faced the eastern courtyard where the boys had been playing. It was such a grand room that it had no fewer than eight windows. The heavy curtains had been drawn over them, but there was a gap between them on the third window from the left.
Charlotte crept over the fresh snow, passing through the bushes and climbing onto a thin ledge of stone to peer inside. The gap was narrow, but it gave Charlotte a good look at the end of the table.
Keir was there, and so was Rory. They had bathed and dressed in their finest attire.
Keir was thirteen then, and this was likely his first Solstice dinner at the adult table.
He was doing his best to mind his manners and look the part of the future lord of the house, but she could hear his gentle laughter at some joke he shared with Rory, could see him fighting off the fit of giggles that desperately wanted to escape.
Charlotte’s breath caught in her throat as she watched. It was so…ordinary, so joyful, in a way their family dinners never had been.
She realized it then: she was right. They were better off without her.
Keir lifted a glass of amber liquid, and as he took a sip, he caught Charlotte’s eyes for a moment.
Charlotte stood still as she watched the color drain from his face. He froze there, the drink still touching his lips, his eyes wide open and staring straight ahead.
As Keir lowered his glass, Charlotte bolted.
She leapt from the windowsill onto the snowy ground, not noticing the pain of the impact. Not daring to look back, to see if they were coming for her, she tore across the moonlit yard into the night.
She crossed the river—the river that had nearly killed her—effortlessly. The water was as familiar to her now as her old room in the manor, as much her home as any other place. But she didn’t want to be at home. Not now.
Her feet carried her through the woods, past the korrigan’s camp, up and up, to the edge of her father’s land where it met the road into Herot’s Hollow.
With everyone at home enjoying the Winter Solstice feast, the roads were silent and still, the only sound the quick crunch of her feet through the freshly fallen snow. Charlotte knew where she was heading.
What she didn’t know was what she’d do once she got there.
Across the river, there was a line of shops with living quarters in their upper stories. Charlotte passed the tailor and the apothecary and stood in front of the third shop in the lane: Mrs. Knox’s Bakery.
Charlotte looked into the window: the shop was dark, but she could just make out the empty shelves behind the counter.
It looked just the same as it had the last time she had been there over three years earlier, the same simple wooden tables with the chairs stacked on top, the same hand-drawn sign, tucked in the corner:
1dz Solstice biscuits 1s
1?2 dz Mince pie1s5c
Solstice log 2s
Fruit cake w/o brandy2s
w/brandy 3s
The bakery was her favorite shop in Herot’s Hollow, but she wasn’t the only one who loved it.
Next door, above a venture that had changed several times over the years (Mr. Blair’s Antiques and Collectibles, Mr. Blair’s Flowers, Mr. Blair’s Fine Furnishings), candlelight flickered in the leftmost window of the upper story.
Julian was awake.
His family’s Solstice dinner must have finished before she got there.
Shadows moved at the back of the shop—Julian’s father coming up with another wild scheme to make some coin, perhaps.
Charlotte crept carefully along the front of the house, worried her hair (once brown, now korrigan silver) would catch the light from the streetlamps, alerting Julian’s father to her presence.
Charlotte and Julian had been playing together since before Charlotte could remember. They’d run up and down the streets of Herot’s Hollow, climbing the walls and the trees and generally causing mayhem.
The only thing that would get them to sit still for a minute was Mrs. Knox’s chocolate biscuits. They were crumbly and rich, covered in a thin layer of dark chocolate which Mrs. Knox pressed into a swirly pattern that made you dizzy if you stared at it too long.
Not that you would have been able to. The biscuits were so delicious, especially with a big glass of cold milk from her icebox, that they seldom lasted more than a few seconds in the presence of any of the children in town. Or any of the adults, for that matter.
Charlotte hadn’t had one of those biscuits in years. She wondered if Julian still stopped by the bakery on the way home from school. She wondered if he ate a biscuit (or two, or three) at one of the little wooden tables on his own now, or maybe if he’d made another friend to share them with.
Charlotte wondered if he thought of her sometimes.
He must have heard what happened to her.
She wondered if he believed she was dead like everyone else did, or maybe if he thought she’d run away like she often spoke of doing.
Maybe he thought she’d gone to join the pirates in the Sallin Sea.
Maybe he pictured her with a wooden leg and golden tooth, wielding a saber with a flourish as the stormy waters raged around her.
Or maybe he never thought of her at all.
Charlotte knelt to the ground in front of the shop. She felt around the cobblestones of the street until she found it: a perfect little pebble.
She turned it over in her hand, considering.
Should she see him again? Could she walk away, now that she was here?
No, she decided. She could not.
She launched the pebble upwards, striking Julian’s window with a tap.
She held her breath as she waited. His shadow stirred within the room, rising from the bed and heading to the window, the silhouette of the boy growing smaller and more distinct as he approached the paned glass.
It was him. He was taller than she had expected, and his hair had been cut closer than she knew he liked it, but it was the same boy she had known.
The same boy she had grown up with. Her best friend in the world.
At least, she hoped he was. She hoped that whatever he thought of her—if he thought of her—that it didn’t make him too sad.
She hated to imagine him sad.
Charlotte hesitated for a moment more. He was looking around—any moment now, he would spot her.
Then she took off and ran before he could.
Whoever he was now, he was better off without her. She was sure of it.