Page 2

Chapter 1

“ I sla, stand still!” Lady Hargrave’s voice cut through the chaos of the sitting room, her frustration barely contained as she tried to adjust the hem of her daughter’s dress. Isla, her face scrunched in displeasure, twisted and squirmed, clearly unimpressed.

“I don’t like flowers!” Isla wailed, tugging at the delicate stitching I’d spent hours perfecting. “They’re ugly!”

“Isla, that’s enough,” Lady Hargrave snapped. “Mrs. Ashford, do you hear this?”

I straightened up from where I’d been kneeling, pinning the hem of another garment. “My apologies,” I replied, keeping my tone even, though I distinctly remembered Isla insisting on flowers just last week. “If they’re not to your liking, I can remove them.”

Isla’s younger brother, who had been running circles around the room, crashed into his sister with a loud giggle, nearly toppling her over. “Mama, look!” he shouted, waving a wooden sword. Lady Hargrave barely glanced at him.

“Remove them,” she said, her voice cold. “I can’t believe we’re dealing with this just a day before the delegation from Valara arrives.”

I swallowed the retort that bubbled up in my throat, bending back down to my work as Isla continued to pout. “I’ll have the flowers removed and the hem re-stitched by tomorrow morning.”

Lady Hargrave merely hummed in response, her attention drifting away as she inspected another dress I’d mended earlier in the week. I’d been doing seamstress work for her for nearly two years now, ever since the war left me with no choice but to find whatever work I could. She was my most difficult customer, with exacting standards and a tendency to find fault in even the smallest detail. But she was also my best-paying one, and the money I earned from her commissions was often the only thing keeping me and Elias afloat.

“Here.” Lady Hargrave’s sharp voice pulled me from my thoughts. She extended a small pouch toward me, her expression unreadable.

I took the pouch, feeling its weight in my hand. My heart sank—this wasn’t nearly what I was expecting.

“My lady,” I began carefully, “this doesn’t seem to be the full amount we agreed on.”

Lady Hargrave’s eyes flicked up to meet mine, a cool smile curving her lips. “Do you expect me to pay you for work that will need to be redone?”

I hesitated but couldn’t let it go. “I understand, my lady, but the price was set, and I’ll make the changes to your specifications at no extra charge.”

Lady Hargrave let out a cold, almost mocking laugh. “Extra charge? Mrs. Ashford, next time, just get it right the first time.”

Nothing I could say would make this situation better. If anything, arguing would only make things worse—would possibly even cost me this job. And as much as I hated the unfairness of it, I needed this work.

I took a deep breath and nodded, keeping my voice steady. “Of course. I’ll have the adjustments made by tomorrow.”

“See that you do,” she replied, already turning her attention elsewhere, dismissing me.

I bit my tongue, forced a tight smile, and turned on my heel, clutching the pouch of underpaid coins as I gathered my bags and saw myself out of the room.

I made my way through the dimly lit hallways of the estate. The grandeur of the councilman’s manor always felt suffocating—high ceilings, ornate tapestries, and the constant hush of a house that was more about appearances than comfort. A far cry from my modest cottage on the edge of town, nestled at the border where the forest met the quiet, cobbled street. My cottage was small, a little rundown, with creaking floorboards and a roof that leaked when it rained too hard, but its crooked charm made it feel like home. I’d take that over this hollow luxury any day.

Instead of heading for the front door, I kept going down the stairs toward the kitchen, where the quiet faded into a comforting hum. The distant clatter of pots, the low murmur of conversation, and the occasional burst of laughter drifted up the stairwell.

Finally, I pushed open a heavy door and was immediately greeted by a lively scene. The large, warm room was bustling with activity—servants darting to and fro, chopping vegetables, kneading dough, stirring pots that bubbled over open flames. Heat rolled off the ovens, clinging to my skin. The sound of knives chopping against wood and the sizzle of oil filled the space, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter.

And there, at the center of it all, was my best friend, Thyri. Her hair was a wild mess of golden curls, barely contained by a scarf, and her apron was splattered with flour and who-knew-what else, but her smile was as bright as ever when she spotted me.

“Sor!” she called out, her voice cutting through the din as she waved me over. “Don’t linger in the doorway. Come in.”

“Thyri,” I greeted her with a tired smile, glad to see a friendly face. Following her instructions, I stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind me.

Thyri and I had known each other since we were just schoolgirls, running through the streets of Everwood with ribbons in our hair and dirt on our skirts. We’d spend hours by the river, skipping stones and talking about who we might be one day, back when the idea of the future was still wrapped in the softness of a dream.

When I married Kald, Thyri was by my side, fussing over my dress and making sure my hair was just right. She teased me for choosing the blacksmith's apprentice, saying I was always too practical. But he was kind and sensible, and that was enough for me. We laughed that day, thinking life would just go on like it always had—full of warmth, with Kald at the forge and Thyri sneaking us both rolls from Lady Hargrave’s estate.

But the war came, and life got harder, darker. Kald went off to fight, and suddenly, the streets we used to run through as girls felt colder, and the air, once full of laughter and gossip, grew thick with whispers of loss and fear. Thyri stayed on at the estate, working in the kitchens, while I was left to raise Elias alone.

And now, years later, with everything that had changed, Thyri was still one of the few people who could make me feel like things might be okay. She hadn’t lost her quick smile or her knack for sneaking sweets out of the kitchen. When she called me “Sor” instead of Soraya, like she used to back in school, it was like, for just a moment, we were those carefree girls again, untouched by war and grief. Almost.

As I settled onto a stool in her corner of the kitchen, I reached into my basket and pulled out the neatly folded apron I’d spent the last evening mending.

“I brought this back for you,” I said, holding it out to her. “I added a little something.”

Thyri unfurled the apron, her eyes lighting up as she noticed the small, embroidered design near the hem—a cluster of tiny flowers in soft colors, delicate but cheerful.

“This is beautiful!” she exclaimed, running her fingers over the stitching. “You didn’t have to do this, but I love it.”

“I thought you might,” I replied, feeling pleased. “You’re always doing things for me and Elias. I wanted to do something for you.”

“Speaking of which, I believe a certain little boy is turning seven today, if I’m not mistaken.” She reached into the deep pocket of her apron and pulled out a small, cloth-wrapped bundle. “I saved these just for him,” she said, pressing it into my hands.

“Thyri, you’re spoiling him,” I teased, shaking my head but taking the gift.

“Nonsense,” she replied, brushing off the comment with a wave of her hand. “Everyone should have sweets on their birthday.”

I unwrapped the cloth just enough to see the rolls inside, golden-brown and still warm, the scent of cinnamon making my mouth water.

“He’s going to love these,” I said, tucking the bundle securely into the basket. “Thank you.”

Thyri leaned against the counter, folding the apron carefully and tucking it into a drawer for safekeeping. “So, how was the fitting with Lady Hargrave? I swear, every time you come down here, you look more exhausted.”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “She shorted me again,” I admitted, keeping my voice low so as not to be overheard.

Thyri frowned. “It’s not right, Soraya.”

“I know,” I said, biting back my frustration. “Today’s payment was supposed to go toward getting Elias a set of paints for his birthday. He’s been asking for them for weeks. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Now... it’s just going to be another year without a gift.”

Another year of promises I couldn't keep. He never complained, but I saw the disappointment in his eyes, the way he stopped asking after a while. How much longer before the weight of what I couldn't give him became too heavy for both of us?

“That’s not fair to either of you.” Thyri reached out, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. “Maybe I can talk to one of the kitchen boys—see if they can carve something for him. It won’t be fancy, but it’ll be something.” That was Thyri, always finding a way, doing whatever she could to make life just a little bit sweeter.

I smiled, though it didn’t quite reach my eyes. “Thank you, Thyri. But you don’t need to trouble yourself. We’ll manage.”

Before she could respond, a sudden commotion erupted from the far end of the kitchen. A loud whoosh was followed by a panicked yelp, and the smell of something burning filled the air. I turned just in time to see a plume of smoke rising from one of the stoves, where an elven kitchen maid—distinguishable by her pointed ears—was frantically waving her hands, trying to extinguish the flames that had erupted from a pot of soup.

“Not again,” Thyri muttered, her brows knitting together in frustration. “That girl and her spells...”

With a quick squeeze of my hand, Thyri rushed over to the stove, barking orders to the other kitchen staff as she grabbed a jar of enchanted salt from the counter. She sprinkled it over the flaming pot, and within seconds, the fire sputtered out, leaving only a faint wisp of smoke and a slightly charred smell behind.

The kitchen erupted into a flurry of activity as the staff hurried to salvage the meal. Thyri, always calm under pressure, took charge, directing everyone with practiced ease.

Not wanting to get in the way, I quietly gathered my basket and slipped out of the kitchen. The lively chatter and clatter faded behind me as I made my way out the back door. The sweet rolls in my basket were better than nothing but still a poor substitute for the gift I’d hoped to bring Elias.

As I stepped out into the late afternoon sun, I steeled myself for the evening ahead—another late night of mending, another year where Elias would go without the gift he truly wanted. I’ve survived worse , I reminded myself. The war had taken so much, but I still had Elias.

And as long as I had him, I’d do whatever I could to keep us moving forward.