Page 18 of Emylia

Olag sat outside on a rock wall, telling legends to a small group of children, and the sound of clanging swords reverberated as the men prepared for their tournament. Everyone had an air of excitement as the day’s activities continued.

My mother and I halted in front of the public stable, trying to avoid small children as they sprinted past, shouting as they played a game.

Being overly careful not to catch my dress on my saddle, I swung my leg over Stormfire’s rump, landing lightly on the compact earth. Smoothing a hand over my dress, I straightened, unease ebbing its way up my back, knotting between my shoulder blades.

A disturbing thought occurred to me. I hadn’t spoken to anyone, besides my mother, since my father was taken from me—not even my uncle or Sebastian. I had barely made it to my room without crumbling after I had witnessed my father’s body burn.

Would people look at me differently? Like I was wounded? I didn’t want to see pity in their eyes. That would straight-up suck, even more so than the usual looks of disapproval.

The Nexus with all of them!

I promised my father I would be strong, and no one was going to make me break that promise.

No one.

With a fragile kind of hope, I turned to my mother, who had gracefully landed beside me. “I can take Brown to the stables for you.”

Before she had a chance to argue, I wrapped my arms around her in a brief but tight hug, practically stealing Brown’s reins as I let go.

I knew she was eager to see her friends, specifically Aunty Triska. I, on the other hand, had nothing to do except wander around aimlessly until the sword fighting began, hopefully running into Sebastian.

It was my own stupid fault for making us so late; if we were a tiny bit earlier, we wouldn’t have missed the archery tournament, at least not entirely.

I turned, being lost in a sea of moss-covered rooftops that rippled and fell with the land, until it gave way to houses so immaculate, they looked like they had been carved by the Gods. Yet, compared to my house, they weren’t anything special.

My father had shaped our home like it had grown from the earth itself—his forge tucked between the roots of ancient trees, the stables cradled with wildflower meadows. Vines of jasmine curled around the pillars, weaving scented life into every beam, until it felt like the magik of the earth lay dormant inside the walls.

Even a private stream ran clear as crystal through a stretch of woods that had been my whole world. I’d spent thousands of hours beneath the canopy, hunting lagomorphs and honing my skills as a huntress.

Yet, when I saw the stables, I stumbled.

Beautifully reconstructed only a few years ago, the stables had been restored by my father, my uncle, Sebastian and I, our hands and laughter stitched into every beam.

Our blood and sweat were a part of that building, and no one could take that away from me. Instead of the hollowing pain I’d grown accustomed to when thinking of my father, I was overcome with a sense of pride.

Tracing my fingertips along an entrance beam, I felt close to my father—closer than I had since he’d gotten sick. For the first time since he’d died, I could picture the face of the man I loved, not the warped version his sickness had left him with.

Feeling emotionally lighter than I had in months, I walked down the aisles, not stopping until I found two empty stalls next to each other. Wasting no time, I set to work removing the saddles and brushing the horses. When I finally finished, I rested against Stormfire.

Warm air tickled my cheek, her whinnies bringing a rare smile, any remaining apprehension ebbing away. “Wish me luck, Stormfire.”

Stormfire whinnied again. With one last scratch behind her ear, I walked away—every step like a thread unraveling, growing heavier with each stride, until the stables vanished behind me.

ChapterNine

With an unsettling feeling swirling in the pit of my stomach, I made my way to the center of Ophelia.

Sebastian would’ve finished packing up his gear from archery by now, and with any luck, I could catch him before he made it home.

Thwack.

The sound pierced the air, clear and precise. I froze. Every bone in my body told me I had to be imagining things, instinct told me otherwise. A secondthwackcut through the silence.

No friggin’ way.

The sound was unmistakable; an axe slicing through wood. On any other day, it would be commonplace, but today wasn’t a normal day. No one who lived in Ophelia would be cutting wood, at least not willingly, not on the day of the festival.

Another thwack followed, this one more forceful, like someone had something to prove.

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