Over the trees and the fields hung sunlit mist, curling alongside the sparkling river past homes and shops before it drifted off into the forest. The houses huddled wall to wall as if to keep each other warm. Merchants drove pelt-draped sleds through the web of cobbled streets to restock their stalls in the square. Mount Briarfell loomed like a guardian over the town, and on the cliff in its shade sat the castle, as if a child had planted a small figurine amid the snow.
“Is this Almira’s doing?” I asked with a wary glance at the fields. Amid the snow swayed golden wheat and bright-green stalks. I felt nauseous at the sight. I’d not expected to find so much life amid this winter. The monster within me stirred, a sleeping beast opening a curious eye. I pinched the knotted scar.
Adrik said grimly, “Indeed. The people of Wildemire are very spoiled.”
I hesitated for a moment at the topmost step, heart lurching as I looked out over the glistening town. Life waited down there, and it was a life not meant for me. I was cold and callous. I did not belong amid such merriment. In the dark corners of me lived a vileness—
Adrik pulled me firmly along, tearing the thought from me.
We’d scarcely stepped into the throng of people before a riptide caught us; of greetings and cheers, bows and handshakes, of cries from the window thanking Adrik for one or the other favor. If Lorell and I had been cautious not to kindle Adrik’s arrogance, a quick stroll through the street was enough to undo our efforts. The townsfolk considered him nothing short of a hero.
“How you get anything done is beyond me,” I whispered after Adrik had graciously declined the seventh offer for tea and cake. He only gave me a secret smile before we were ambushed again.
“You must stay until the snow melts!” cried a woman with pink cheeks and a trembling puppy in her arms. “It will be a feast!”
A young man with stern spectacles and a mane of black curls shook Adrik’s hand and announced, “I just saw the first crocus down by the river!”
Truly, the street hummed with the sort of mirth only the approach of spring could inspire—the air felt at once warmer, and as Adrik led me to the riverbank, dread snuck up on me. Perhaps this winter was coming to an end after all.
I need not have worried. The riverbed wore a hip-deep blanket of snow and the only speck of green was that of Adrik’s eyes. The river rippled leisurely past as he led us to a small cove by the old mill wheel.
“This is where the lovers washed ashore.”
Adrik collected a pebble from the riverbank where the water had eaten a narrow strip into the snow. The air stirred with a breeze of brine and a soft laugh.
“May I tell you a tale?” he asked with great mischief. “One mild summer eve—seven summers had passed since their arrival, and the wildflower meadow had long since blossomed into a bustling town—the lovers took a stroll along the river. It was midsummer. Fireflies lit their path and the peach trees bent under the weight of fruit. That eve, the starlit river had lured them from their home and here, where their lives had begun anew all these seasons ago, they stood for a moment, holding their breath. The boy found himself so enchanted, he did not notice the girl had slipped away. Only when she laughed did he look up. She was bathing in the moonlit river. The water cascaded over her skin like liquid silver—”
I made an undignified sound, something between a gasp and a snort. There was no longer a trace of cold in the air.
Adrik’s eyes glittered with delight. “Ah, no need to look so flustered, Evana,” he said, voice low with amusement. “I am not quite so wicked to linger in such moments any longer than this—notuninvited, at least.” Oh, how I longed to push him into the river—or to plunge into its frigid waves just to escape that knowing grin. He reached gently for my hand and opened my palm to place the pebble inside. “Here,” he said with sudden earnestness. “A keepsake to remember me when you leave.”
It was still warm from his touch, smoothed by centuries of waves drifting past. I slid it with a tight throat into the pocket ofmy coat. I feared I would not find it difficult to remember him—it wasforgettinghim that might give me trouble.
If I secured the bargain… If he purged this magic from me… Was there not a kernel of hope that I could stay? I thought of the court amid rock and waves, of the queen and the prince of bargains. If I secured the bargain, he would loathe me. It seemed imprudent to linger in a town where I’d made enemies with a faerie.
The wind stiffened, chasing us back up the slope and through the doors of the bakery. Inside, beneath glittering chandeliers, sprawled shelves laden with porcelain plates, piled high with chocolate pastries and sugar biscuits, and cake stands with summer-fruit tartlets. It smelled of cinnamon and sugar and butter. From the back room came the crackle of a giant stove and the hum of a low, lively voice.
I flinched when a shadow stirred behind a shelf. Distracted by the glitter and glamor, I had not noticed we were not alone in the shop.
“Adrik,” said the man with a curt nod. He was not much older than I, almost as tall as Adrik, broad-shouldered. His hair was black as the night, his smile was warm, and he clutched a leather-wrapped notebook tightly to his chest. “Evana,” he said, offering me a grime-stained hand. “I’m Yavor.”
I blushed horribly. The whole town seemed familiar with my name. Had they talked of the strange girl who had come half-dead from the wastes? Had they whispered of her vileness and her bitterness and her madness—
A brush of warmth against my fingers, so quickly and softly, I deemed it the kiss of the breeze. Another brush over the fluttering pulse of my wrist. I gasped quietly. My skin remembered the silken feel of Adrik’s and it tingled in the wake of his touch. I came sharply back to myself.
“... and he must have gone early for bread or to the farms,” Yavor was saying with a suffering sigh. “He was supposed to come back to work on the locks, but you know Pa. Bet he stopped by Olva and forgot the time. Took our best hammer with him too.”
“We will keep an eye out for him,” Adrik promised.
The baker, Sai, came at that moment from the back. Age had carved deep wrinkles into the corners of his mouth and painted white streaks into his ringlets, but there was no trace of it in his broad, strong frame. A dusting of flour clung to his dark brown skin. He greeted us with great cheer and a laugh that brought the bread shelves to a shudder.
“Before we dive into introductions,” Sai said to me, a twinkle in his gaze, “let me ask you the most important question. Which is your favorite sort of tartlet?” I had not eaten many tartlets in my life, so I blushed fiercely and wrung my hands. “A blank slate, then,” said Sai cheerily. “We will find something you love.”
While he loaded a basket with lemon tarts, glazed peach pies, and pastries stuffed with cream and jam, Sai told me the tale of how he came to Wildemire.
“For three long decades, I traveled the land as a mercenary. I grew tired of bloodshed, but I knew nothing else to do with these hands. Came across a foundling in a burning village ransacked by faeries. Big brown eyes, snow-white hair. A mage, that one. Had saved herself with her fire. I took her in, and the wind carried us here. I remembered I had a knack for baking as a child.” With a loving glance at his cakes, he said, “Baking… don't reckon I'll ever grow tired of that.” He set a richly decorated chocolate tartlet on top of the basket. “For Lorell,” he said a little gruffly. “He likes the chocolate ones best.”
Adrik and I returned to Lorell’s house with enough cake to last us a week. I paused for breath at the foot of the stone steps. The house, much taller than it was broad, wore a round, bright-red roof dotted with tufts of snow. It looked from down here as if a giant toadstool had sprouted from the hill. A breath of wind swept through the street, pelting me with a swirl of snow.
