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Hi, lovely writer friends!

I’ve been working on my novel, Freedom’s Spark, for years, and I’m now trying to wrap my edits up (as much as that’s possible ;). I’ve struggled with making the MC, Adelaide, more relatable to the reader based off of other comments I’ve received from people. I hope I’ve finally succeeded, but it’s hard to tell as the writer. So, do you mind reading these first three chapters and letting me know if you relate/empathize/care about Adelaide? If not, then more polishing is in order! (If you see anything else amiss, feel free to let me know)! Thanks, and sorry I just had to paste it messily in here (why isn’t there an attachment button?). Thanks again!

Chapter One

Candle flames sputtered in the frosty breeze that snuck through the cracks in the barn’s walls, their shadows playing chase on the men’s faces.

Adelaide raised her voice over the cacophony of the men’s conversations. “Let’s begin, shall we? Our families will soon notice our long absence, and we have much to discuss.”

The chatter sputtered out, and eyes reflecting the light of the candles focused on her.

Adelaide pulled her cloak closer. “Has anyone procured weapons since our last meeting?”

“I took a bow when my cousin wasn’t looking the other day,” blonde-haired Talbot said from where he sat at the back of the barn.

“My brother made me some slings in exchange for cutting wood. They won’t be much help against a knight’s sword, but they can create a distraction,” another man remarked. This was only the second meeting he’d attended, so Adelaide couldn’t remember his name.

“I have a couple of spears I once used for fishing,” Sayer replied as he rocked back on a battered bench.

There was a sudden silence disturbed only by the creaking of the barn.

“Is that all?” Adelaide asked, trying to keep the panic from her voice. How was this small group of peasants going to overthrow the king with one bow, a few slings, spears, and the dagger she had stolen several days before they began meeting regularly? That had been nearly a year ago, and although she could now strike a tree dead-center with the weapon from forty paces away, she was nowhere near skilled enough with the flimsy weapon to fight the king’s soldiers.

Adelaide shivered at that thought. No matter how many times she’d thought about fighting, especially with these young men, guilt and fear pickled her. And each time, her sister, Emma’s, words sprang up with the persistence of weeds in a drought: “Violence only harms, not helps.” But her sister was dead, and there is no other way to help their people.

“I hear some of the king’s knights from Dhalion are going to arrive sometime tomorrow for the Fire Festival,” a seven-winters old boy said. “We could steal some swords once they’re here.”

“How do you guess they’ll be here, Hubert?” A man with bushy eyebrows wondered.

“I overheard some of the merchants talking about it in town today while getting oats for my mother.”

Adelaide gazed at the blonde-haired boy in admiration. When he had tagged along with his elder brother to one of their meetings a fortnight ago, she had been suspicious of a blabbing mouth and made sure Hubert understood the seriousness of secrecy, since each of their lives depended on it. As far as she knew, he hadn’t spoken of their meetings to anyone, and now he showed that his brains were bigger than his slight body.

“Good work, Hubert,” Adelaide told him, and his freckled face lit up at the praise.

She regarded the young men who, for the most part, gazed at her with respect. It had taken several long, passionate speeches, the sight of her hawk, Cyr, mighty and proud on her shoulder, her friend Gunter’s straightforward words, and the steady thwack of her dagger into the back of the barn’s wall to show these young men that she had enough strength and determination to lead their rebellion. But if they even guessed at the doubts and worries stewing inside her, they’d laugh in her face.

As it was, Adelaide still caught some of the men’s smirks and disapproving glances when she suggested something, but most of the twenty-two men respected her. Rohesia was the only other girl in their group and came with her elder brother. She didn’t talk much, but she did help calm the men when they became too rowdy, which Adelaide appreciated.

“I’ll go into Alesfirth tomorrow and attempt to steal some weapons when the knights arrive, if they are indeed coming,” Adelaide said.

“I’ll join you,” Gunter added.

“Very well. The rest of you keep searching for or creating weapons. Everyone needs at least one good hand-held weapon before we can attack anyone.”

She strode across the decaying floor, making eye contact with each man. “Once I think of something to tell my folks, which will hopefully be in the next few days, I’ll leave and employ more people to our cause throughout Klinhun.”

“I’ll join you then, too,” Gunter said, and Adelaide sighed. She enjoyed Gunter’s friendship and appreciated his offer, but how was she to keep her hard-earned respect and position as leader if he kept acting like her personal knight?

“And what will I tell Father when you suddenly disappear?” Conrad, Gunter’s older brother, asked. “You’re needed on the farm. In a few months it will be planting time, and we’ll need every hand we can find.”

Gunter’s light blue eyes sparked in the light of the candle before him. “Which is more important, Conrad, freeing our people from the king’s grasp or doing chores? There are more than enough men in Alesfirth to help with the planting.”

“They must help their own families. And you still haven’t—”

Adelaide raised her voice. “Don’t. You two can finish your argument later.”

She glanced at the other men, who now swung their gazes to her. “This will be my last meeting with you, though you should continue to meet after Gunter and I leave. Since I will most likely not be able to communicate with you during my travels, you will join me in Dhalion when the first flowers bloom.

“Bring every weapon you can find and every man you can trust, and we will overthrow the king. The time is upon us to tear down the tyrannical lords and king after all these long, hard years,” Adelaide said, her voice escalating with each word that she had thought of and memorized on the way here; speeches, however short, were her least favorite part of leading this group.

“For our families! For our people! For our futures!” The men shouted as they always did after a meeting. Adelaide was glad, once again, for Conrad mentioning this old barn that stood far from town and half a mile from anyone’s farm.

“Remember, we’ll meet in the King’s City when spring arrives and plans to stay,” Adelaide interjected in the raucous noise.

This began a new round of cheering and shouting, and Adelaide slipped out of the barn before the men could ply her for details about the rebellion that she didn’t have.

It had been a frustrating, ten-month period of shout-filled, mostly fruitless meetings, and they didn’t have much to show for it. But they needed to do something now, before someone found out about their plans for an uprising and doused the sparks. And before Adelaide lost her nerve. Hopefully their cause would grow as she traveled throughout Klinhun.

The wintery night air nibbled Adelaide’s cheeks, and the frost-covered grass crunched beneath her feet. She glanced into the distance, wondering what awaited her beyond the fields outside Alesfirth. Seeing the copious country of Klinhun diminished to pictures and scrawls on a map tossed across a merchant’s stall and listening to nobles’ gloating discourses was much different than actually setting foot on a dirt road she had never seen the end of.

What would it be like to leave home for an unknown period of time, to visit other villages, see other peasants’ exhausted faces, and taste bread her mother had not spent half a day baking?

“Ade, you’re not going to rescue Klinhun’s people by walking faster than a frightened chicken,” Gunter said from behind her.

“Perhaps not.” She slowed her pace. “But it would help if you had longer legs.”

“Would that I could do something about that.” Gunter caught up and looked at her. “I only see you at these meetings, Ade. Why don’t you visit me at home anymore? We could walk along the river or climb trees like—”

“We’re not children anymore, Gunter,” Adelaide said. “We must help our families, and I have this rebellion to lead. That leaves little time to gallivant around the country.” Ever since Emma’s death the rebellion had been her consuming passion; it gave her a purpose when the loss of her sister threatened to consume her. She couldn’t return to the ignorant, dandy days of before, pretending like murder hadn’t occurred in their town and the king didn’t care.

Her brown eyes and stern face reflected back to her from the full moon’s light in Gunter’s eyes, and she glanced away. She wasn’t sure she knew herself anymore—especially this new, hard shell of a human.

“We haven’t been children for many long winters,” he replied. “Stop using that as an excuse to push me away.” His voice softened, murmuring like the Lentasa River under its cover of ice in winter. “It’s been a year since the attack, Ade. You need to live again. Your sister’s dead, and she’s never coming back.”

Adelaide flinched. She tried not to think too much of Emma, though inevitably a tree, a child, her house, would trigger a memory. But speaking about her out loud was a hammer to her heart. Before the memories could burst through the wall Gunter’s words had splintered, she brushed by him and ran into the freezing darkness.

“Adelaide!” He called, but she ignored him, and he did not give chase.

Adelaide couldn’t run far in the frigid air and soon panted, her breath a white mist curling before her.

Spotting the thatch roof of her family’s mud cottage, she whistled. A dark shape took off from the top of the roof and landed on her shoulder.

“Ow. Cyr, you’re getting heavy.” She ruffled the hawk’s brown feathers, making them stand up comically. “Did you catch any voles today?”

He nipped at her hair, and she smiled. “You can’t eat me, dimwitted bird.” She glanced at the trees behind the hut, a little patch of land that Lord Lambert hadn’t cleared yet. “I wish I could take you hunting tomorrow, but I have to go to town.”

She reached the thick wooden door of the house and shoved it open. Immediately the scent of wood-smoke, straw, and goats filled her nose—the soothing smell of home.

“Adelaide, I don’t like you being out this late, even if it is just with Gunter,” her mother, Galiena, said from where she sat weaving next to the fire.

Adelaide always used visiting Gunter as an excuse for the secret meetings since her mother loved him and his family. It also wasn’t a full lie, though it still ate at her to have to lie at all. “Forgive me.”

Her mother rubbed her shadowed eyes. “Just make sure you’re home sooner in the future.”

Adelaide nodded.

“What did you two do?” Her father asked. The candle on the table in the back of the room revealed his weariness and the dirt smudges on his face that never completely disappeared, no matter how often he washed.

Adelaide turned her gaze to the fire and shrugged. “What we normally do, walk and talk along the river.”

“You two would make such a lovely match.” Galiena didn’t look up from her weaving, but a grin rose on her wrinkly brown skin.

Adelaide made a gagging sound. “That’s more disgusting than eating cow dung. We’re friends, and we’ll always just be friends.” She walked to the straw bed that took up most of the cottage, and Cyr flew to his wooden perch above the right corner of the bed.

“Move, Knick and Knack. I’ll whack both of you if you don’t stop eating my dress.” Adelaide swatted at the two goats, and with a harmonized mournful bleat, they trotted away, their tufty tails waving their displeasure. She had never understood why her parents had allowed her then six-year-old brother to name the senseless animals.

“Adelaide, could you tell us a story tonight?” Odo, her now eleven winters-old brother, asked from where he sat on the bed closer to the fire and the door. A wool blanket covered everything but his boyish face and big ears.

Adelaide froze. Memories of her sister, Emma’s, gentle fingers braiding Adelaide’s raven-black hair while the older girl told vivid tales of mice fighting knights and eagles rescuing princesses in distress rose unbidden to Adelaide’s mind. Emma was the storyteller. Taking her place made her disappearance too final.

“No,” Adelaide replied and finished removing her outer garments.

“But Mother and Father never tell stories that—”

“No.”

“Odo, leave your sister alone. It’s too late for stories, and tomorrow night we won’t get much sleep because of the Festival,” her father replied, a deep sorrow in his eyes.

The family talked about the next night’s festivities in subdued voices, but Adelaide curled up on the bed, her face turned away, and pulled her blanket close. Like every night, she attempted to ignore the empty space beside her and soon fell into nightmares of suffocating smoke and sobbing people.

♦♦♦

While Adelaide scattered seed outside for the chickens the next morning, her mother called, “Come help me cook the pie for the festival, dear.”

The sticky, sweet apple pie was a delicacy, only baked for Festivals, and their family had saved the flour for nearly a year. Her mother hadn’t been able to trade her goat cheese for apples from a nearby peasant family who grew apple trees on their tiny plot of land like she usually did, because the family had to use them to pay the autumn tax. So Adelaide purchased the fruit with some chicken eggs and the precious meat Cyr delivered on occasion.

The thought of Lord Lambert’s knights riding up to Serle and Emeny demanding most, if not all, of their hard-earned crop while their dirty, frail children looked on, caused Adelaide’s hand to tighten on the knife she held to cut the apples for the pie. She imagined the red and yellow streaked fruit as the greedy fingers of the men who took their precious food, labor, equipment, or clothing twice a year. Or even better, as the king’s greedy fingers that didn’t send aid when their town had been attacked and burned last year.

Odo hovered near her and her mother most of the morning, sticking his fingers into the dough and snagging pieces of sweetened apples until Galiena finally shooed him outside to work on the lord’s wheat fields with the other men.

Adelaide was anxious to arrive at Alesfirth before the knights reached the town to scope out the weapon situation, but her first opportunity didn’t arrive until after the midday meal.

“I’m going to town to help Gunter set up the tables for tonight,” she told her mother and slipped outside before her mother could order her to do anything else.

Adelaide glanced at the roof, squinting in the cold winter sunlight. Cyr wasn’t perched there, so she whistled while walking toward town. A moment later the hawk soared out of a stand of oaks near the lord’s wheat fields, his russet wings gleaming burnt red against the barren trees and grass.

He landed on her shoulder, and the piece of leather she had sewn beneath the dress protected her from his sharp talons. A mouse’s tail dangled from his beak.

“You’re supposed to be hunting for our family, not filling yourself on rodents, Cyr,” Adelaide said, bypassing a neighbor’s slumbering white dog. “I should have left you with your broken wing to fend for yourself.”

The hawk just crunched his mouse, his piercing brown eyes focused straight down the dirt road. In truth, Adelaide had been relieved when he’d survived the first few nights after she had brought him, a mere hatchling, home and fixed his wing with Emma’s help. That was almost two years ago now, and he no longer resembled the frightened, scraggly chick she had rescued.

His pointed claws and beak had given her many scratches and cuts during her attempts to train him to hunt, but he now caught animals for them occasionally and never expected anything from her more than an occasional tidbit of meat. He never talked back either, which was nice.

On reaching the newly constructed wooden wall surrounding the town of Alesfirth, Cyr took off and landed on top of one of the tree-sized beams.

“Leave then, but you are sure to miss some excitement,” Adelaide said, watching him preen himself as if he was the true lord of the town.

She followed the dirt path up to the mighty doors that had been built along with the new wall after the attack from their hostile northern neighbors, the Gyndilians, who had always lusted after Klinhun’s ports and fertile land. Klinhun and Gyndilad had been at war on and off for probably a century. Alesfirth didn’t possess ports or exceedingly great land, but it had the ill-luck to be the closest town in Klinhun to the northern nation, and thereby, a stepping stone for Gyndilad to the rest of the country.

The attack last year had been the first in Adelaide’s lifetime, and Gyndilad could have easily swallowed the town, but the knights vamoosed after killing hundreds, including Adelaide’s sister. It wasn’t due to King Ganelon of Klinhun’s aid; he had done nothing to stop the attack or to send aid afterward. He ignored them, as he always had. As people ignore the grass beneath their feet.

Adelaide stared up at the gates, which excluded the peasants, who would still have to rely on themselves if the Gyndilians decided to attack again. The towering wooden doors now stood open to let peasants and visitors in to trade or purchase goods.

“What do you want, miss?” A heavy-set man in chainmail and leggings growled from where he stood in-between the open doors. He was new as well, although she had heard other towns had always positioned guards in front of their gates.

“I live on a farm outside town, and I’m here to help prepare for the Festival.”

The man eyed her simple torn brown dress and stepped aside.

The town bustled with activity. Merchants at wooden stalls sold everything from raw meat buzzing with flies to creamy, nutty sweets, brightly painted wooden toys, and farm equipment including plows and horseshoes. They shouted at anyone passing near their stalls, beckoning them nearer. Yellow and blue flags, the colors of Klinhun, emblazoned with a darker blue dragon, snapped in the breeze from the tops of the stalls.

Well-dressed visiting nobles, merchants taking a break from yelling at the crowds, and other well-to-do people who made their living in town strolled along chatting, eating, and gazing at the wares spread out on large tables along the edges of the village.

More of the buttery and azure flags hung proudly from the lord’s great wooden hall at the far end of the square, but these were embellished with a black buck—the symbol of Alesfirth. Red-faced men, probably colored so from drinking too much wine, could be seen laughing heartily through the hall’s open windows.

In front of the cedar building stretched a long swath of grass, now brown from winter’s breath. A dozen noblemen clothed in richly colored robes and fuzzy hats that reminded Adelaide of the shy raccoons near the river, aimed arrows at circular targets spaced at different intervals along the field. To the right, near the stables, two men parried and thrust their swords at each other as if the other was a murderous Gyndilian.

Adelaide stared at the gleaming weapons moving as quickly as light on water. They would be a much-needed asset for the men helping her overthrow the king. She would even take some of the smoothly crafted bows the nobles were playing with. But it would be too difficult to take them without anyone noticing, and besides, she was after other prey.

She strode down the hill to the center of the cobbled square where two men in black cloaks over matching purple and orange tunics entertained the crowds. The taller man juggled five blue balls while the other played on a small wooden recorder.

Adelaide sighed at the sight of the brightly dressed men, wondering why anyone would give them their coins. No one could even hear the recorder over the jocund crowds.

Behind the troubadours on the large raised, stone dais, several less-brashly dressed men erected a wooden stand for the nobles to sit on during the Festival. In the middle of the dais others hauled up and stacked large pieces of wood in a pile. Adelaide recognized the spikey brown hair of one of them and climbed the rough stones toward him.

“Good-day, Gunter,” she said, reaching the top of the wide platform.

He threw a large chunk of wood onto the pile that already stood as large as a house and strode over to her, sweat dripping down his face and staining his white tunic.

“Good-day, Ade.” He wiped off his face with his arm. “Why aren’t you home helping your family prepare for the Festival?”

“If you recall, I have important matters in town today.” She gave him a knowing look, not willing to say more so close to the other men.

“Oh, yes,” Gunter nodded, and his blue eyes lit up. He stepped closer and looked past her. “It appears little Hubert was right about the king’s knights. They came in not long ago and went into the tavern for a drink. They left their wagon outside.”

“Are there weapons in the wagon?” Adelaide’s eyes meandered to a cart filled with sacks of goods in front of the squat building.

“I don’t know. I haven’t had a chance to take a look and wanted to wait for you to arrive.”

“Why did you look so surprised, then, to see me?”

Gunter smiled mischievously. “Don’t you know, Ade? I enjoy jesting at your expense.”

Adelaide shook her head. “Come on. The knights could leave any moment.”

Gunter told an older man he was taking a break, then he and Adelaide dashed down the steps, dodged town-folk and darting children, squeezed past stalls, and stopped a few paces from the wagon and horses tied up outside the tavern.

“Keep watch while I look through the goods.” Adelaide pushed a loose strand of hair back into the cloth holding her braid in place.

“Be careful and quick.”

Adelaide nodded and strode to the wagon, a thrill of excitement and doubt whispering through her.

♦♦♦

“Elias, a maiden is looking through our wagon,” Berold announced, looking across the way at the cart.

Elias watched with fascination as a slim young woman in a brown dress and a grey woolen cloak nimbly explored the sacks in the wagon, glancing up every once in a while. She then took out two daggers and slid them into the black girdle around her waist, concealed from behind by her cloak.

“Sir, our daggers.” Berold stepped forward, but Elias stuck out his arm to stop him. He didn’t want to create a scene or use force, as was Berold’s inclination.

“I’ll take care of this. Hold my drink for me.” He took a last swig of ale, handed it to his friend, and walked out of the stall’s shade toward the woman.

“Good-day fair lass,” Elias said, reaching the woman as she stepped away from the wagon.

She spun toward him, and, noticing his green cloak and richly embroidered blue tunic, she dipped her head, her green-brown eyes wary. “Why do you call me fair, sire, when there are so many lovely maidens strolling about today?”

“All maidens are fair,” Elias replied, smiling.

The woman raised a black eyebrow. “You have an interesting opinion. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m needed to help prepare for the Festival tonight.”

She walked off without glancing back at him, her black braid swinging like a horse’s mane.

Intrigued why a peasant woman would need a dagger and what kind of person would attempt to steal one in the light of day with people everywhere, Elias followed. “Are you attending the Festival tonight, then?”

The woman continued walking, and her voice had a slight mocking undertone when she answered. “Of course, sire. We’re all required to attend the burning of the wood. Surely you know this.”

“Of course,” he replied, taken aback at her bold speech. “What do you think of the festivity?”

The maiden stopped and met his gaze. “I believe it’s a waste of time to listen to a story our ancestors made up to excite their children and liven up their demanding, unrewarding lives.”

Her eyes glowed with the heat of the words, and by the lines around her mouth and the rigidity in her face, Elias guessed something horrible had happened in her life to scorch her so.

He crossed his arms. “Everyone is entitled to their opinion, I suppose. Personally, I do not care much for the Fire Festival either.”

She looked at him blankly. “I must leave. Farewell, sire.”

The woman disappeared into the crowd before he could say anything more. He suddenly realized he had forgotten to confront her about the daggers. It didn’t matter now, though. He decided she was the person he would choose. If he could convince her, he could convince anyone of the truth.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Two

 

Adelaide climbed the worn steps of the dais in the middle of town once more, this time alongside her family under the vigilant eye of darkness.

“I hope the flames will be higher than last winter’s,” Odo said, his gaze darting to the pile of wood and then to the buzzing crowd.

“They might be, though if they grow much higher, we won’t be able to stand close to the fire.” Adelaide’s father gazed at the large stack of wood that could keep her or any other peasant’s family warm for a week or two.

“There’s Gunter.” Adelaide nodded to him and his brother, Conrad, chatting near the pile. “I’ll see you at the feasting.”

Her father and brother told her farewell, and her mother gave her a concerned look that Adelaide pretended not to see. Ignoring with great difficulty the silence and emptiness beside her that Emma had once filled with laughs and teasing, Adelaide made her way to Gunter.

Upon reaching him, she placed the bucket of water that she had carried from her house on the ground and shivered when some sloshed onto her arm. She didn’t understand why they had to celebrate the Festival at the darkest hour on the coldest day of the year.

“Good evening,” Gunter said, and Conrad nodded at her before turning to speak to a friend.

Gunter glanced around, then lowered his voice. “Why didn’t you come back after retrieving the daggers? And who was that man you were speaking with? Did he own the wagon?”

Adelaide gazed past the jumble of wood reaching to the sky in a silent plea to the stands where the nobles sat in their embroidered robes, nattering like a flock of mindless birds. She returned her gaze to Gunter’s perplexed expression. “I went home to hide the weapons and help my mother finish preparations.”

Odo’s laughter trickled through the nearby peasants’ talk. He and some friends threw pebbles at the pile of wood a short distance away. Adelaide wondered how he could laugh so joyfully when pain pounded her heart like a blacksmith’s hammer. But then, he hadn’t been as close to Emma as she had.

“And the man?” Gunter prodded.

Adelaide blinked. “He didn’t own the wagon.” She tried to banish the image of the admittedly fine-looking, but odd man a few winters older than herself out of her mind. “He was only a talkative noble who didn’t have any way to amuse himself other than engaging with peasant maidens.”

Gunter raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything more.

Adelaide glanced around; no one was looking in their direction. “Here,” she whispered.  She drew out the larger of the two daggers that she’d taken from the wagon out of her boot. The leather handle felt warm and heavy as she passed it surreptitiously to him.

She would keep the other dagger—now at home hidden under the straw bed—for herself. Compared to the one she had nicked from a careless blacksmith shortly after Emma’s death, the new dagger was almost too elegant to practice hurling at trees. Yet it probably soared straighter and had a much sharper blade—she tried not to think about where, besides a tree, that sharp point would eventually hit.

She would take the new dagger with her on her travels and perhaps give the chipped and warped one to Odo when he was older, although he’d probably accidentally stab himself with it before he hit anything.

“Thanks.” Gunter slipped the steel weapon into the pouch hanging from his belt that usually held gloves. “Now you just have to teach me how to use it.”

Adelaide snorted. “I’ve been trying to do that for months.” And it had failed miserably.

Gunter preferred to toss words more than the dagger. And when he did hold it, he nearly always ended up dropping it or sticking it in the ground instead of the bark. She didn’t know who would be worse with the weapon—Gunter or Odo.

Gunter shrugged. “Now that I have my own, I’ll practice more.” He lowered his voice and shuffled closer. “So, when do you want to leave for the king’s city?”

“Gunter, you don’t need to come with me. I can travel across Klinhun on my own.”

“You’ve never even stepped foot outside the fields of Alesfirth before.”

“Neither have you,” Adelaide pointed out.

“True, but since I’m a male, I’ll be able to enlist more people to our cause, especially strong men, whom we desperately need.”

It was true, and his company would be welcome, but Adelaide didn’t want to take him away from his family longer than she had to.

“And what’s more, I want to go with you.” Gunter rubbed the scruff on his cheeks that he never grew out because, as he had told her more than once, it made him look more dangerous and rough—something the females loved. But Adelaide didn’t find him tough with his easy demeanor and short stature and had never seen a swarm of maidens following him. But he always responded to her doubts of his romantic charms by arguing that her opinion didn’t matter because they’d known each other since birth.

“It’ll be daring and exciting,” Gunter said. “So, when do you want to leave?”

Adelaide abandoned her attempt to reason him into not going. “Four or five days. We still need to gather supplies, and I haven’t thought of an excuse yet to give my folks.”

Gunter nodded. “It’s a good thing my family has Conrad, or I wouldn’t be able to accompany you.”

Even then, they would be one set of hands short for the crucial task of planting. If Adelaide didn’t believe the rebellion could fish them all out of the depths of misery, she would never have asked him.

“Good-evening, fair maiden. A fire will be most welcome this frosty night, will it not?”

The noble Adelaide had met earlier stood beside her gazing at the sky. She stared at him, her heart galloping. Why was he speaking to her as if she wasn’t a commoner? Why was he not conversing with the other nobles?

The man glanced at her, a smile softening his well-molded face. “I am afraid I was too distracted to ask your name earlier.”

“Why does it matter to you?”

He shrugged. “I’m just curious.”

“She’s Adelaide, and I’m Gunter, sire,” her friend said, probing the man’s golden-embroidered green cloak with his eyes.

Adelaide hurled an irritated look at Gunter, wishing Cyr was on her shoulder and not off hunting somewhere. Perhaps her hawk could nip some sense into her friend or frighten the haughty nobleman away. She might be arrested for the latter, but it would be worth the risk, since all the nobles she’d seen or heard of treated peasants like rubbish. She especially didn’t need them swarming around her now with her both her feet rooted in a rebellion to overthrow them.

“It’s a delight to meet you both,” the noble stated. “Now I must depart, for the Festival is likely to begin soon.” The short-haired man strode away, his green cloak swirling around him like a leaf in the wind.

Adelaide whirled on her friend. “Gunter, why did you tell him who I was? We don’t know anything about him except that he’s a noble, and that’s more than enough reason not to tell him more than he must know.”

“Ade, calm down.” He placed his hand on her arm. Irritated that he didn’t see the nobles as much of a threat as she did, Adelaide shook his hand off.

Gunter’s face hardened. “As you said, he’s merely a wealthy man who likes to talk. He didn’t treat us with disdain as most of the other noblemen do, so I didn’t think it foolish to tell him our names.”

Adelaide drew her cloak tighter. For all they knew, the man’s politeness was just a pretense to lure her into his bedchamber to warm him until morning; she’d heard such tales of nobles and even royalty before.

Lord Lambert waddled up to the woodpile, his wide girth threatening to burst through the glittering girdle encircling his orange tunic.

Adelaide swallowed her bile at the sight of the lord’s extravagance next to that of her brother’s thin face and tattered tunic, and listened as he chanted the Tale of Dragons from memory in a dull voice. The candle he held aloft flickered dimly against the night’s hungry maw.

 

“When time first breathed and woke

men and dragons walked in Klinhun side-by-side.

The dragons’ protection sheltered the land like a cloak,

and by the humans’ gratefulness the two were unified.

 

But the proud beasts desired power

more than the gaiety of their two-legged allies.

The mighty dragon, Aloysius, filled with hot anger,

convinced his friends to act unwise.

 

They came in the innocence of night,

ripping and tearing and destroying.

Unquenchable fires flashed as a new sunlight,

and the wounded hearts never stopped bleeding.

 

Children, women, and men had been smote,

and the valiant Theodoric gathered every man

to cut Aloysius’ giant scaled throat

and quiet the beasts’ roars and lofty plan.

 

Theodoric and his rage-roaring band

struck the beasts as they gloated on blood and gore.

Surprised and slow from their feast, the beasts fled inland.

The men followed, haunted by the dead’s cry for war.

 

Many mighty beasts died that night,

and the humans piled up their foes.

Promising to never return, the dragons took flight,

and the cliffs rang with men’s triumphant echoes.

 

Never has a dragon soared in Klinhun since,

And the future of men with glorious hope glints.”

 

Adelaide had heard the tale since she had been a babe eighteen winters ago, often enough that she could recite it with Lord Lambert. But this year the battle scenes made her flinch, for the attack last year was still a branding iron on her mind, and her sister wasn’t there to jest with.

Lord Lambert stepped closer to the pile of wood and glanced back at the stand filled with the wealthy. The peculiar noble who had spoken to her twice that day strode up to him, his expression as serious as fire.

The lord turned back to the solemn crowd. Raising the flickering candle high, he proclaimed, “The fire that the dragons spread throughout our land!” He lowered the candle to the young nobleman, but the man shook his head, his scrunched-up forehead and eyes speaking of sorrow and weariness. Why did he refuse to light the fire? She couldn’t recall anyone doing that before.

Lord Lambert turned from the man to the huge pile of wood and thrust the flame at the kindling near the base.

As the flames quickened the dead lumber into a pulsing, living heartbeat, both crowds—the peasants and nobles—sang a song of mourning, remembering the death of their ancestors from the terrible beasts’ blaze.

The fire spoke a crackling language to the stars as it filled the night with heat and vitality. Those closest to it stepped back, and Adelaide had to tilt her head to see the flames racing up to the top of the pile.

When their voices intensified as lividly as the flames’ hungry hues, the crowd picked up their buckets and hurled the water onto the fire. Several people jumped when drops of the cold liquid splashed them, and most of the water in Adelaide’s bucket sloshed onto the stony ground. The majority of the others’ reached the flames, however, and they sputtered out at the same instant as the voices.

The sudden silence and coldness reached down with empty and bleak fingers into Adelaide, and she shivered beneath her cloak.

Into the quiet, Lord Lambert announced, “And the dragons’ fires lit up Klinhun no more.”

After the fire’s death came Adelaide’s favorite part: the feasting.

People lit candles throughout the square, and they glimmered with more warmth than those staring down from the shadowy sky. The merchants had put away their wares, and food ranging from simple loaves of dense brown bread to whole-roasted pigs garnished with sugary baked apples covered the trading stalls, making them groan.

This was the only time of the year the peasants could eat food baked by the lord’s cooks, so they squeezed past the nobles to cram their wooden plates with flaky pastries oozing sweet red juices, airy white bread, and rare haunches of juicy meat that one barely had to chew, they were so tender.

Adelaide sat with her family and Gunter’s on one of the benches below the dais, enjoying a chunk of venison flavored with a delicious spicy herb.

“One thing is certain,” Gunter said between bites of a golden chicken leg, “Lord Lambert and his new cooks make the best food.  His father’s chicken was never seasoned as well as this.”

Adelaide nodded her agreement as she took another bite of the venison.

“I wish the Fire Festival occurred more often so that we could eat this kind of food all the time,” Odo remarked.

Adelaide smiled at the honeyed sauce smeared all over his face from the bread and nut pudding he was devouring.

Cyr landed on her shoulder, and she gave him a piece of venison. “You always know when there’s food nearby, don’t you?”

He gazed at her with a clever yellow eye, and she offered him another piece, which he snapped up.

“That bird is larger every time I see him,” Gunter’s mother said, eyeing Cyr with a mixture of fascination and wariness.

“I still don’t believe that you’ve trained him to bring you meat, and he doesn’t consume it all himself,” Conrad said.

“It’s true,” Adelaide protested. “I—”

“Good-evening, or good-night, I should say,” the noble who was becoming too familiar too quickly strode up to them. Another man in an orange cloak hovered behind him, shifting on his feet and looking anywhere but at their faces. “How is the fare?” The odd nobleman gestured at their filled plates.

Adelaide frowned, her palms sweating. Why was this man so interested in them, and more specifically, her? She fiddled with her braid as she attempted to puzzle it out.

“It’s quite good, Sire. You’ll have to give Lord Lambert our appreciation and compliments,” Adelaide’s father replied, glancing at the noble curiously.

“Indeed, it is some of the finest food I have ever tasted.” The man’s smile lightened his grayish-blue eyes. “Lord Lambert is certainly a connoisseur of every kind of food.”

Cyr nudged Adelaide’s hand with his beak, and she gave him another piece of meat.

The nobleman turned his attention to the hawk. “That is a magnificent bird. What is he called?”

“Cyr,” she replied, stroking his feathers. She couldn’t help but feel proud; hardly any peasants had birds, especially hawks.

The man gazed at Cyr, and the bird turned his eyes to the man and cocked his head. The noble reached out and rubbed his wing, and the hawk stretched his neck out in pleasure.

Adelaide watched the exchange with surprised anger. Cyr never let anyone else ruffle his feathers, and the one time Gunter and Odo had attempted to, the hawk screeched and snapped at them. Needless to say, they never tried to touch him again. So why is he acting all pleasant to a noble, of all people?

“It’s exceptionally rude and impolite to touch another’s bird without first asking.” She shifted away, and Cyr stretched out his wings for balance.

The nobleman’s expression was abashed as he met her eyes. “Forgive me, my lady. I have not seen a hawk as majestic as this in all my years in Klinhun. Where, might I ask, did you procure him?”

“She found him by the Lentasa River two years ago. He was just a chick, so she’s basically raised the bird,” Gunter said before gulping some ale. “It’s stayed with her ever since.”

“Cyr is a ‘he,’ not an ‘it,’” Adelaide told him with a clenched jaw. Why was he freely giving this unknown nobleman such personal details? The man could shape them for his own ends. He could tell Lord Lambert that Adelaide had stolen the hawk from him, who had found it by the river and raised it. And Lord Lambert would believe him because he’s male and a noble.

Gunter just raised his eyebrows innocently at Adelaide before lifting a bowl of frothy pink-tinted soup to his mouth.

“Why did you not light the fire tonight, Sire?” Odo asked, his cheeks twinging red.

“Odo, it’s impolite to ask this young man such a personal question,” Galiena berated him.

Not that he had been asking them personal questions though, Adelaide thought with exasperation.

“I don’t mind.” The man turned to her brother. “I’ve never enjoyed the Fire Festival for reasons that will remain my own, so taking part in it tonight would have gone against some of my deeply held beliefs. I could not do such a thing.”

Odo nodded and glanced down, but Adelaide continued to scrutinize him, pondering what deeply held beliefs could have prohibited him from lighting the Fire Festival fire.

“Sire, we should make our way back to Lord Lambert and the others. They will soon wonder where we’ve gone,” the man’s companion said.

The peculiar noble glanced back at the orange-cloaked man and sighed. “You’re right, as usual, Berold.”

He glanced back at them, his eyes lingering on Adelaide. “Farewell, good folk. Perhaps I will see you again sometime.”

When he walked away with his friend, Adelaide breathed a sigh of relief, and the tension in their small gathering scuttled away.

The townsfolk and peasants didn’t leave the square until the cold grey light of dawn nudged the night. On their way out of town, the peasants discussed how glad they were to have the next day off from working for the lord.

While following her family, Adelaide stumbled where she had last seen her sister alive—just inside the gate, nothing marking the spot but her own memories. That day, Emma’s amber eyes, which had always been filled with a jubilant tune, were empty, drained of vivacity like a dusty-dry well.

“Come on, Adelaide,” Odo pulled on her hand.

She walked faster, ignoring her parent’s anxious gazes, the memory of Emma’s glassy eyes searing holes in her heart.

♦♦♦

After Adelaide finished dressing the next mid-afternoon, someone rapped loudly on the door.

Adelaide’s mother stopped mending one of Odo’s tunics. “Are you expecting anyone, Ferand?” She glanced quizzically at him.

He looked up from adding more wood to the fire. “Nay.”

Adelaide opened the door.

The nobleman who spoke to her twice the night before stood in front of her, wearing what must be clothes, though they hardly seemed to fit her idea of the term: a blue tunic embroidered with gold swirling patterns, leather trousers, and a gleaming red cloak lined in gold. A silky horse as black as a sunflower seed cropped the grass behind him.

Adelaide looked back at the man, stupefaction and terror scaring any words out of her mouth. Did he somehow know about her plans? Was he here to haul her to Lord Lambert so that man could burn the mark of a traitor onto her skin?

“Good-day, fair Adelaide. I do not believe I had a chance to introduce myself yesterday.” He rubbed a hand through his short, brown wavy hair. “I am Prince Elias, son of Ganelon, King of Klinhun.”

He swallowed. “And I was wondering if you would consider acquiring my friendship so that one day I might ask for your hand?”

The man’s first words just penetrated Adelaide’s foggy mind. He was the prince? Her eyebrows rose and her mouth flew open. Why hadn’t he told her earlier? And why in all the fields of Alesfirth would he ask for her, a peasants’, hand in marriage? Perhaps he did know about her plans to overthrow the king and his son—who was apparently this man in front of her—and his words about marriage was just a ruse to take her quietly, to kill her. He certainly would if he knew what she was planning.

Or…the dagger! She had stolen it from the prince, since only his wagon could hold such expensive weapons. Dread kicked her in the gut. Even if he didn’t know about her plans to overthrow him, he could just as easily kill her for stealing a dagger.

Without quite thinking it through, Adelaide slammed the door shut.

“Adelaide! Did you just shut the door on the Prince of Klinhun?” Her father, now standing, looked at her with lightning in his eyes.

“Yes.”

“The prince is here? Where?” Odo sat up on the bed, causing the chicken that had lain beside him to squawk and half-flap, half-fall to the ground.

Ferand strode to the door while Galiena stood. “Truly, Adelaide, we didn’t raise you to treat a prince so disgracefully. He could punish us for that if he chose to.”

Adelaide’s mother was right, but it was hard to imagine a pain deeper than the loss of her sister. Her parents had loved Emma deeply, but never shared or understood the unique connection linking her and Adelaide. Her parents had often called the girls two blossoms from the same flower and never blamed Emma’s death on the king, as Adelaide did, at least not out loud. To them, the loss of their daughter was the neighboring country of Gyndilad’s fault, and only the king could do something about that kingdom.

They were still waiting for him to do it.

Her father opened the door and welcomed the prince inside. Adelaide wished for Cyr’s presence on her shoulder, but he was off hunting, and she didn’t want to end his flight.

Prince Elias sat at the table eating the coarse brown bread and hard yellow cheese Galiena offered him as if he always dined with them. The food had been put aside for their evening meal, but of course, no one told him this.

Adelaide’s parents stood across from the prince, asking about the Festival as Odo watched from a spot on the floor.

Adelaide remained by the fire, puzzling over the prince’s presence and desire for her hand. If he wanted to take her away for stealing the daggers from his wagon, why was he sitting at their table discussing the desserts from the previous evening so cordially with her parents? And why would he have mentioned a betrothal to her, which was as silly as the thought of Gunter surrounded by girls? Nay, he must not know she took the daggers.

“I’m sorry, again, your highness, for my daughter’s rude behavior.” Ferand shot her a look as hot as the nearby flames. “We weren’t expecting such highly-regarded company today.”

The prince waved his hand in the air. “I understand. I should have let you know last night that I intended to come by, but I didn’t know myself until earlier today.”

“So, your highness, to what do we owe the pleasure of your royal presence in our humble home?” Galiena asked, and Adelaide felt nauseous at the honey oozing from her mother’s voice.

How could they treat the prince so genially, as if the last year of heart-tearing anguish hadn’t happened? As if it wasn’t his and his father’s fault that her sister and many others from their town now lay silent and still in the earth’s uncaring soil?

“I know it’s unusual,” the prince took a swig of ale, “but I’m interested in wedding your lovely daughter someday.” He looked at Adelaide as if trying to peek into her thoughts, and she glanced away, disgusted. She wasn’t a trinket to be sought after and taken away on a whim.

Ferand’s eyes widened. “Ah. Well, that’s—that is a mighty honor.” He glanced at his wife and Adelaide, then back at the prince. “Please, your highness, let us think about this for several days. It came a bit unexpectedly.”

The prince nodded. “Certainly. I don’t have any immediate action planned regarding your daughter’s future. I just wanted to let you know my desire to become acquainted with her and receive your permission to do so.”

“Of course you may visit anytime, your highness, and talk with her. It would be a pleasure and honor for our family,” Ferand replied, dipping his head.

“Good. I will be in Alesfirth for a few more days and will come by when I have time.” The prince stood and straightened his blue tunic. “I must leave now. Thank you for your kindness.”

He turned toward Adelaide, a smile pulling up one side of his mouth. “Good-day, fair maiden.”

She said nothing and returned her gaze to the fire.

Once the prince left, Galiena clasped her hands together, smiling widely. “If the prince spoke truth, this is wonderful. Adelaide, you could possibly live in the palace at Dhalion very soon. Emma would have been so happy for you.”

“Don’t speak of Emma,” Adelaide growled. “The prince and his father are the reason she’s dead.” She clenched her hands to try to keep her wail of sorrow from breaking through her mouth.

A long, tense silence stretched like rolled-out dough. They had spoken about this issue several times, and it always ended in storms of tears, angry shouts, or hurried leavings.

“It is strange,” Ferand finally said, rubbing his hand over his graying-brown hair. “Why would the prince want to marry a peasant? In all my long winters in Klinhun I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Because Adelaide is beautiful and intelligent,” Galiena said as she strode to the fire, “even if she is discourteous at times.”

“If Adelaide moves to the castle, can I live there too?” Odo asked.

Pushing down a rising panic at the future they planned for her, Adelaide flew outside to find Cyr. She would need to leave for Dhalion to overthrow the king much sooner than she had expected. The thought caused her palms to sweat, and her heart to ache for her family. She had never left them before, not even for a night.

Would her mother be able to manage all the baking and fire-tending without her younger, stronger hands? Would her father be able to sleep through the night without help from her nightly back kneadings? Who would smack Odo’s shoulder when he was being annoying? And Emma… Perhaps it would be easier, less painful to live without the absence of her sister shouting at her from every piece of straw in the home they grew up in. The worries settled heavy on her heart like Cyr’s weight on her shoulder.

That night, once everyone slept and the coals’ orange glow of life slumbered, Adelaide prepared to leave.

After putting on her brown dress and grey cloak, she filled a cloth bag with her other dress and Emma’s cloak that that she always slept with at night. She also threw in a few apples, a chunk of cheese, half a loaf of bread her mother had baked for the next day, and an animal skin full of water. The provisions wouldn’t last long, but Cyr could find fresh meat, and soon there would be wild onions and berries growing along the road.

She took a few precious coins from the jar and placed them in the sack along with the leather glove she had made to train Cyr. Finally she retrieved perhaps her most important friend—her dagger, the new one—from beneath the straw, and placed it in her girdle where it nestled against the small of her back, out of sight.

Adelaide slung the satchel over her back and whistled softly. Cyr flicked his dark eyes open and landed on her shoulder.

She bent down over Odo and prodded him awake.

He groggily opened his eyes.

“I have to leave, Odo. Tell mother and father I should be back after planting season. Tell Gunter to meet me at the town I mentioned at the time that I said I would be there.” She couldn’t trust Odo with more information, but couldn’t leave without reaffirming the plan to the men. Her parents would worry, and she would most likely not be back as soon as she said, if she came back at all, but perhaps the small lie would help quell some of their fears.

Odo looked at her with now fully open eyes. “What? Why?”

She wished she didn’t have to lay this burden on Odo, but there was no other way. “Just tell them.”

Perhaps he saw something sharp as stone in her expression, because Odo didn’t argue. He just nodded once.

Adelaide kissed him on the nose. “Farewell, brother. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Take care of yourself.” She stepped away from him with a great strength of will.

“Adelaide, where are you going?”

“Shh.” She placed her finger on his mouth. “I’ll be back. Be strong for our parents.”

Adelaide was only able to turn her back on her brother’s confused and hurt expression by remembering the screams and blood of her sister and realizing the situation would only become worse if she remained with her family. Even so, her heart felt gnawed clean through when she walked out of her house into the lonely winter night.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Three

 

Elias finished adjusting Starflare’s saddle, then rubbed the white strip on her black forehead, murmuring softly. She snorted against his hand.

“I don’t have any treats for you today, girl. Perhaps I’ll bring you some tomorrow, if you behave.”

“Where are you going, Elias?” Berold entered the dim stable that smelled strongly of manure and oats.

The prince hung the red leather bridle over Starflare’s ears. “Just for a short ride. You know how much I dislike being indoors, especially when the sun is shining so brightly.”

“Shall I join you?” Berold walked over and stroked his bay’s nose while the horse munched its oats.

“Nay, I would like some solitude. I shan’t be gone long.”

Berold turned his clover-green eyes on his prince and friend. “Good, because Lord Lambert mentioned that he would like to take us hunting this afternoon with his most ‘highly regarded hounds’, as he put it. If they are as out of shape and portly as he is, we’ll be lucky to make it just to the wood.”

Elias chuckled. “You better watch your mouth, my friend, ‘ere it gets you into trouble.” He mounted Starflare. “I’ll be back by the hunt. Until then, don’t treat Lord Lambert’s men too roughly, especially if you fight them on the sword field. I’m not ready to give up his fine cooking just yet.”

Berold grinned. “Nor am I, especially the roasted deer. The fare in Dhalion is delicious, but the cooks don’t season venison as well as they do here.”

“You’re right, though, I do miss seafood.” Starflare stomped a hoof. “I should leave. Farewell.”

Elias’ knight suddenly scrunched his forehead in worry. “Are you sure you don’t want me to accompany you? We’re much closer to Gyndilad here than anywhere in Klinhun, and if they knew the prince was here…”

“I’ll be fine. I have my sword.” He touched the bronze scabbard at his belt.

“You’re not as skilled as I am.”

“True, but even if you were the best swordsman in all of Klinhun—” Berold raised an eyebrow at Elias’ words, “—which you essentially are, you could not defeat an army of invaders singlehandedly. No, I shall go alone. Save some food for me.” He nudged Starflare forward.

“I’ll eat all of it if you make me go on the hunt alone with Lord Lambert and his sheep- witted knights,” Berold called after him.

Elias chuckled, wishing his friend could accompany him on this ride. But he wasn’t merely riding for pleasure, as he claimed, and his friend wouldn’t understand the reason for his destination.

Once outside the bustling town, Elias let Starflare run. Her hooves pounded the hard ground, and he leaned his head next to her whipping mane, glorying in the wind’s stinging song and the flying landscape. In this moment, he was not Prince Elias weighed down with all of Klinhun, but as light as the clouds, as strong as his horses’ legs, as reckless as a diving falcon.

He slowed Starflare down, much to her and his regret, before reaching Adelaide’s house. Even though he was the prince, it probably wouldn’t ease her parents’ minds or Adelaide’s harsh feelings toward him if he came galloping up like an uncontrolled child, especially after their last uncomfortable meeting.

He brushed a hand through his wind-whipped hair and left Starflare grazing beside an oak tree. He wasn’t going to let Adelaide shut the door in his face again, even if she had a good reason to hate nobility. He wondered why she disliked him, when her parents didn’t seem to share her punitive feelings. They were definitely wary of him, but so were most peasants this far from Dhalion.

It wasn’t the slim, black-haired girl who greeted him at the door, but her mother. Galiena dipped low, and when she rose, she couldn’t hide the worry warping her face. “Good-day, your highness. My heart is full of joy that you would grace us with your presence again so soon.” She stepped aside to let him in.

Elias cringed inside at her eloquent mannerisms and speech. “Good-day, Galiena. I hope I’m not disturbing your work.” He entered the smoky cottage, and she closed the door behind him.

“Of course not, your highness.” She rubbed her hands on her stained grey dress. “If you were wondering, Adelaide isn’t here.” She swallowed several times and gazed at a goat nibbling on pieces of straw that littered the floor.

“Where is she?” Elias glanced around the small room, but it held no answers.

The brown-haired woman now stared at her dry, wrinkled hands. “She left late last night. Odo told us this morning that she woke him to tell him she had to leave, but would be back after planting season. She also told him to tell Gunter to meet her somewhere. That’s all she said.”

Galiena squeezed her hands. “Odo left a while ago to give Gunter the message and ask if he knew anything. He should be back anytime now.” Galiena stared at the door as if it would disgorge her son or daughter at any moment.

Elias was confused; why would Adelaide leave a message for a friend and just disappear? Where would she go, and what reason could she possibly have to leave her family?

His musings did not help him arrive at any conclusions, and Galiena appeared as confused, if not more so, than him as she stared at the ground with sorrowful eyes. Her bewilderment might also be due to the fact that he had singled her family out, and now stood in her home genuinely wondering where her daughter had gone.

He spoke into the tight silence. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Galiena stared at him blankly, then blinked. “Forgive me, your highness. I have been exceptionally rude. Wouldn’t you like to sit down?”

She pulled out a bench for him, and he sat. Then she offered him some ale and bread, and he forced himself to chew, though he felt far from hungry and knew what he ate very well might be their only food for the day.

Elias attempted to discuss lighter matters with the woman, but she kept glancing toward the door and rubbing her hands down her dress every few moments. Her gaze never settled on his, and he shifted self-consciously.

During their rather one-sided conversation about the weather, Adelaide’s younger brother flung the cottage door open.

“Odo!” Galiena skipped toward him. “Did you give Gunter the message? Did he know anything about where he was supposed to meet Adelaide?”

The lanky boy who hadn’t yet grown into his ears bowed to Elias before ambling to the rickety cupboard and pulling out a hunk of cheese. “I gave him the message.” Elias watched in amazement as Odo stuffed the entire hunk of cheese into his mouth.

“Odo, that was for dinner! You’ll only be able to have bread then.” She glanced at Elias, and her face flushed.

The boy frowned, and when he had finally swallowed, said, “Gunter didn’t know why Adelaide told him to meet her somewhere, but she had told him of a desire to go to Fernohn to trade for some medicine for Father. But Gunter didn’t think she would be leaving for a while, if at all, and not by herself.”

Galiena contemplated this for a while, and then slowly nodded. “That makes some sense. Your father’s back pains have grown worse this winter, but surely she wouldn’t have left without telling us or Gunter.”

Elias stood. “I’m sorry for this trouble.” He glanced at Galiena. “I will find Adelaide and try to convince her to come home.”

Galiena took a step back. “Why would you do that, your highness?”

“Your daughter is of special concern to me. Remember that I am interested in perhaps marrying her one day.” He did not mention the other, more important reason for his visit since there was no need to yet, and it would only baffle her to the point of thinking him completely senseless.

The woman’s shoulders slumped and she kneeled at his feet. “Thank you very much, your highness. If there is anything we can ever do for you…”

“Nay.” Elias helped her to her feet. “Only this: keep watching and hoping for your daughter’s safe return. Hopefully it will be soon.”

Adelaide’s mother nodded and clasped her hands together.

Outside, as Elias untied Starflare, Odo sidled up to him. “Can you truly find my sister, your highness?”

The prince gazed at him. “I will do all I can.”

The boy flicked his green-grey eyes onto Elias’. “What if she doesn’t want to be found?”

Elias regarded the cloud-heavy sky. “That’s a much different matter, and one I have no answer for.”

♦♦♦

Screams sharp as a sword’s edge pierce Adelaide’s ears. As she reaches out to wipe away the blood marring Emma’s skin, her sister’s body disintegrates into ash.

Adelaide jerked out of her nightmare and sat up. Snow drifted by, and the tree above was just an outline of a deeper shade of night. Somewhere on the branches overhead Cyr slept more peacefully than her. She slid her dagger out of her girdle and hurled it at the tree-trunk to dispel the terror from the too-vivid images.

Shivering, she drew her cloak close. She had been traveling down the Southern Road for three days, but it felt much longer. She missed the warmth of her cottage and her family’s familiar faces. But remembering her parents and Odo made her think of the tears her mother wept in the middle of the night, the shadows in her father’s eyes, and her brother’s pale face as he asked her and her parents where Emma was now.

Adelaide closed her eyes and stretched. She had never walked so far so quickly, and it felt like her very bones had turned to stone. She could have brought her family’s horse and arrived in Pinhurn in only a day or two more, but her family needed the horse for plowing. And the old mare wouldn’t survive long in the wilderness at the summit of winter.

According to the merchant who had shown her the map of Klinhun, she should arrive in Pinhurn in another few days. If it continued to snow, though, it would take longer, and Adelaide didn’t have longer. Although they didn’t know it, her family and town counted on her to help them escape the mire they all lived in.

An orange glow, as if from a fire, erupted in the darkness not far behind her. Who else could be traveling in the middle of winter? They must be skilled with flint and wood if they were able to start a fire in the snow. The few visitors from the Festival had passed her two days before, and traders rarely came to Alesfirth, especially now since the Gyndilians’ attack, and never during the coldest part of the year.

Adelaide retrieved her dagger—which now felt more familiar, almost too familiar, with a few nicks in it—from the tree and whistled softly. Cyr landed on her shoulder as soundlessly as the snowflakes on the ground, but not as lightly. Grasping her satchel, she crept to the fire’s glow.

A lone figure sat holding a stick pierced with meat over the fire’s heart. She snuck as close as she could while remaining in shadow.

The man had brown, wavy hair, a strong jaw, and a glimmering red cloak.

Adelaide’s stomach plummeted, and the pace of her heart quickened. Why was Prince Elias following her? Perhaps he did know about the daggers. Or maybe he wanted to steal her virtue out where no one could see, like some nobles did. Or did he truly want to marry her? The last notion was so ridiculous that her mind skipped past it.

It didn’t matter what the man’s motives were; he was the prince, and she must escape him somehow.

The prince’s gaze suddenly shifted to where she hid in the fire’s silhouette. “Good-evening, fair Adelaide and proud Cyr. Would you like some rabbit? I caught it not long ago.”

“Why are you following me?” Adelaide’s voice trembled, much to her embarrassment.

The man rotated the stick and some juice fell and sizzled in the flames. “It’s far more agreeable than going on Lord Lambert’s unending hunts, though Berold will detest me for abandoning him. He probably ate all that excellent food, which of course doesn’t matter now.” He stared at the meat on the stick, wrinkles smudging his forehead.

Adelaide had no idea what he was talking about, but before she could leave, he said, “I also followed you because I told your parents that I would find you and attempt to take you home.”

She faced him. “Gunter received the message from Odo then?”

“Yes. However, your friend didn’t understand what you meant by meeting him in Fernohn to trade for medicine, since you were apparently going to go alone. And your parents are confused about why you left on your own without telling anyone.” He peered at her as if attempting to pull her secrets out with his eyes.

She could never let him, of course; they were too dangerous, not only for herself, but for those she loved.

Surprise and relief that Gunter had thought of an excuse for her quick flight, however meager, surged through her. Her father did have back pain from falling off a roof he helped mend four years ago. It had steadily increased each year, making his work in the fields miserable. Emma had always talked about saving up to trade for some special herbs or creating her own salve to ease his pain; Adelaide’s rubs did only so much.

Gunter had done well to mention Fernohn, since it was a mining town many leagues away, widely known for its wealthy traders who set up wares every summer for the silver-holding townsfolk. For the few who could afford it, rare and valuable things could be bought or traded, like healing balms and herbs that only grew in certain places in Klinhun.

After everything that had happened last year, Adelaide hadn’t thought about trading for medicine. She felt guilty about that now, but the salve, if one existed that worked, would be costly, and more important matters begged for her attention.

She had become skilled in lying the last year, and didn’t falter now. It was easier lying to the prince, than to her family and friends; it hardly prickled. “What Gunter said is true. I told him to meet me in Fernohn if I wasn’t back by a certain time, which he’s apparently forgotten. I wanted the purpose of my trip to be a surprise to my parents. I’m on my own because no one else could be spared, not even Gunter.”

“It sounds like you and your friend need to work on your communication, especially if you are indeed going to Fernohn.” The prince glanced back at his roasting rabbit, the smell of which teased Adelaide’s belly. She’d only eaten an apple and a few bites of bread since she left. “Are you certain you don’t want to sit by the fire? This night feels like it’ll be one of the colder ones we’ve had.”

Fear and distrust wound through her, but Adelaide kept her voice steady. “I’d like for you to leave me alone. I don’t want anything to do with you. I shall return to my family when I have the salve that my father needs.”

She turned and stalked to her tree amid the pattering of fat snowflakes.

Each night after her conversation with Prince Elias, orange light sprang up near the road behind her. He never made camp nearer to her than the first night, and his form was always a small figure on a black horse during the day. Although he never approached her, Adelaide’s irritation and anxiety mounted each time she saw him.

The second night his fire spoke to the sky, she contemplated wounding him so she could go about her task more easily. She had never hurt anyone with her dagger before, and the thought of doing so caused her to shiver more than the frigid wind, but at some point she would have to, to keep her friends and family alive.

Doing so now would just anger the king, and put her within his view. No, she must keep to her original plan. This decision brought relief, which Adelaide didn’t want to contemplate, since sometime she would have to throw the dagger at more than bark.

Adelaide continued marching through the whispering cold, now clear of falling snow.

Six days after leaving her home, she arrived at Pinhurn.