As I went to adjust one of the vials, a faint droning met my ears before coming to an abrupt halt. A strand of hair had broken free of my braid and whispered against my cheek, and as I went to tuck it back into place, I paused. A golden beetle was inspecting the baby’s breath wrapped within my dark locks.
“Hello again,” I murmured, gently extending my pointer finger. “Are you the same little one from yesterday?”
It considered my finger as it adjusted its wings.
“Maybe you’ll bring me luck. You’re prettier than a gold coin,” I said.
Then the town bell struck with a rolling gong, and the beetle took flight. It whirred about for a moment, as if the deep resonance disrupted its sense of direction, before settling on the trellis attached to the wall of Lysa’s shop. With an irritated flap of its wings, it scuttled along the climbing ivy to shade itself beneath the leaves.
This first hour of market was a blur. There were the usual buyers who sought my wares out specifically, and we chatted amicably as I pretended to care about the latest town gossip. There were a few not-so-subtle comments about my age and lack of financial security, and how that was possibly why there weren’t suitors lining up to ask for my hand. I gritted my teeth as I let them ramble on about the implications for my future.
And then Mrs. Marlow swung by to thank me for Toman’s nose, agreeing to upholster our sofa free of charge under two conditions: one, I let the cushions and the frame air out for two weeksoutdoors given the contact with blight—she’d mustered only a half-hearted frown and a feeble “That’s terrible” when I explained what happened to Alec—and two, the new fabric had to be from last year’s selection and not currently in fashion. I bit my tongue hard at that, hiding my disdain with a well-practiced smile. As the wife of one of the town’s elders, her work as a seamstress, in her own words, was a folly she enjoyed but didn’t need. It was a wonder she didn’t parade around town in her carriage just for show.
By the time Mrs.Marlow swept up her layers of skirts and sashayed on to the next table, it was approaching noon, and my morning rush—possibly my only rush—was done.
“Of course I’m short,” I muttered as I recounted the silver pieces I’d accrued from my transactions. Because why would anything ever go according to plan? Groaning, I rolled my head from side to side. Being an apothecary was a strange occupation. I never wished ill on anyone, but ill people were the ones who paid for the food on my table, and we’d finished the last of our flour days ago, never mind fresh meat from the butcher.
One or two sick people would be fine.
“Edira!” Lysa emerged from her shop carrying a silver tray full of frosted delicacies. Her cherry-stained lips were pulled wide in a genuine smile, and her periwinkle eyes sparkled as she extended the platter of confections toward me. “I noticed you didn’t bring a meal with you today. Have a few.”
A twisted pain grumbled through my stomach at her words. I’d been in such a rush to secure a spot I’d forgotten to pack any food for myself. “Thanks, Lysa. How’s business?”
She beamed as she watched me pop a sugared tart into my mouth. “It’s good. People love sweets.” Or they loved her. Lysa was magnetic. Townsfolk flocked to her like moths to the flame, but instead of burning up their wings when they got too close, she simply kept everybody warm.
Or maybe it wasn’t her at all but the fact that her father was one of the town elders and in good standing with the Ferngloves. No one crossed Lysa’s family.
“How are your parents?” I snagged another treat, and she didn’t object.
“Oh, you know how it goes. No rest for the town elders.” She brushed curled honey hair off her shoulder as she scanned the crowd. “They’d rather me marry than run a shop, though.”
That didn’t stop them from purchasing her charming store for her. All the elders got a cut of the mines’ profits—and it showed. From Lysa’s callus-free hands to her pristine attire, she was ever the picture of perfection and wealth.
“Well, I’m thankful for your gift.” I dusted crumbs off my lips before turning to my wares. My fingers traveled over the corked stoppers as I counted the vials.
“How are the boys? Noam?”
I noticed she didn’t mention Nohr by name. Maybe she hadn’t married because Noam hadn’t picked up on her interest. Hard to do when he was in the mines all but one day of the week. And of course, Lysa’s parents would object to her tying the knot with a lowly miner. They might even cut her off from their wealth and reclaim their shop. It had Lysa’s name hanging from the copper plate above the door, but it most certainly was theirs. And then I’d have another mouth to feed in my home until she and Noam found a way to sustain themselves.
It was probably for the best that Noam didn’t have a taste for sweets.
“They’re fine. They’re just—”
I never finished my sentence. A sharp crackle, like a log splitting beneath hungry flames, snapped through the air. The crowd fell silent as everyone turned to stare at the arch. A gossamer veil of magic unfurled from the antlers to the ground, fluttering likedrying linens in a gentle breeze. The translucent, glittering surface caught in the sun, and suddenly the square was overcome with excited murmurs. An Ever was coming.
“Here we go.” I grasped the edge of my table as I narrowed my eyes.
“What do you think they’re here for?” Lysa gripped her tray and inched closer, just a toe away from joining the throng of thrilled onlookers.
“Early collections?” I chewed on my lower lip. Our wondrous mine barons typically visited Willowfell only at the end of the month to review what had been dug up from the bowels of our mountains. They’d make a big show out of appearing, perusing the local shops and spending more wealth in an hour than I managed to earn in a year. If the elders were lucky, the Ferngloves would stay for a meeting and some tea. I couldn’t fathom what they discussed. I hardly cared.
“Maybe.” Lysa’s eyes shone with excitement. “What if it’s a Waterstone? Or a Starglen?”
I sincerely doubted that was the case. The Waterstones and Starglens were Ever families who presided over two neighboring towns, each roughly three days’ travel by carriage in opposite directions. I couldn’t remember the last time one of them deigned to visit Willowfell.
“Oh, what if one of them is looking for a partner?” she asked in a breathy rush of hope.
My nose wrinkled. Apparently Lysa’s fascination with Evers was the same as the rest of the townsfolk. I didn’t understand it. How could they trust anything they saw? Eversalwayswore glamour. They were faker than Milton’s remedies, and there were only whispers of what Evers truly looked like. Sometimes we’d get a rare glimpse of a bestial feature—scales, wings, horns—when they’d parade through town revealing small magics to charm and fascinate the townsfolk. But the true scale of an Ever’s power?Pure mystery. The Ferngloves were known to make the ground shake and flowers bloom, but I doubted that was the full extent of their magic.
