Chapter 1: Everly

Chapter

One

EVERLY

1 summer (year) prior to the trilogy.

As the sun dips below the horizon, brushing the sky with vibrant colors, I approach the gates of Karra. Snow-capped mountains loom in the distance, their jagged peaks piercing the clouds.

I wiggle my aching feet in my boots. Usually, I don't mind traveling on foot. However, the journey from Astarobane to Karra would have been much quicker if my family could afford a horse, but we're too poor.

Hope thrums through me as I stop outside the city and smooth down the front of my new surcoat—the one Mother had insisted on sewing for me before I left Astarobane.

I exhale and turn my attention back to the city. I've spent countless nights poring over maps, my imagination conjuring visions of towering stone battlements and winding cobblestone streets. The reality before me surpasses even my most vivid dreams.

I tilt my head back to take in the sheer enormity of the walls. The rough-hewn stone towers high into the sky, with arrow slits jutting out against the brightness.

Please help me find work.

Please, Olah.

It's been a long time since Olah, the god of all Tarrobane, has answered my pleas, but it doesn't stop me from asking.

Guards stand on each side of the portcullis in rows, their studded armor glinting in the early morning light. They hold long spears, and their faces are marked with distinctive Bloodstone battle marks—those black smudges beneath their eyes and below their mouths.

As I pass beneath the portcullis, the city comes into view. The streets are narrow and winding. Buildings of various shapes and sizes nestle close together, their roofs blanketed in white. Shops and stalls line the streets, and the scent of wood smoke fills the air.

I breathe it in, savoring the familiar smell. It reminds me of home.

Despite the early hour, the city is already alive with activity. Merchants call out their wares, and people hurry past, their breath visible in the cold air.

I yank my threadbare cloak tighter around my shoulders as I make my way deeper into the city. Karra is so different from my home in Astarobane, where people like me are treated with disdain and suspicion.

Here, nobody seems to notice the red circle on my surcoat. At least, they don't turn away as I walk past, unlike in Astarobane.

A young girl with braided hair and rosy cheeks approaches me, clutching a flower in her hand.

Warmth shines in her eyes as she offers the winter jasmine to me. "For you, miss."

I accept the tiny yellow flower with a smile, tucking it into my hair. "Thank you. What is your name?"

"Olive, miss." She runs a dirty hand against her worn surcoat as she continues. "My older sister named me."

"That's a beautiful name." I reach into the bag tied to my waist and pull out one of my last coins.

The girl grins as I offer it to her, then scurries off, announcing her good fortune and intent to buy a loaf of bread.

Tears prick at my eyes as she disappears around a bend. I was like her once. Starving. Desperate.

Hope stirs in my chest as I pass three more buildings, each taller than the last. Hope that I will find work. Hope that my family will be better off when I return.

A smile tugs at my lips as I grab a wood carving of a small fox from the bag tied to my waist. My sister, Kassandra, carved the fox last summer, and I took it with me when I left for Karra. Its ears are too big, and its legs look like sticks, but Kassandra captured its bushy tail perfectly.

I close my eyes and draw in a quick breath, centering myself.

I can do this.

I have to.

The cold air lashes my cheeks as I weave through the crowd, my eyes scanning the shops and stalls for any signs of employment.

I spot a bakery on the corner, its windows fogged up from the warmth inside. The smell of freshly baked bread wafts through the air as I push the door open and step into the shop.

Shelves line the walls, laden with loaves of all shapes and sizes—crusty baguettes, round boules, and twisted sweet bread. Behind a polished counter, racks of pastries glisten with sugar and fruit filling. A large stone oven dominates the far wall, its door slightly ajar, revealing the flames within.

"Excuse me," I say to the baker, a short, stocky man with flour dusting his apron. "I'm looking for work. Do you have any positions available?"

He looks me up and down, his eyes lingering on the red circle on my surcoat. "We're not hiring at the moment."

I thank him anyway and leave the bakery.

Next, I try the cobbler's shop. The smell of leather fills my nose as I step inside, and a gruff-looking man with calloused hands continues working, as if he didn't hear me enter.

I glance around the shop, noting the rows of leather shoes and boots lining the shelves. The walls are covered in tools—awls, hammers, and knives of various sizes. A long, narrow workbench dominates the center of the room.

"I'm seeking employment," I say, trying to sound confident. "Do you have any openings?"

He doesn't bother to look up as he speaks. "No, we don't. Try somewhere else."

I make the dressmaker my next attempt, aware that this is the position I covet most. For many summers, whenever I had a free moment, I sewed to my heart's content. Perhaps now, I might secure a post where I can employ my talents.

The shop is well kept, with bolts of colorful fabric lining the walls.

A woman with graying hair and a kind face greets me as I enter. "Hello. How may I help you?"

"I'm hoping to find work," I say, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice. "Do you have any need for an extra set of hands?"

She gives me a sympathetic smile. "I'm sorry. I wish I could help, but I simply don't have the means to take on another worker right now."

Disappointment settles in my chest as I leave the dressmaker's shop. Still, I take a deep breath and square my shoulders, determined not to let this setback crush me.

There has to be someone in this city who needs a seamstress. People always need clothes mended or new ones made. It's not like everyone is running around naked. Although, that would make for an interesting sight—especially if it were Cenric running around naked.

Oh, how my heart longs to see him, the man I've been hopelessly in love with since I was fourteen. I adore his chiseled features, those piercing blue eyes, his long black hair. I shake my head, trying to dispel the tantalizing images.

Focus, Everly.

You have more important things to worry about than daydreaming about Cenric.

I try a few more shops—another tailor, the weaver, even a metalworker—but I receive the same responses: "…sorry, we're no t hiring," "…times are tough, lass," "…wish I could help, but I can barely keep myself afloat."

Each rejection chips away at my resolve, but I refuse to give up. I can't return to Astarobane empty-handed.

I take a left turn and frown when I stumble upon an alley. The buildings tower over me on either side, blocking out most of the sunlight.

Great job, Everly.

You've managed to get yourself lost in a creepy alley.

Mother would be so proud.

Two men stand on the far side of the alley, their voices carrying to me.

"We must be bolder," the one with dirty blond hair says. "And we need to work quicker to eliminate the army."

Eliminate?

The other man pats his portly belly as he responds. "Yes. I heard that Hawke is planning to kill Cenric. Then, his entire army will fall apart and run home like the cowards they are."

Kill Cenric?

My eyes widen, and a gasp escapes my lips before I can stop it.

I take a step back, ready to flee, but my foot catches on a loose cobblestone. I stumble, and the sound echoes through the alley like a clap of thunder.

A chill runs down my spine as the men's heads snap in my direction.

Oh no!