Page 8 of The Thirteenth Count

“Sprout,” she called as she lifted her hair from the nape of her neck. “Help me tie this.”

The little mosswing’s wings fluttered as he seized the ribbon between his teeth. She felt the light touch of his paws as he scampered across her shoulder blades, helping with the intricate lacing.

She released her hair, gave Sprout a scratch, and took a step back to view her reflection in the looking glass. Grey eyes met her gaze, and she could see how the fitted dress emphasized the strength in her arms and shoulders from countless hours of foraging. Not too thin, not too fat, either. I look good. Pride filled her as she took in her powerful frame.

With one last glance at her reflection, Fern made her way downstairs, Sprout flitting ahead of her.

Her parents’ collective gasps as Fern reached the first floor had a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She twirled, letting her skirts fly as free as her hair.

“You look stunning, Fern,” her mother said, with her hands clasped over her mouth.

Her father hugged her and kissed her temple. “You’re beautiful.”

“I feel beautiful.” She grinned. “This dress fits me perfectly!”

“Of course it does,” her mother chuckled. “You’re my daughter, after all.”

Gripping Fern’s shoulders, her father turned her toward him. “In all seriousness though… are you ready?”

“That depends. Are you going to tell me what’s really happening?” she asked, eying her father expectantly. “Why I have more magic than I should? Where you got the bloodleaf?”

Her father looked at the floor. “Fern. Don’t ask again.”

Fern shrugged. “I guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. Besides, it’s not like we have a choice in the matter. All must attend the Count.”

“You always have a choice, Fern.” Her mother laced her fingers with Fern’s. “We could⁠—”

Before her mother could finish her sentence, the timing bells tolled.

“We could what?” Fern asked.

Her mother just shook her head and donned a black veil to cover her Oathblight. “Nothing, dear. We’d best be on our way.”

Ashford Cross came to life in a way that only happened once every ten years. Fern was twelve the last time she had seen this many Rootfolk she didn’t know and marveled at them shuffling along the Gatewalk—a narrow space between a congestion of shops and homes. They chattered excitedly, wondering how many people would see an elevation this time around. Eight years ago, there had only been one elevation.

Participation in the Count was mandatory across the valley; folks came from near and far to attend. No one was immune—except for the Deadwoods.

Her wonder faded as shouts from the Thornspine gate caught her attention. Tall black iron columns rose from the dark cobbles, weaving together to create an arch armed with sharp teeth that jutted toward the bleary crimson fog above. Beyond the gate was Thornspine road, which was the main artery traveled. A screech of iron scraped against stone, grating in her ears. Travelers pushed and shoved, yelling at one another as they tried squeezing through. Stemblood guards tried keeping the peace, a few used heavy batons to beat back Rootfolk attempting to scale the high stone wall that enclosed all of Ashford Cross. Families clutched children’s hands, elderly Rootfolk leaned on walking sticks, trying to avoid the chaos.

“It’s like this every Count,” Corvus said with a shake of his head. “As if we all aren’t going to the same place.”

“Is there no order on the Thornspine?” Fern asked. “Guards and the like, directing travelers?”

“I doubt there was time to prepare, considering…” Her mother trailed off, clutching the fabric of her dress just above her heart. She looked at her Bonded, but it was impossible to see her expression through the veil hiding her blight.

I may not be able to see what she’s thinking, but I sure can feel it.

“Mira?” Corvus stopped and grabbed her hands. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you think she got enough of the draught?” she whispered.

Fern could feel her father’s eyes on her. She gritted her teeth.

“Honestly?” He scratched the back of his head. “I don’t know.”

“Does it matter?” Fern snapped. “It’s not as if you could have hid me forever.”

They stood there for a long moment; their silence drowned out by the sea of people. Fern stared at the crowd, avoiding her parents’ uneasy looks and nonverbal conversation. Everyone who could be tested was dressed in their finest attire to impress High Blackwell and his retinue; their cotton and hemp garments tailored beautifully despite being crafted with humble materials.