Page 11 of The Archer’s Wish

At five-and-twenty, she was well past the age most lasses married, yet she had turned away every suitor, gentle or bold, shy or charming. Liam suspected her heart was already spoken for, though no amount of teasing or prying had ever coaxed the truth out of her. She guarded that secret fiercely.

She studied him now with the same quiet intensity she used when trying to guess the weather by watching the clouds. “Ye look better than the last time I visited,” she said softly. “Still a bit gaunt, but Mam will fix that soon enough.”

Liam snorted under his breath. “Aye, she pinched my arm before bed. Apparently, I am withering like a neglected plant.”

Effie didn’t laugh. Instead, her expression grew solemn, as if she’d been waiting for the noise of the day to fade before revealing what truly weighed on her mind.

“Have ye heard of the stone?” she asked, her voice dropping.

The words slid through him like a cold breeze. Ah. The Miracle Stone. Nearly every child in Tokavaig had grown up with the tale of a mystical boulder that appeared only on moonless nights. Revealing itself to a single person and offering one wish before vanishing again. A comforting story, aye. A bit of magic woven into their mundane lives. But Liam had never once believed it.

“I ken the story,” he said carefully.

Effie leaned forward, firelight catching in her bright eyes. “It appeared to Barre, the butcher’s youngest bairn.”

Liam blinked. The boy with the pronounced lisp.

“Aye?” he asked warily.

“He had it since he first spoke,” Effie breathed, her voice trembling with excitement. “And now it’s gone. Completely gone. Liam, he talks as clear as any child in the village.”

He shrugged, lifting a brow. “The lad is what, ten summers? He could have outgrown it.”

Effie scoffed. “That has naught to do with it! The stone is back. Folk are wandering about on moonless nights again, hoping to see it. And the moon is but a sliver now.” Her eyes softened into a plea. “Ye must go look for it.”

Liam let out a low, strained groan. “Effie, ye ken better than to believe such nonsense. There is nae magic stone. And I am nae stumbling about the dark like some drunkard chasing shadows.”

She laughed despite her seriousness, lifting a hand as though to shield her grin. “I can go with ye. Hold a lantern so ye don’t fall on yer backside.”

He shot her a warning look. “No, Effie.”

The word landed too sharply. He saw it the instant it hit, her face falling, her shoulders dipping. Guilt curled hot in his chest. Effie rarely asked anything of him. And she asked this with such hope and belief.

“Please,” she whispered. “Just one night.”

He dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling long and hard. He wanted to say no. Truly, he did. But she looked on the verge of tears, and she’d always been his weakness.

“I will consider it,” he said finally.

Her smile blossomed instantly, soft, triumphant, relieved. It was a smile that said she already imagined him agreeing.

But as he stared into the fire, its flames flickering across the room, the ache in his leg pulsed, a firm reminder of what could not be undone by legends or wishes.

No, he had no intention of searching for a mythical stone.

Not for folklore. Not for false hope.

And not for the quiet, traitorous yearning he’d begun to feel creeping back into his heart.

Chapter Four

Beitris snapped awake at the sound of heavy pounding, sharp blows that rattled the wooden shutters. Heart racing, she pushed herself upright and blinked away the remnants of sleep. Was someone hammering on the bakery door at this hour?

Another round of thudding answered her question.

She rushed to the window, lifted the latch, and peered down into the grey-blue light of dawn. The street was empty. No urgent visitor. No impatient customer. Instead, the booming noise came from the village square.

A group of men were hard at work erecting the stage for the spring festival. Hammers rose and fell in quick succession, the clatter echoing against the walls of the surrounding cottages.