Chapter 8

Noora

The lands were growing worse. The earth was turning to dust, dying agonizingly slow from thirst, dry leaves crunching under sole boots.

A thin crust of ice covered the forest as if to prevent any further breakage of a thin wall. It could be crushed by the force of a step.

Noora knew she would not shoot anything big in the currents of the storm. The rain was too heavy, thunder booming over her head as she slung the hawk over her shoulder.

He was on the thin side and she knew van Dijk wouldn’t spare her enough, so she made her way to an inn, located at the back of town.

She would rather go back to the orphanage, knowing that the thunder made Lulva uneasy.

But it was too important to take the gold, the earlier she took it, the sooner she could get out of this godsforsaken land with her.

The soles of her boots sunk into the earth, the rain transforming the ground into a muddy mess and staining the bottoms of her trousers like dried blood. She left smears along the steps that lead up to the inn, the door creaking as she stepped into the lively warmth of it.

Someone played a jolly tale on the fiddle, candles flickering and illuminating variously filled tables, plates stuffed with baked potatoes and meat stew.

Apparently, many others had the idea of rescuing themselves from the storm in the coziness of the inn. She swiped the rain from her forehead, her once-white strands now rather categorized as soft blonde due to the wetness.

The only blessing she apparently received that day.

One could still hear the storm brewing outside. But now it only seemed like a cosy background noise.

Stalking over to the counter, she felt the eyes of a few men follow her but she rather not meet their gazes. She kept her chin high when she slapped the bird onto the counter, catching the attention of a tall man behind.

A checked cloth in his hands wrapped around the glass he was cleaning, his blue eyes roving over her form.

The sleeves of his long shirt were rolled up, revealing a map of tattoos that fit perfectly to his brutish looks.

His red beard was bushy and long, competing with the curly mane on his head. His skin had the same colour as Lulva‘s, indicating his heritage originating in the southern kingdom. Good, a foreigner, it was more likely he would pay her for it.

“How much for the bird?” The moment she uttered the sentence, the men occupying the counter and enjoying their midday beers erupted into a chaos of dirty laughter.

She stood her ground, staring at the man who hadn’t looked away from her.

She raised a brow and waited for his answer.

“Five Gulls.”

“What?” A man exclaimed beside her.

“You cannot be serious, Keano, this Kupua isn’t allowed to sell.”

She turned her head towards him. “Says who?”

“The law! Witches are not allowed to make any gold, just trades.”

She clenched her teeth, trying to hold back her anger. She was cold, soaked to the bone and she only wanted to slip under the blankets of a bed to rest for a few hours.

To not deal with Lukas and his stupid wishes, chores at the orphanage or anyone spitting on her heritage.

She reined in her anger, compromising to be pliable like always, and turned back to the man named Keano.

“Five is too little. This is a rough-legged hawk and at least worth eighteen.”

The man stopped cleaning the glasses, putting his arms on the counter in front of her.

“Who guarantees me that you shot the bird and you didn’t steal it from someone?” His voice was gruff.

“I do.”

“And what is your word worth?” She dug her nails into the palm of her hands.

“As much as is yours.” Something glinted in his blue eyes before he picked up the rag.

“Fifteen, moon girl.”

Blanching at the nickname, she nodded. “Fine.”

“Keano!” the man protested and a wave of satisfaction rolled through her.

“Quiet. Is this your place?” said Keano.

The man shut down immediately, probably scared he would not be served anymore at his place.

“Fifteen it is.” She watched him pull a sack from under the counter and slam it beside her hands.

Her nimble fingers let the satchel disappear in her jacket before she nodded at him. “Pleasure making business with you.”

Before anyone else could talk to her, she slipped back outside.

Fifteen gulls, for a hawk that was worth ten. Amateur.

She ran all the way back to the orphanage, and slipped through the gate, causing her sleeve to get caught at a pole. She tugged a few times until the material gave away.

Climbing up the wall was harder in the rain than usual, but the thought of Freckles made her arms stronger, the grip of her feet on the wall steadier. She nudged her toes into every empty crevice, groaning when she pulled herself higher.

Dropping into the sleeping chamber, a small puddle grew beneath her feet, but she didn’t waste a second before walking over to her bed. The other girls were currently in the common room, having dinner. She still did not dare putting a light on.

Lifting the sparse mattress she dove for the—where was the bag?

“No.” The word slipped past her lips as she flung the mattress to the floor, even though it was pretty clear the bag was lost. The gold was gone.

“No, no, no.” Her hands found their way into her hair, tugging at the roots until her scalp screamed at her to stop.

“Are you looking for this?”

Her body froze at the voice. Fear laced through her veins quicker than the lightning struck outside.

Noora didn’t need to turn, she knew who was standing behind her, knew who had taken her gold.

She turned anyway and a roll of booming thunder sounded in a dramatic way, setting the matron into shadow and light.

A smug smile sat on her lips, the brown bag dangling from her claws. It was not the fact that she had the bag that tore her apart, it was the person standing right next to her.

“How could you?” Her voice was raw as she looked at Elise. Her fingers were intertwined, her head hung low as she stared at the floorboards, too ashamed to meet Noora’s gaze. Her face was guilt-ridden, turned down in a sad grimace as if that would change a damned thing about what she had done. Noora did not care if she felt bad, it was the consequence that had risen out of her own actions. She should feel guilty.

“Answer me!” she roared at the older girl. Did she not know that this was for Freckles too? How long until Noora could not protect her anymore from the whips and the burns? It did not matter if it would just have an effect on Noora, but to damn a young girl to continue her life at this Hel was a cruel thing to do.

“She is not obliged to answer low filth like you. You have broken the law, Noora, you know what the consequences are.” The matron tilted her head slowly, letting the satchel drop to the ground.

“And you will take every last stroke until you are on the ground, crawling, realising what a mistake it was to betray me.“ She took a step forward, to grip her chin between her hands, nails digging into her skin. Noora wanted to cry out in pain at the sensation, but she knew better. Withholding any type of satisfaction for the matron was the only thing that kept her going.

“You are worth nothing, half-blood whore.” She leaned closer, still staring into the souls of Noora’s eyes. “And I am the one who will remind you of that.”