Page 3

Chapter 2

T he Everwood market was already alive with noise by the time I stepped onto the cobbled main street, Maeve perched on my hip and my coin pouch pressed tightly to my side.

Vendors called out their wares in sing-song chants, their voices rising above the murmur of customers bartering over fresh produce, bolts of dyed fabric, and polished trinkets. A lute thrummed a merry tune somewhere nearby, half-buried beneath the steady clatter of wagon wheels and boots against stone.

Maeve inhaled deeply, sighing in delight. “Smells like pie.”

“It smells like fish and damp wool,” I muttered, adjusting my grip on her as I stepped around a slow-moving cart piled high with pumpkins.

She ignored me, twisting in my arms to point toward a cluster of wooden stalls near the square’s center. “We gettin’ treats?”

I exhaled through my nose. “We’re getting parchment, madder root, and linseed oil. Necessary things.”

Maeve deflated dramatically. “Pie’s necessary.”

“You have a very loose definition of necessity.”

She hummed in vague disagreement, already distracted by the bustle around her. I hitched her higher on my hip, adjusting my grip as I wove through the throng of marketgoers.

The crowd wasn’t thick yet, but it would be soon. By midday, the square would be impossible to navigate, full of travelers stopping in Everwood before heading north for the winter and local farmers eager to sell off the last of their autumn crops before the first frost.

I just needed to be quick.

I shifted my coin pouch to my other hip, making sure the strap was tight. The last thing I needed was some nimble-fingered thief making off with my week’s earnings.

Maeve, meanwhile, had resumed her own personal mission of distraction.

“Look, goat!” she chirped, pointing toward a nearby stall.

“Yes, that is a goat.”

“It has a funny beard.”

“So do half the men in the square.”

She giggled, and despite myself, my lips twitched.

But the moment of amusement faded quickly as my arms began to ache from holding her. She wasn’t small anymore, not really. My little sprout of a girl had grown taller over the last season, her baby fat shifting into something leaner, her steps steadier, her mind quicker.

I should have brought the sling, but it was old, and the seams had begun to fray. And coin was tight enough without adding fabric to the list of things we needed before winter.

So I adjusted my grip again and kept walking.

The press of bodies was thick and cloying, despite the cool autumn breeze. A dull ache pulsed at the base of my skull, just behind my eyes. I blinked hard, willing away the flicker of fatigue creeping along the edges of my vision.

I didn’t have time to be tired.

I rolled my shoulders, shifting Maeve’s weight as I edged toward the nearest stall. The vendor—a thick-armed woman with a salt-streaked braid—was stacking bundles of dried herbs onto her display, her movements quick and practiced.

“Morning, Rowena,” she greeted without looking up.

“Morning, Betha.” I tightened my grip on Maeve as she made an eager grab for a bundle of lavender. “Hands to yourself, May.”

Maeve huffed but obeyed, though her fingers twitched as if the urge to grab things was an unstoppable force of nature.

Betha smirked, giving my niece an appraising look. “She’s getting big.”

“Too big.” I adjusted my hold again, my arms aching. “She’s all elbows these days.”

“I’m growin’,” Maeve announced proudly.

Betha chuckled, plucking a handful of dried petals from a basket and pressing them into Maeve’s waiting hands. “Then here. Something to keep you busy while your mum shops.”

I didn’t correct her. No one in Everwood called me Maeve’s aunt.

Maeve grinned, rolling the petals between her fingers, staining them faintly pink. “Sticky.”

“Good,” Betha said. “Means they’re fresh.”

I exhaled and set Maeve down, grateful for even thirty seconds of distraction. “I need madder root. A full bundle, if you’ve got it.”

“Five silvers.”

I counted them out carefully, my movements a fraction slower than they should have been. The market air was thicker than before, the heat of too many bodies pressing against me, the pulse behind my eyes duller but insistent.

Just get through the errands. Then home.

Betha slipped the coins into her apron pocket. “You ought to let Iris mix you up something for those shadows under your eyes, girl.”

“I’ll sleep when Maeve does.” I tucked the madder root into my satchel. “Which means never.”

Betha snorted. “Sounds about right. Safe walk to you.”

I dipped my head in thanks, reaching for Maeve’s hand.

We wove through the crowd, Maeve’s small fingers tangled in mine. The parchment stall wasn’t far, just past the candle-makers and the elderberry syrup vendor. If I kept my pace steady and resisted distractions, I could get what I needed and be on my way before the worst of the lunch rush crowd—

Maeve tugged at my hand, yanking me out of my thoughts. “Whoa,” she whispered.

I blinked, glancing down at her. “What?”

Maeve was staring—not at a stall or a pie vendor, but at a man.

An orc.

Orcs weren’t uncommon in Everwood, not anymore. The war had forced people together, and even after the treaties were signed, some had stayed. A few ran shops, a handful served in the city’s guard, and others worked where strong hands were needed. But that didn’t mean people were used to them yet.

I saw it now—the way the crowd parted instinctively around him, the way some people kept their heads down as he passed, not hostile, but cautious. Others gave him long, wary looks, as if still deciding what they thought of him.

But he didn’t seem to notice.

He moved like a current against the tide—steady, unbothered, cutting through the crowd as if it barely touched him. His sheer size commanded space, his broad shoulders framed by the morning light slanting between the canvas awnings. A dark leather satchel was slung across his chest, resting against the thick muscle of his torso. His tusked profile was serious, unreadable.

Maeve stared, wide-eyed.

I gave her hand a little squeeze, but she didn’t react. Her gaze stayed locked on him, as if she were trying to memorize every detail.

I didn’t blame her.

Because I was doing the same damn thing.

Maeve exhaled, long and dramatic. “He’s real big.”

I swallowed. “Yes. He is.”

I lingered half a second too long before snapping myself out of it, forcing my feet forward.

We had things to do.

Corwin’s parchment stall was just ahead, tucked beneath a red-striped awning. Seeing it sent a flicker of relief through me—one step closer to being done.

I adjusted my grip on Maeve as we approached. “Stay close,” I murmured, though she was already pressing against my side, still sneaking glances over her shoulder.

“Can we go back and see the big green man?”

“No.”

“But—”

“Maeve.”

She huffed, but thankfully, Corwin chose that moment to acknowledge me.

“Ah, Ms. Byrne,” he greeted, pushing his spectacles up his nose. “You’re later than usual.”

“Busy morning.” I set a hand against the counter, my fingers trembling slightly. Too many errands, too little sleep. Keep moving.

Corwin reached beneath the counter and pulled out a neatly wrapped parcel of parchment. “Good quality, as always.” He hesitated, glancing toward Maeve before adding, “Though prices have risen. I hope you brought extra coin.”

I stifled a sigh, reaching for my pouch. “Prices have risen every week, Corwin. I don’t have extra coin to throw at your whims.”

Corwin sniffed, adjusting his spectacles. “Not whims, Rowena. Inflation. Transportation costs. Supply shortages.” He spread his hands as if the entire economy of Everwood rested on his shoulders. “You know how it is.”

I did. And I hated it.

“I’ve always paid a fair price,” I said, folding my arms. “I won’t pay a copper more than what was agreed.”

Corwin sighed, rubbing at his temple. “You’re as stubborn as Thok at tax season.”

That, at least, I wouldn’t argue.

Corwin gave in with a grumble, sliding the parchment toward me. “Fine. Fine. Seven silver, as we originally discussed. But next time—”

I didn’t hear the rest.

Because as I turned and reached for Maeve, my hand met nothing but air.

My stomach dropped.

“Maeve?” My voice was sharp, cutting through the marketplace din.

No answer.

Panic flooded my veins, quick and cold. I spun, eyes snapping over the crowd. People shifted around me, unaware, unconcerned. A halfling woman haggled over a bundle of rosemary. A pair of elven merchants muttered in quiet conversation. A human trader barked out the price of ripened pears. Too many faces, too many moving pieces.

Maeve was small. Too small to see over the shoulders of bustling marketgoers. Too fast, too clever—just like her mother.

I forced down the rising terror and pivoted on my heel, scanning the gaps between stalls, the paths between carts. She couldn’t have gotten far.

“Maeve!” My voice strained now, bordering on desperate. Where is she?

The headache pulsed sharper, radiating behind my eyes, sending a wave of nausea rolling through my gut. The sounds of the market swelled and blurred, a cacophony of voices, footsteps, distant laughter, the clink of coins, all pressing in—

Too much.

Too loud.

I swallowed against it, pushing forward.

Maeve was quick on her feet. She liked to chase cats, touch every piece of fabric within reach, wander toward anything that glittered. Had she seen something? Had she run after it? Had someone—

I cut the thought off before it could fully form. She was fine. She had to be fine.

But by the Seven, what was wrong with me? I shouldn’t have let go of her hand. I knew better. I should have been watching her, should have—

My vision swam.

"Maeve!" I called again, but my voice was raw, barely cutting through the din.

The world tilted slightly, my limbs heavy, slow. I needed to breathe.

I needed—

Then, just as fast as the panic had swallowed me—

There.

Maeve stood a few paces ahead, tiny fingers curled trustingly around a massive green hand.

The orc.

He held her steady in the busy street, his broad frame a solid wall against the jostling marketplace. The midday light caught on the deep lines of his face, the scar along his cheekbone stark against his dark green skin. His gaze—sharp, unreadable—lifted from Maeve to me.

The weight of it pinned me in place—calm, unreadable, almost too steady, like he was already seeing more than I meant to show.

Then I was moving, stumbling toward them, relief and panic tangling like frayed threads. Maeve was safe—safe—but I needed to touch her, to feel her warm and breathing beneath my hands.

But as I reached for her, the world lurched sharply to the side.

The ground swayed beneath me, the flood of bodies pressing in, the noise thick and dizzying. My lungs seized, dragging for air that wouldn’t come.

Too much.

Too loud.

Too—

The orc shifted. Stepped forward.

“She yours?” His voice was low, rough with something unreadable—judgment, disapproval… or maybe just curiosity.

I couldn’t answer.

Not because I didn’t want to—but because my tongue felt thick, my throat tight. My hands trembled where they hovered just short of Maeve, fingers curling toward her before curling in on themselves.

Maeve said something, but I didn’t catch it. My heartbeat drowned out the words, roaring in my ears.

My knees buckled.

The last thing I registered was the orc’s grip closing around my upper arm, holding me up, keeping me from careening to the ground. Maybe he said something: a curse, a murmur, an order. Maybe Maeve called my name.

I didn’t know.

The edges of my vision blackened.

And then, there was nothing.