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Although, this particular morning was proving stressful for him—one order required a complete makeover. The property owner, Zsuzsanna, rifled through her satchel, then withdrew her coin purse. She placed the money on the counter, which Daro took with a warm smile.

“Thank you. From what you’ve told me, the original stove was built poorly. Especially if it’s baking unevenly, and smoke’s pluming out of it.” He put the down-payment into a pouch, wrote a receipt on a piece of parchment, then handed it to her. “Can be mighty hard to fix too.”

“Do whatever it takes,” she said. “Rip it out and start again if you must. Take care, Daro.” She bowed her head and left the workshop.

He swivelled around to study the makeshift calendar and accounting system he’d created, which hung behind his bench.

Each workday was marked with a customer’s details—some blocked out several days if the job warranted.

Even during the winter festivities, he maintained a steady flow of customers.

Once he’d scrawled Zsuzsanna’s onto the following week’s availability, he tapped his fingers against his lips.

A singular name stuck out. Pyotr Lebedev, an ex-employee of Filip Tarasov and an alcoholic, was written at the bottom of the calendar.

Two strikes followed his name, representing each month gone by without payment.

Shaking his head, he wondered what to do.

Everyone in the town knew of Pyotr’s predicament—battling with alcoholism, spending his earnings in the tavern.

Daro considered Pyotr’s wife, Inessa. She was raising two small children at home, like his own wife had.

Did he have it in him to go round and demand his overdue payments?

He shook his head. He’d deal with it another time, as he quite often told himself.

Tools were scattered along the shelves next to tins of white paint.

Baskets filled with pebbles lined the walls, collected to create the cool layer over the stoves.

Bricks were stacked, and small iron doors sat neatly in the corner.

Daro also sold accessories, such as cast iron and enamel pots and pans.

Rarely, he’d get his hands on copper kettles which would sell to higher class clientele around the time of the test each year, when Filip Tarasov entered the village with his wealthy men.

On the right-hand side of the workshop, Daro’s own stove stood. Poppies were painted on the white-washed brickwork, which impressed interested customers when using the stove during demonstrations.

He grabbed a cloth from within his workbench drawer, then used it to wipe away the light dust gathering on the rim above the stove opening. Taking a couple of steps back, he admired his handiwork. “Best one I’ve ever made. ”

The bell rang above the main door as another customer entered. Daro turned around as Pyotr stumbled in through the entrance, and with him, a waft of stale beer.

Daro wrinkled his nose, wiped his hands on his overalls, then walked towards his visitor. “Morning Pyotr. Wife and kids okay?”

“They’re fine.” He waved his hand dismissively. “I’ve come to speak to you.”

Pressing his lips into a thin line, Daro positioned himself behind the bench. “To discuss the payments?”

He ignored the sickly scent of alcohol clinging to his neighbour’s clothes. It was either a case of early morning drinking or he was yet to go home from the night before.

Pyotr shrugged his right shoulder. “The thing is, it’s little Anya’s fourth birthday on the weekend.

We could do with the money for her celebrations.

Money’s been a bit tight this month, what with the winter solstice.

My darling wife needed to replace the pans as they were scorched by the broken stove. You know how it is.”

Daro narrowed his gaze at him. His blood boiled. How could he use his wife and daughter as excuses for his failings?

“I understand your circumstances—I really do. However, I have my own family to support. Adelina, although she is now a grown woman, she still lives under my roof. Tihana is a child, and my dear wife, too. I have responsibilities, and a reputation to uphold. You have until the end of the week to pay the remaining balance.” He placed his hands on his hips and kept his gaze locked on Pyotr .

“It must be nice to buy your family gifts when the cash comes flowing in.” Pyotr edged closer. “We wouldn’t want anything to happen.”

“Are you threatening me?” Daro curled his fingers around the edge of the workbench until his knuckles turned white.

“We both know accidents happen. Here at your shop, you have so many flammable things. Valuable things. I could guard the shop for you while you’re not here, make sure nothing bad happens—if you write off my debt of course.”

“Consider your next words carefully.”

“Come on, we were friends for ten years, Daro—that can’t be easily forgotten. We could help each other out.”

Daro gritted his teeth. “Ten years is a long time. People move on. Leave my shop before I throw you out.”

“Suit yourself.” He shrugged his shoulder, then left, letting the door slam shut behind him.

Alone and surrounded by silence, Daro puffed out a deep breath.

He stretched his arms, then turned his attention to the outstanding stove orders. An alcoholic’s threat was empty, like his purse.

∞∞∞

Bustling through the front door, Adelina clutched brown paper bags filled with groceries. She stacked them onto the dining table as Velinka dusted and organised the bookshelf opposite the stove and seating area.

“Thank you, dear,” she said. “Would you mind putting the things away? I’m making sure I’m ready for when home education resumes for Tihana next week. Perhaps in the New Year, you could think of getting a job.”

Adelina halted. “I haven’t considered such things, what with the celebrations and the test in two days.”

“As you said, you’ll be fine. I’ve put my fears to rest.” Velinka waved her hand, as if dismissing the likelihood she could be the person Filip was looking for.

If only she knew about the dream. “Salma, down the road, is a well-established seamstress. You’re skilled with a needle—you could ask for a part-time job to start with. ”

Adelina stared at her mother.

“Damir is a fine young man, too. I’m sure he will take care of you.”

“What does he have to do with this?” Adelina frowned.

“Your father and I missed the opportunity to arrange a marriage for you at the winter solstice, but we both know he’d support you and any children you may have—”

“Whoa, hold on, Ma. Where is this coming from?” She raised her hands.

Velinka kept her gaze on the table between them. She blinked several times, then glanced up to meet her daughter’s stare. “Sit down, dear. We ought to talk.”

As they eased into their chairs, Adelina’s pulse pumped in her ears .

She reached across the table and clutched Velinka’s trembling hand. “What is it?”

“While you were at the market, you father popped home for ten minutes.” She shook her head. “He shared some troubling information about Pyotr.”

“The alcoholic you mentioned at dinner?”

“Yes, dear. He’s requested your father write off his debt.” Her eyes darkened. “And insinuated something bad would happen if he refused.”

“Something bad—like what?”

“Pyotr mentioned the contents of your father’s shop are flammable and valuable.” Velinka grimaced. “At best, he could steal a few things, and at worst…well, I dread to think.”

Adelina sat back in her chair, letting go of her mother’s hand. “Pa would never concede to threats. His business is his livelihood.”

“I know, dear.” Velinka rubbed her temples, closing her eyes.

While Adelina didn’t wish to make her mother worry more than she probably was, her secret weighed on her.

“There’s something I need to show you.” She peeled back her collar and revealed her morphed birthmark.

Her mother gasped, then clamped a hand over her mouth. “How did you get that?”

“It happened in a dream. I woke up and it was still there.”

“You should leave. Now.” Velinka rose, darted into the kitchen, then pulled bread, cheese, and nuts from the pantry. She shoved them into a bag as Adelina hurried after her .

“What? I can’t!” Adelina gripped her mother’s hand and stopped her. “Listen, Ma. This mark isn’t going away. I don’t know what it means, but I’m sure it’s connected to the test. It’s got to be.”

Velinka was silent for a moment. “The symbol is an ancient rune.”

“And?”

“I’ve witnessed tests happening for the past ten years, dear. The magic has never been found because no one has ever been marked.” Velinka’s face paled.

“How do you know this? Why has no one said anything about a mark?” Adelina’s heart pounded.

“Filip is careful to make sure no one finds out about it. Pyotr and your father used to be close friends some years ago, before he had a drinking problem. He told your father about the mark—not long after he left Filip’s employ—information he shouldn’t have shared.

We’ve kept it a secret because if anyone found out… well, we’d be imprisoned or worse.”

“This doesn’t make sense. If Filip has spent the last ten years looking for astral magic, why wouldn’t he want people to know about the mark?” Adelina kept her unwavering gaze locked on her mother as she gripped the kitchen counter.

“ Filip is a person who likes power and control. If he is the only one with certain information, then he is at an advantage. If someone bore the sun mark and knew what it meant, they may be scared and try to flee, which is precisely what Filip doesn’t want.

You must leave Aramoor while you still can.

We’ll take you to your father—he can go see the stableman and arrange for a reliable, sturdy horse.

You should ride tonight until you’re far away from here.

You can find a job—Damir will go with you. ”

Adelina grabbed her mother by the shoulders. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Darling, I know you want to help, but you must leave.”