Page 2

Chapter

One

The kettle’s whistle pierced the still air, dragging me from the fog of exhaustion.

There was no time for sleep.

I measured the herbs, echinacea for his immune system, turmeric for inflammation, peppermint for his pain.

Grinding them released their familiar, earthy scent, mixing with the quiet dread I carried.

I wasn’t a healer, but I had my research and wasn’t ready to let go.

Each dose felt like a tiny rebellion against the illness trying to steal my father.

Carrying the steaming tea, I forced a smile and entered Dad’s room.

He lay propped up against a stack of pillows, looking smaller than I ever remembered.

Dr. Vager was there, his face drawn with fatigue and concern.

He took the cup from me, his fingers warm against mine, and handed it to Dad.

“Brida, could we talk for a moment?” Vager’s voice was gentle but held an edge of urgency.

My heart sank, but I nodded and followed him into the hallway, the wooden floorboards creaking beneath us.

In the dim kitchen, Vager leaned against the counter, his shoulders slumped.

“I’ve done all I can,” he said quietly, his words hanging heavy in the air.

“Based on what I’m seeing, I’d estimate a year.”

A year.

The words echoed in my mind, an impossible sentence.

My grip tightened around the edge of the counter.

“No, that can’t be,” I insisted, shaking my head.

“He was fine just a month ago.” My voice cracked, the frustration and fear spilling over.

“There must be something we haven’t tried. Azmeer has healers with knowledge we don’t have here.”

Vager sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“It’s possible, but we’re out of options locally. Without knowing exactly what’s wrong…”

“There has to be something!” I cut him off, my desperation mounting.

“There are herbs, treatments, something we haven’t thought of yet. I can’t just give up.”

Vager studied me for a moment, a flicker of pity in his eyes.

He reached into his bag and pulled out a list. “These are the strongest remedies we have available. They might help with the symptoms, but…”

“But they won’t cure him,” I finished, my voice hollow.

I took the list, my fingers trembling.

“I refuse to believe he only has a year left. He was fine—he was fine.” The tears I’d been holding back burned at the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them away, swallowing the lump in my throat.

“There has to be a way.”

Vager nodded, a resigned look on his face.

“Please let me know if you need me.”

I stumbled back to Dad’s room.

The gentle rise and fall of his chest was a small, bittersweet comfort, a reminder that he was still here, even if only just. I left a note on his bedside table, a promise of my return, before grabbing my coat and heading into town.

The familiar trip into town took mere minutes, our home just on the fringes.

Escalia wasn’t a large city by any means; it could hardly be called a city at all.

We were a moderate-sized town in the Northern Ridge, largely ignored by Azmeer.

Yes, they would send their tax collectors each year, and the new decrees for the year would be read, but for the most part, we were forgotten.

The sounds of horses whinnying, children playing, and the locals at the tavern already engrossed in their daily debate, despite it being barely midmorning, filled the air as I made my way along the streets.

As was customary on my visits into Escalia, I drew stares from its residents as I walked by.

“ Your hair makes you special, Brida. You may not see it now, but you’ll appreciate it one day. ” My mother’s words echoed in my mind as I moved through the crowd.

Women glanced at me, their eyes lingering with a mixture of curiosity and unease.

My hair—a deep shade of almost black, threaded with subtle crimson—made me stand out starkly among the locals.

Growing up, I had felt like an outsider, constantly aware of the curious stares and whispers behind my back.

Children can be cruel, and I had endured more than my share of taunts and teasing.

“Red-eyed witch,” they called me, and “darkling,” as if my unusual appearance marked me as something otherworldly.

As a child, all I had wanted was to blend in, to be like everyone else.

I had spent countless nights wishing my hair would lighten, that I could walk through the streets without drawing attention.

I’d come to the realization now that it would never be the case, not unless I left.

At the apothecary, I reached into my pocket and pulled out Vager’s list, smoothing the crumpled paper with careful fingers.

The air inside was thick with the mingling scents of dried herbs and tinctures.

I felt the weight of the shop assistant’s gaze—a hard, assessing stare.

Her eyes, cold and unforgiving, swept over me as I scanned the shelves.

I spotted the milk thistle first, its vibrant purple petals dried and fragile.

My hand paused over the jars of turmeric, the golden powder gleaming in the dim light.

As I added each item to my basket, the assistant’s lips tightened, her expression growing sharper as if my mere presence offended her.

I kept my focus on the list, resisting the urge to meet her gaze, and continued gathering the ingredients, each movement deliberate and unwavering.

I thanked her, as I always did despite the treatment.

With my nails digging into my palm, I made my way onto the covered porch.

“It’s going to be in a couple of weeks!” The shout from a boy cut through the thick hum of market noise.

I barely registered it at first, distracted by the sight of shoppers moving from stall to stall and smells of freshly baked bread swirling around me, but there was something about his voice that made me pause.

“If I get an invitation, I’m going. I bet I’d do well in Azmeer.” Another boy, older, swaggered as he spoke, his friend answering with a playful punch to the arm.

Azmeer? My ears pricked up, my attention shifting away from the dusty market stalls, and focusing instead on the scattered conversations drifting through the air.

I caught snatches of excitement, the underlying thrill vibrating beneath the words.

Something was stirring, something important.

A vendor arranging his wares nearby murmured to his partner, “I heard the invitations are already going out. Only a thousand or so…no one knows the exact number.”

My chest tightened.

Invitations?

I slowed my steps, glancing around, trying to catch more of what they were saying.

A thousand invitations.

A thousand…to what? The Courting.

The word struck like a hammer, and suddenly, everything clicked into place, the scattered pieces forming a picture in my mind.

The Courting, the elusive chance to prove oneself worthy of Azmeer.

My heart stuttered in my chest. The Courting.

The realization settled in slowly, creeping up from the edges of my mind, and with it came a rising sense of panic.

The invitations were already out.

They’d been sent. Each fragment of conversation confirmed it; everyone was talking about it, everyone except me.

Why hadn’t I heard anything?

Why hadn’t…no. No. This couldn’t be happening.

I couldn’t have missed this.

This was the opportunity I’d been waiting for, the way out, the way to help my father.

My pulse quickened, a sharp urgency replacing the dull thrum of the market around me.

I pushed through the noise, zeroing in on a cluster of children nearby, my voice cutting through their chatter before I even realized what I was saying.

“Excuse me,” I blurted, barely able to hide the tremor in my words.

“Where did you hear that the invitations had already been sent out?”

The boys turned, startled by my interruption.

One of them, with an easy smirk, looked me over as though deciding if I was worth responding to.

He must’ve found me harmless enough because he shrugged, his voice casual.

“Some of the older kids are already talking about it. They’ve seen the invitations and can’t wait to check their mail. We don’t have any yet, though.”

I nodded, not really seeing them anymore.

His words tumbled through my mind, over and over.

The invitations had been sent.

There might be one waiting for me.

I could feel the weight of that possibility like a physical thing, heavy and dangerous.

There might be one. There had to be one.

Without another word, I spun on my heel and hurried back the way I came.

My breath was shallow, each step faster than the last, fueled by a quiet determination that pulsed through me like a drumbeat.

Azmeer. This was my way in.

My way to help Dad.

I didn’t know how or when, but I would seize it.