Prologue


    Gently, I slipped into bed, my five-year-old son already fast asleep beside me. He was snoring, his nose sounding slightly congested. Likely from all the dust he’d breathed in earlier that day while playing outside the bakery. The cobbler across the street had been renovating his shop, causing unsightly dirt clouds to cake my storefront.


    It was kind that his wife had offered to look after Taryn while I served the king and his guests. She’d fed him supper and put him to sleep, which were difficult enough tasks on their own. Although, I wished she’d made him take a bath before he climbed into my clean bed to sleep. Fresh bedclothes clothed him, but his little nose and ears were tinged with dirt. I was sure his feet were just as filthy, as the feral boy often opted to go shoeless.


    How innocent he looked. Much unlike the rambunctious child he was during the day. The rise and fall of his small chest, the moonlight spilling in through the window to bathe his tiny form. He was only a boy and yet the most precious gift a man had ever given me.


    One day he would be one, too. Would he be entitled and crass, like the men I’d encountered at the castle?


    The thought jarred me. I’d had enough of those types of men. Taryn wouldn’t be like them; I wouldn’t allow it.


    If his father were alive, Taryn would have no option but to pick up the blade, like the men at the castle. I had better plans for him; plans and dreams of a life without bloodshed. A life of peace and education made possible through the academy.


    Still, I missed Leopold terribly; it had been three long years of obstacles and loneliness without him. Three years of scraping by, working until my arms ached from kneading and stirring all day long. I had to do whatever it took to be successful, even if it meant working myself to the bone. My boy would not go without, nor would he ever know my struggle.


    King Odsby had paid me generously that evening, but I wondered if it was worth it. It wasn’t like I had much of a say in the matter. The king always got what he wanted.


    I served pastries and bread prepared by myself at a masquerade ball held in honor of some men who’d fought alongside Leopold years ago. It made me sick to see them, drinking and laughing and dancing. He should have been there, too.


    I had to smile and be pretty while waiting on them, letting the foul-mouthed men flirt and chat. I’d finally had my fill when Duke Dawkins grabbed my behind without my permission. Without thought, I pulled my dagger on him; King Odsby had luckily been engaged in conversation with another guest at the time. Duke Dawkins had only thought it beguiling of me, even when I kneed him in the groin. As if I was some cute little rabid animal.


    If anyone had seen, it would have been over for me. Taken to the dungeon. A flogging session or a few days in the stocks or possibly even death. I was a commoner, a toy to be used by nobility when desired. No matter how much I despised them.


    It was foolish of me to act so rashly. Taryn could have been made an orphan, and what would become of him, then? The streets were no place for a child; my existence was a testament to that.


    I pulled the covers up to my chin, my body sinking into the mattress. It was dreadfully late, as the party had lasted for far too long. Only three hours were left until sunrise. Gods, I hoped Taryn would sleep in late.


    The night hadn’t been all bad, though. I’d danced with some of the more civil men, as I knew it would be too dangerous to say no, but secretly I enjoyed it. I’d forgotten the hard, jagged edges of soldiers. The broad shoulders and lean torsos. The masculine voices and deep chuckles. It was bittersweet.


    I’d even danced with one particularly mysterious gentleman. He was tall, his hair light under his mask. The surface of his black mask was covered in raised swirls and spirals of the same color, and beneath the eyeholes, intense orange eyes flamed.


    He didn’t speak once, but he bowed to me and held out his hand. He seemed solemn and respectful, so I agreed, and we danced in a slow, feverish embrace. Just to one song, but it was enchanting. I’d forgotten what it was like to be held by a fascinating man, to be cherished if only for a moment.


    After the dance ended, he bowed again, and then he disappeared into the hall. His uncanny presence lingered even after he left, like dense trails of smoke.


    I wondered who he was the rest of the night. Even as I lay in bed with heavy eyelids and a weary body. My interest had been piqued, but it was meaningless; I’d never pursue him. I shook away any thought of the stranger.


    Men were dangerous, and loving them always meant certain pain in one way or another. Whether it betrayal or death, heartbreak was imminent. I’d rather live the rest of my days as Leopold’s lonesome widow than to love another. That delicate, fleeting notion had done too much damage, and the good of it wasn’t worth the bad.


    Settling in against Taryn, I closed my eyes and stilled at last, promising myself love would never make me soft again.


    Chapter One: The Robin''s Promise


    SEVEN YEARS LATER


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    Every day for ten years, I accidentally burnt myself or came close to it. Sometimes just a minor searing of my garment, sometimes a nasty burn of a more serious degree. My narrow kitchen was cramped and hazardous, but it was all mine, at least.


    Grateful as I was, I still couldn’t stop the stream of curse words that spewed from my mouth as I tripped over a large sack of flour, my shoulder consequently grazing the hot oven nearby. The unmistakable scent of singed flesh hit my nose only moments later.


    “Ugh. Taryn!” I clutched my wound as I glared at my son and the magical creature perched on his shoulder. I’d went out back to receive another order of spices sent from an unnamed charity, and when I returned, I was so startled by the sight of my son and his newfound friend that I stumbled over the flour sack and into the oven.


    Taryn suppressed a giggle, his round, freckled cheeks looking still childlike. His almost full set of adult teeth gleamed at me, pointed canines included, and he looked so much like his father that my chest ached.


    “What have I told you about playing in the bakery?” It wasn’t truly his fault I’d burned myself; I was clumsy, and it happened so regularly that my newly acquired burn mark easily blended in with the mess of scars already lacing my arms.


    He swatted his hand at me and then pointed to the creature on his shoulder. “Oh, Mother. Don’t get so worked up. Tis only a brownie.”


    Much like his late father, Taryn had a penchant for troublemaking and cavorting with other enchanted beings.


    The brownie snickered, his silvery hair sparkling as he covered his mouth. I suppressed a shiver. The creatures gave me the creeps and not just for their doll-like size. It was their notoriety for devilment that left me on edge. Brownies, like a sizable population of the magical creatures in our realm, were often up to no good.


    “I don’t like you playing with magic. Especially in the bakery. Can get you into too much trouble if you’re not careful.” I reached across the wooden table, away from the threat of the oven. An array of flour dusted the tabletop messily. “You know these ingredients have become expensive. Why must you waste them?”


    “Mother,” Taryn cooed in his usual reassuring way. “I’m fine, really. This is Finrick. I met him at the stream. He promised me a wish if I brought him one of your delicious pies.”


    Finrick rubbed his belly and licked his frosting-pink lips.


    A reluctant smile formed on my face at the innocence of my son. “A whole pie? A thing like that could barely manage a slice.”


    The creature jabbered something in a faint high-pitched tune that sounded more like the distant ringing of a bell than speech.


    “He says his appetite is bigger than it looks,” Taryn said with a chuckle. “I’m sorry for the mess, Mother. I spilled some flour when I was going through your cabinets. I was trying to find elderberry.”


    Staring down at the litter of overturned flour, it was obvious Taryn had inherited at least some of my ham-fisted tendencies. The mess coated the table and floor in powdery piles.


    A sigh escaped my lips as I reached up into the tall cupboard where I kept my stock. “Lucky for you, I made a fresh one just this morning.”


    I had used the last of my elderberries for that pie, and I’d intended on selling it. I wasn’t sure the worth of a brownie’s words, but Taryn’s childhood dreams would vanish soon enough on their own. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to play along.


    Finrick gleamed as I presented the delectable pie before him, the latticework of flaky, buttery crust crossing over the purple-black filling. He squeaked something indistinguishable.


    “Thank you, Mother,” Taryn said.


    “No worries. Now, the both of you out the door. Tis no place for a brownie or a child to be running amuck making messes.”


    I sensed his frustration before he even uttered a word. “I’m not a child.”


    Taryn was right; he was somewhere between a child and a man, and the past months had been a testament to that. He’d been in and out of trouble, pulling harmless yet annoying pranks on other shopkeepers and running with a ruffian group of boys. Bored with childhood games but not yet wise enough for adult decisions.


    His stormy eyes glowered at me as I swiped a spot of flour from his high cheekbone, the heat from his skin blazing my fingertips.


    “Of course, my son.”


    Huffing, he took the pie and his friend and left the bakery, leaving me with my troublesome thoughts. I knew he was likely going back to the stream to fish or across the street to flirt with the cobbler’s daughter. Still, I silently prayed to the gods for his safety. The political unrest in the city had grown tense due to the fact King Odsby was dying and still hadn’t chosen his heir.


    Although young and sometimes rash, my boy had his wits and strength about him. He wasn’t yet twelve years old, but his talent with an iron was notably impressive. Then again, what else could be expected from a natural-born dragonkin?


    The bloodline had weakened considerably, Taryn’s only physical dragonkin characteristics being his eternally heated skin, blustery eyes, and pointed canines. His temper and brawn were undeniably that of a dragonkin heart, too.


    His father’s own traits had been diminished by impurities somewhere along the family tree. He had looked mostly human himself, although monstrous in size. He had possessed an irrefutable talent for fighting, as well as a deep-rooted passion for helping others. His bleeding heart had craved justice and protection for all living folk, magic or not.


    What would Taryn’s father, the great Leopold Evenon, think of me these days? I wondered if he’d be pleased that I’d raised our boy on my own, having made a name for myself in the capital as a talented baker. I hoped he’d be proud of my success in the industry and our humble loft above the bakeshop.


    The funds had been sufficient, and I’d even begun saving a little for Taryn’s education. The boy needed a proper institution to educate him beyond the simple math I taught in the kitchen with measurements and the few history lessons I spewed over morning tea.


    I wanted nothing but the best for my only child, and while he could have taken over the bakery one day, he hated baking with a passion. His happiness had always been paramount to me, coming only second to his safety.


    Off to the academy with him, I thought. A war was coming; I could feel it in my bones. Books and education were far the better option than sword and flame. At least in the eyes of a lonely widow who had lost her only love to the latter. I would do anything to protect my child.


    Humming to myself in the bakery, I swept up the wasted flour littered across the stone floor and set out my ingredients. A large order had come in the night before, some sort of dessert sampling for a noble. I hadn’t had such an order in some time, with the disquiet in the city. I was surprised when the courier came by so late that evening, hand delivering me the menu listed by the customer. They’d requested an entire load of sweet breads, custards, fritters, and cakes.


    A taster of this size would guarantee a handsome payment, which I could add to Taryn’s tuition funds. Assuming the customer was satisfied, of course. I took pride in my work and establishing relationships with my clientele, and I never made them pay if they were dissatisfied. They seldom ever were.


    I began forming the dough, my fingers kneading and rolling it with a rhythm and pressure I’d kept up for years. Baking was second nature to me, but while Taryn and Leopold had inherited their warrior skills, my talent had been learned and practiced. I’d watched and worked alongside bakers in the capital for years, honing my craft until I could man the ovens in my sleep.


    As I worked on my counter, the red-breasted robin who visited me often graced the nearby windowsill, its beady black eyes shining in the sunlight. I hoped she’d brought luck with her this time; it was just what the realm of Carafye needed.


    The bird started up its cheerful song, and I harmonized along with it, the tune lifting my spirits and distracting me from thoughts of Leopold and imminent danger. Whether it was the lovely call she whistled out, or her presence alone, I didn’t know, but a sliver of comfort found me like a warm embrace as I slaved over the large order from the mysterious client.


    When the bird took flight again, a nagging sense of loneliness overtook me, and I wondered just where Taryn had gone and whether the brownie had kept its word. Whatever would a near-twelve boy wish for, anyway? I pondered for a minute, my mind bouncing from images of pointed broadswords to golden coins and pretty girls. I decided I’d rather not know and trust the robin’s promise instead.