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Chapter One
Evelyn
The first shred of light peeked through Evelyn Carson’s dingy window. Dirt and mold spores splattered the glass, making it impossible to see clearly through it. But the orangey blur of the morning sun broke over rolling waves of incredible green.
Not even an aged window could dampen the view of the grassy hills of Callum. Bright and lush, they went on and on for miles, surrounding the small coastal town, bleeding into the rest of the continent of Torren, or the Old World as some called it.
Evelyn didn’t have time to appreciate the beauty. The hour only meant one thing—it was time she left.
Evelyn gripped the strap of her leather satchel, one she’d risen early to pack. Not that it mattered. She had few belongings: her money pouch, an extra sweater, a thinly knit blanket. At least traveling light made packing easy.Most of what she owned she currently wore. She’d tucked her collared blouse into her high-waisted trousers, and her navy cloak draped behind her like a moving, breathing shadow.
She tiptoed to the door in her worn leather boots, treading cautiously over the rickety hardwood. She tucked her stubborn obsidian hair behind her ear, which she placed flush against the door.
On the other side, nothing moved about. Not a single patron stirred in the Runaway Radish Inn. No one afoot in the kitchens or pub downstairs either, surely empty this early of barmaids and Miss Patricia.
At the thought of her boss, a pang of sadness shot through Evelyn. Maxie danced between her ankles and then paced the humble room, restless. As her witch’s familiar, the cat was attuned to her emotions. Unlike other familiars, though, she didn’t share a likeness with her witch. Maxie had fiery red fur instead of Evelyn’s black hair, and all-knowing yellow eyes, not gray. The cat blinked at her, and Evelyn faced the fact she’d miss this place.
Despite the itchy hay mattress and the nippy draft from the window of her room, the inn had been one of the nicer places she’d stayed the last two years. It beat the stables in Cirillo where it’d taken weeks to rid her clothes of the manure smell. The food surpassed the watery porridge she’d eaten during her journey on the ship, Oilliphéist. She’d been able to earn some coin here too, the full pouch adding weight to her satchel.
Evelyn gripped it tighter and took a calming breath. She was tired. Tired of running. Tired of new places. Tired of starting anew with only fragments of herself. Except she’d already been in Callum far too long. Three months. A full season. She’d enjoyed the summer warmth of the coastal town but couldn’t afford anyone from her past catching up, which meant she needed to keep moving. Running protected everyone in her homeland, and Evelyn had every intention of sticking to that plan.
Even if she ran for the rest of her life.
Evelyn eased open the door so the aged hinges didn’t squeak. Poking her head out, she assessed the hall. Something clattered against glass, and Evelyn stopped. To the left, the wind howling outside blew a tattered flag against the window. Relief washed over her. Thank the Goddess, no one was about. Goodbyes were difficult. Stuffy. Something Evelyn liked to avoid.
Maxie pushed under Evelyn’s cloak, nudged between her legs, and darted through the sliver of opening, her red fluffy tail flicking behind her. She turned to Evelyn and perched on the edge of the stairs. Her yellow eyes glowed like orbs in the candlelit hall and gave an expectant look as if to say, are you coming?
Evelyn sighed. She made one last assessment before she entered the hall and closed the door behind her. She glided over the wooden boards, landing her boots with a methodical softness, and sent a small prayer to the Goddess that she’d risen early enough.
She’d learned a few things while on the run. Stay quiet and say little. She’d mastered the latter, becoming experienced in giving half-answers, but currently struggled with the former thanks to her rambunctious cat who, of all mornings, wanted to leap from table to table in the pub, knocking over candles and clay mugs.
“Maxie!” Evelyn hissed as she descended the stairs on the balls of her feet.
The cat ignored her and continued along her path to the back door. Evelyn hurried and scooped her up before she began scratching at the weathered wood. No doubt her familiar hoped to have a taste of the fresh milk left on the doorstep as she did every morning.
Evelyn’s chest tightened and her eyes stung as she thought of her morning routine at the Runaway Radish. Collect the milk, bake barmbrack loaves, wash bowls of berries. She’d miss its simplicity. Her routine had become a daily dance, and she’d started to look forward to it.
Evelyn soothed Maxie with gentle strokes down her mane. Her eager familiar had become accustomed to the routine as well, expecting her morning milk, a sure sign they needed to leave. They could make it out of Callum before the townsfolk filled the streets if they skipped breakfast. But where to next?
Evelyn stopped at the cusp of the kitchen where a copper plaque depicted a map. The contours of the continents, sea, and mountains had been hammered into it. She rubbed her thumb over home, Sorin, the continent to the west, but set her sights east. The Sapphire Sea stretched across the center, separating her home from the current continent she traveled. Torren lay on the eastern side of the map; Callum nestled into the coast. Would she travel farther north into the woodlands or farther east into the grasslands?
A crackle and flicker of light caught her attention. Behind her, spots on the blackened logs in the kitchen’s hearth glowed orange. The bricked back glistened in a sheen of black soot while snowy ash piled on the bottom. The last remaining flame pulsed in its final moments. Then it died. The lack of fire and light left the kitchen bitter cold.
The tightness in Evelyn’s chest returned, leaving her hollow and numb. Evelyn knew she needed to leave soon if she wanted to get out of Callum without anyone spotting her exit, but the dying fire was a painful reminder of the magic she’d lost
The Sun Goddess has given you a gift, Evelyn.
Over the morning chatter of birds filtering in from outside, Evelyn’s late mother’s sweet, calm voice resounded in her mind. She still possessed the innate abilities of a witch. The ability to cast spells. Recite enchantments. Brew potions. She’d lost her bronntanas, a power unique to her. Other witches possessed bronntanas, too, but Evelyn had flame, a power granted by the Sun Goddess that defined her duty and destiny.
And she’d lost it.
The dying fire haunted her. Dread pierced her chest like an arrow dipped in sorrow. Evelyn had been here before, rooted in the hope that she could conjure back her flame. Goddess, she’d tortured herself with so many failed attempts to bring back what she’d lost. And yet, she still stared into the hearth, wondering if she could summon her flame. She wanted to bring it back. Create warmth and light again in the small cozy kitchen.
Her gaze darted between the cooling hearth and the Runaway Radish’s back door as her stomach sank with indecision. Doubt and hope wrestled one another until Evelyn dared a step toward the hearth.
She raised her right hand, opened and closed it over and over, and willed her flame to come forth. It did not. She felt her flame, like the flickering of the dying hearth. But it was unreachable, buried so deep Evelyn couldn’t conjure it.
You’re nothing without your flame.
