3. THREE
three
WILLARD
By the time I make it to the outskirts of Padmoor it’s after noon. Clouds skitter and dissipate, and harsh sunlight streaks across the angled rooftops of the town. I pull the hood of my cloak over my face, shading my eyes. Buyers bustle back and forth between the merchant carts lining the main road. Charred gouges shred the cobblestone street, edges of buildings blackened by yesterday’s attack.
Dragonfire is unlike regular fire. Fire burns everything flammable. But dragonfire scores its target, marring everything in its path.
As I walk further down the street, the frenzy of the crowd thickens. Each Arterian’s stare flicks over me with the same expression.
Wide-eyed.
Distressed.
Terrified.
It’s the first dragon attack here in years. And while it was only a matter of time, the event is enough to send people into a panic. Civilians stock up on what they can, in case another dragon comes. In case they aren’t as lucky next time around, and not even the King can save them.
Because dragons are ruthless.
Vicious and savage creatures determined to destroy anything and everything in their paths. They are loyal to none.
The King declared war on dragons long ago to save us from the wicked beasts. And we might have eradicated the dwindling species if sympathizers hadn’t split off for the Dragon Lands to our north.
Rebels: the more precise word for what most Arterians call sympathizers. They revel in bloodshed and worship the winged beasts of the sky. We’re encouraged to report any suspicious activity or persons to our town council. Turning in a rebel garners respect, and reporting someone you know? Honorable. It signifies you value your kingdom more than any loyalty to the people you love.
Besides, refraining to report a known sympathizer means a guaranteed execution. Especially since rumors began circulating in recent years that those same rebels were attacking the northern cities of Arterias. We are lucky we haven’t been targeted.
Yet.
Perhaps it was only a matter of time.
But it’s not something I can consider right now. I don’t have the luxury of time—we will probably die of starvation first. Unless some gods-assigned miracle saves us from this slow death.
I used to daydream a man would rescue us. On some fateful day, I’d be wandering the main street and bump into a handsome foreigner, his luxurious clothes pressed and lacking the stains and tears of my own. In my dream, I was always puzzled at why he was so captivated by me. It certainly wouldn’t be my clothes, draping loose on my frame where I’d lost weight from malnutrition. Nor would it be the brown freckles dusting the red tinted blush of my cheeks, signifying my days in the sun. No, it would be my hair.
Definitely the hair.
I imagined the way his gaze followed the cascade of my silvery blonde hair down to my ribcage. He’d profusely apologize while helping me gather whatever I had dropped, and our eyes would lock. It would be then, in that moment, he’d fall head over heels in love with me, and I’d be whisked away to whatever castle he dwelled in. And I would never again have to gut, nor eat, another damn fish for the rest of my life.
A shoulder shoves against mine, and I’m clipped out of my thoughts.
“Watch where you’re going,” a familiar voice snaps.
As I turn toward the voice, I catch her wicked, angry stare. Cole’s younger sister: Vivian. Like her five younger sisters, her long raven hair shadows her pale skin. Cole was a stark comparison with his tousle of flame-red hair and soft hazel eyes. The girls look like their father. And I wish I could have met the woman Cole resembled.
His mother died during childbirth with their youngest sister, Rosetta. And since then, their father spent most of his time working to provide financially for his children. Cole naturally assumed the role of guardian and protector of all his younger sisters.
“Viv—” I blurt. Somewhat relieved to see her, and anxious to ask how Cole is.
“He went to see you before he left, you know. And you couldn’t even bother to answer the door.” Her voice is laced with an extra layer of venom.
She had never been a fan of me. Cole always assured me she was naturally standoffish. But I always suspected it was because she thought I would take Cole away from them. And then they would have no one.
The realization dawns on me, my mouth falling open. The only day she could be referring to was the one where I fell asleep by the river for nearly half the day. I wouldn’t have ignored a knock at the door, especially if I knew it was Cole. Not when part of me still yearned for any opportunity to see him again.
I reach out to her with a hand. “I...I had no idea, Vivian—”
“You’re a bitch, Kat. He loved you,” she snaps, recoiling from my grasp. “And one day, he’ll find some pretty girl in Blackfell and forget all about you.” She swivels away from me to storm back into the crowd.
My shoulders sag as I watch her fade into the crowd. Part of me is tempted to follow her, and to explain it was all a mistake. But the other part of me knows it’s no use.
Someone else bumps into me, and I reflexively clutch my satchel. The movement reminds me of my objective.
Walking down the main street, I pass by the battered awning where I met Cole ten years ago. The merchant there had been the go-to for selling honey. That fateful day was my mother’s birthday, and she had been sick with a nasty cough. While she told me very little of medicines growing up, I remembered her mentioning honey coated sore throats. But the merchant declined my offer of a freshly caught fish for a bottle of honey. It wasn’t until Cole offered to trade me a fire poker for my fish that the merchant changed his mind.
“What the hell am I supposed to do with this?” I had asked, feeling awfully skeptical of Cole’s intentions.
To think Cole would try to lead someone astray was now laughable.
He had smiled. Slowly, until it was wide, warm, and welcoming. “Well, some of the nobles use it to stoke their fireplaces. But I say it doubles as a weapon. Or if you needed a toothpick for your horse, I guess that’d work too.”
I didn’t need any of those three options. Surprisingly, though, the merchant did. That day I walked home with honey, Cole left with my fish, and the merchant got a brand new fire poker.
It wasn’t until years later Cole admitted the fire poker was valued well over the fish and honey combined. Could have fooled me.
I cut away from the main street and down an alley. The same locked door I pounded on yesterday opens with ease. Ducking my head, I slink through Willard’s arched doorway.
I’ve been coming to Willard for years after Cole introduced us. While some pin him as a little crazy with radical practices and beliefs—I find him endearing. He’s become as familiar to me as if I knew him my entire life. Willard is kind and fair, even when others aren’t. Maybe it’s because I’m one of a few who actually listens when he goes off on his rambles.
“Willard?” I call as I lower my hood.
Candles of different shapes and sizes scattered across the room illuminate the cozy shop. An old withered chair seats half-haphazardly stacked books, and on the ground next to it is a bucket collecting drips of water from the ceiling. A collection of odd-shaped bottles line multiple shelves layered on the stone walls. Some glasses are half-full, and others have only drops left. I avert my eyes from the jars with animal parts floating in them. A mixed scent of must and smoke hangs in the air.
“Willard?” I call out once more. I pause after taking a few steps into the room, not wanting to venture further if he isn’t here.
“Comin’, comin’!” a call comes from the corner of the room. Willard backs out of the curtained room he calls his study. When he twists to face me, he greets me with a lopsided grin. His eyes soft within the deep wrinkles etching his face. His shoulders curve more than his usual posture, arms full of books. Before I can scold him, his knees buckle from the weight.
I jolt forward, catching him before he can fall face first. A few books clatter to the ground.
I gather the books, piling them onto a table with a frown. “Willard, didn’t I tell you not to carry this many on your own?”
Willard turns a grateful smile toward me. “Ahh, Katerina! I haven’t seen you in a week. I was startin’ to worry about you.”
“I dropped by yesterday, but your door was locked. Did you not hear the Carnyx?”
“Ahh, ahh. Yes.” He uses a pinky finger to swipe the innards of his ear. “Sorry, I mustn’t have heard you knockin’.”
If it were anyone else I might have been frustrated. I could have died. But I believe him—the years haven’t been kind to his hearing. And if he did hear me, he wouldn’t have hesitated to let me in.
I pat his shoulder forgivingly. “Look, I came by yesterday because the fish have either been getting smarter or something else has been catching them. I wanted to ask if there was any way I could get some medication now, even if it’s only a few days’ worth.”
“Katerina, I can’t—”
“I’ll pay you double.”
“Katerina.” He sighs. “You know I would for you. But I can’t. I have to get the supplies from the council, first. And I don’t have much to give, myself.”
My heart sinks. It leaves me no other choice.
“I have something else,” I whisper as I pull out the stone and present it to him.
Willard sucks in a breath and takes a step back, his hand covering his open mouth.
I flinch at his response and glance back down at the stone, confirming I didn’t pull out a decapitated head instead.
“Where did you get that?” His voice is tight.
I inch forward and offer it to him.
He hesitates. Cautiously, he takes the stone from me and inspects the surface with a gentle stroke.
“I found it—”
He shoves the stone back into my chest, and my breath wooshes out.
“Never mind! Don’t answer that.” His hand shaking, he points at the door. “Return it at once. Don’t tell anyone. Don’t show anyone.”
“Willard—”
He vigorously shakes his head, his lips tight and eyes wild. If I didn’t think Willard was pale before, he’s definitely pale now.
“Go!” His voice trembles as much as his hands do.
My heart hammers in my ears, and I’m frozen where I stand. What am I supposed to do?
“I said go, Katerina,” he grits out.
Stunned at his uncharacteristically severe voice, I step back and out of the shop. In the few seconds before the door closes between us, his voice drops to a whisper.
“You shouldn’t have shown me that.”