《The Great and the Dark》


 Prologue/ The Robins Promise

    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


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    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.

 Down with the King

    ¡°Mother, what kind of treat will you be making me for my birthday this year?¡±


    I smirked at Taryn; I¡¯d spoiled him with goodies and sweets for as long as I could remember, and I always made him something special for his birthday. He was lucky he was dragonkin, or he would have been horribly obese. Instead, he was lanky and tall, almost taller than me.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about,¡± I replied as I wiped the counter with a damp rag.


    Taryn gave me his lopsided grin, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he placed a long-fingered hand on my shoulder. ¡°You do this every year. Act as if I¡¯ll have nothing special, only to turn around and surprise me.¡±


    ¡°Then why ask? To take the fun out of it? You¡¯ll just have to wait and see, my little glutton. Your birthday isn¡¯t until tomorrow, anyway.¡±


    He laughed and shrugged his broad-set shoulders; they were too bulky for his narrow frame, but I knew he would grow into them with age. ¡°I¡¯m off to the cobbler.¡±


    I narrowed my eyes at him, the edges of my lips tilting upward slightly. ¡°I didn¡¯t know you needed your boots repaired.¡±


    His alabaster face flushed red as he rubbed the back of his neck up and down. ¡°Well, no. I just¡­ I like his¡­ his daughter is¡­¡±


    ¡°Run along now. No need to explain yourself,¡± I said with a chuckle. ¡°Be good, and be smart.¡±


    He laughed awkwardly in reply and bounded out the door with a grin.


    I poked about the bakery, arranging spices and wiping down surfaces. The wealthy customer was scheduled to arrive that day to retrieve his sampler. Though I always kept the shop tidy, I gave it an extra clean for good measure. First impressions were forever.


    The cuckoo clock on the wall told me I still had an hour before the client would arrive, and with Taryn out of my hair, it seemed like a good time to venture down to the fruit stand. I¡¯d planned a cheesecake topped with raspberries and cherries for Taryn¡¯s birthday, but I wished I had enough cocoa powder to have baked him his favorite: a chocolate cheesecake with chocolate frosting.


    With the tensions running high in the capital, the port had been closed. Meaning nothing got in, and nothing got out. Not even something as harmless as cocoa powder.


    If only the king could make up his damn mind, I thought. He was to blame for the capital¡¯s tumult. He¡¯d always been indecisive. Even at the realm¡¯s expense.


    The air was still crisp with the late spring chill, so I slipped my hooded cloak over my moss-green dress. My coinage was in its drawstring purse, my basket was under my arm, and my trusty dagger stayed strapped to my thigh for protection. I hoped I wouldn¡¯t have to use her; murder, even for self-protection, wasn¡¯t the type of publicity I desired.


    I¡¯d used her before, but rarely ever to kill. To harm, yes. To disfigure the wandering hands that belonged to seedy men in the street or to stop a thief from stealing from me in the market.


    Even during the more peaceful years in Windport, I never dared to go without the safety my blade offered. Most of the inhabitants knew not to cross me; kind as I was, I wouldn¡¯t hesitate to defend myself or my child. After I¡¯d publicly stabbed a child predator, no one batted an eye in my direction. The kingdom had overlooked my vengeance, and no one missed the perpetrator that had easily died at my hands. In fact, the citizens slept more peacefully, knowing fewer vermin roamed the streets.


    The mounting pressure among the people had grown so tense one would be a fool to venture to the market without a weapon of some sort. I was glad the cobbler only lived across the street and that Taryn wasn¡¯t out in the mess of slighted citizens angry over their lack of food and goods.


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    Slipping down the crowded cobblestone streets, the further I got from the bakery, the smellier it became. Human waste and yeasty ale nauseated my empty stomach as I strolled past the tavern and brothel.


    ¡°Care to come in for a drink, m¡¯lady? I have a brew sure to quench your thirst,¡± a woman''s voice called from the tavern as I whizzed past.


    ¡°No, thank you.¡± I kept going, looking ahead to the sea of people milling about a few paces away. It was louder than usual, a couple of men shouting obscenities, rallying up the crowd.


    ¡°Down with the king and his rotten successors!¡± The crowd cheered at the gruff voice cracking out over them. ¡°Down with them all!¡±


    I pulled my drooping hood tighter around my face. This could get ugly, and quickly. I had no interest in protesting. I simply wished to purchase my produce and get out. Mischief lurked when the angered citizens assembled themselves, and I wanted no part of it. The knights of Glissborn weren¡¯t exactly light in their punishments.


    ¡°The king has left us with nothing to eat but scraps while he dines on venison and eel!¡±


    ¡°What a world we live in, where we are to either be ruled by a black-haired vixen or a crazed warmonger!¡±


    ¡°Closing the port so that we can¡¯t leave? They know what they¡¯re doing! The land across the sea would never do this to their people!¡±


    I cringed at the noisy complaints as I slid through throngs of ill-tempered citizens. Isolde¡ªthe mage princess¡ªwas the only legitimate heir to the throne of the entire realm of Carafye. Many were outraged at the idea of a woman taking the throne, despite her training and renowned intelligence for both civilian and military conflict.


    Some would rather have Morgan Joss¡ªa military tyrant claiming to be the rightful heir to the throne. He was a bastard, if that. No one knew for sure, but some would rather have illegitimate blood rule than that of a woman. He was popular with the humans more than the magic folk, for he was notoriously cruel to the latter. But still, there were many who were frustrated with both options. I didn¡¯t care who took the throne, so long as my life wouldn¡¯t change.


    Eventually, I made my way to the fruit stand and was greeted by the saleslady, Margaret.


    ¡°Top of the morning to you, love. What can I do you for?¡±


    I surveyed the small selection of produce. Once, it had all been fresh and ripe, but over the time, the selection had dwindled to spotty, mushy leftovers.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid it¡¯s slim pickings for now. The orchards have about run dry. Tis all I have left.¡±


    I turned over a soggy apple in one hand, its sour, sticky juices oozing down my wrist. I had no coin to spare for rotten fruit. ¡°This is all that¡¯s left?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid so, Aislinn.¡± Margaret¡¯s gaunt face appeared even thinner than usual as lines of distress circled her eyes. No doubt the unrest had taken its toll on her as well. Spoiled or not, I couldn¡¯t blame her for attempting to sell what produce she had left; we had to survive somehow.


    ¡°I¡¯ll have to pass today, then. Sorry. Take care, my friend,¡± I said.


    She was hardly that but more of an associate. Something about the overwrought climate made us commoners feel connected, though. And worried.


    ¡°You too, child. Be safe.¡±


    Not a singular cherry or raspberry in sight, I left empty-handed. I¡¯d used a majority of my fruit when crafting the sampler for the noble client. If only the mysterious charity who donated ingredients to me from time to time had delivered me fruits instead of spices. Oh, well. I was grateful for the help, anyway. I¡¯d have to settle for making something else. I only hoped Taryn wouldn¡¯t be disappointed.


    Maybe he¡¯d understand, maybe not. He was only on the cusp of the teenage years and was still prone to irrational fits of disappointment from time to time.


    ¡°To hell with the Odsbys!¡± a disgruntled voice croaked out loudly, followed by applause. ¡°If they want to treat us like scum, we¡¯ll show them scum!¡±


    A scruffy-faced man with both a tattooed body and head climbed atop a scaffolding as the crowd roared. He pulled down his trousers and started urinating on the platform as some shrieked. The people scattered, shocked and disgusted by the vile action.


    ¡°This is what I think of King Odsby! A load of piss!¡± His shouts were followed by a drunken hiccup.


    Another man climbed onto the scaffolding, fists clenched. Two more followed. They tackled the offender, delivering blows to his head while cursing him. Though united by the turmoil in the city, such acts of depravity were not tolerated by anyone. Not with the Glissborn knights handing out punishments like they did.


    With wide eyes, I backed away through the crowd; I wouldn¡¯t want to be around if the king heard wind of this disrespectful display. I needed to get out of there and find Taryn. Fast.

 The Call of the Dragons

    I was relieved to see Taryn standing in the shop as I hurtled through the door, but I was not expecting to see the two people standing beside him. In fact, I had hoped I¡¯d never see the likes of them again.


    My mother-in-law stood to Taryn¡¯s left, my father-in-law to his right. Seeing them was inevitable, as they were his grandparents. Still, they hadn¡¯t seen him in several years, and their letters had faded to few and far between.


    ¡°Rowena. Godfrey.¡± I tipped my head in their direction, neglecting a formal curtsy. Their nobility had no effect on me anymore; I¡¯d been offered a taste of that life and been stripped of it by their hands.


    Rowena smirked, her plum-painted cupid¡¯s bow sharp as ever. Her jaw looked long and slim in the shadows of the kitchen, and she somehow boasted an air of judgment without even speaking. Godfrey''s face was still as stone, his thoughts a cold enigma as always.


    ¡°Look who has come to Windport, Mother! Grandmother and Grandfather!¡± Taryn beamed, his overwhelming naivet¨¦ intoxicating me at the moment.


    ¡°What a joy,¡± I murmured as I removed my cloak and hung it on the hook by the door.


    ¡°Aislinn, our Leopold¡¯s¡­ beloved.¡± Rowena cringed as she stepped forward, her face stretched tight with fake sincerity. ¡°Though what he saw in you, I never understood.¡±


    She¡¯d always resented me. She¡¯d hoped her son, the heir to the Cruxwing lands, would have chosen someone within their clan. Though she and Godfrey hardly looked the part of dragonkin themselves, she had always vied to bring the bloodline back to its former ancient glory.


    ¡°What can I do you for? You haven¡¯t seen us in quite some time. Not that I¡¯m complaining.¡±


    ¡°Mother,¡± Taryn said with a sigh as I held up my hand to stop him.


    Rowena scoffed, pretending to be offended, as she shook her dark hair back off her shoulder. The umber tresses had become streaked with much more grey than I remembered.


    ¡°Why, we¡¯ve only come to wish our favorite grandson a happy birthday. That¡¯s all. My, Aislinn, you look quite¡­ bedraggled. Have you cut your hair? Or perhaps put on more weight?¡±


    Frowning, I glanced at the mirror adjacent to us. My auburn waves had been slicked to my face with sweat from my rushed walk home, and my brown eyes were wide and bulging from the unannounced arrival of our guests. My figure was as curvy and healthy-looking as it had always been, despite the city¡¯s current lack of goods. I had my baking skills to thank for the nourishment. My cheeks and lips were round and full, and even with the slight fine lines creasing around my eyes, I thought I was pretty.


    ¡°Jealousy isn¡¯t very becoming,¡± I mumbled as I pulled Taryn from between the two of them. ¡°Now, what are you plotting? Why have you come here?¡±


    The pair of them stood before me, their matching grey eyes swirling restlessly with mystery.


    ¡°Forgive us for not writing over the last couple of years. Godfrey and I both were dreadfully ill with the smolder fever. We¡¯ve both endured rigorous rehabilitation with the help of our healer, but it left us little energy or time to write for a long while,¡± Rowena said, her words surprisingly earnest. She looked as healthful as always, only slightly aged.


    ¡°Some healer you must have. You look fine to me.¡±


    ¡°Yes. He is a very talented man.¡± Rowena clapped her hands together.


    ¡°Taryn is an Evenon, Aislinn. It¡¯s time for him to come home.¡± Godfrey¡¯s thin lips twitched into something that eerily resembled a smile.


    White-hot anger flashed through me as I protectively tightened my grip on Taryn¡¯s shoulder, the dragonkin heat boiling beneath my touch. ¡°This is his home.¡±


    Godfrey exhaled as he paced closer. ¡°He is the rightful heir to the Cruxwing manor, my child. Rowena and I aren¡¯t getting any younger, and our brush with death has made us fearful of our mortality. What would happen to Cruxwing without a rightful heir?¡±


    Rowena stepped closer to me, pinning me and Taryn between them. ¡°Just look around, Aislinn. The current state of the capital is what we¡¯d be dealing with at home if we passed without an heir. You don¡¯t want that for our people, do you?¡±


    ¡°Why should I care?¡± I hissed. ¡°I don¡¯t care a thing about your lands anymore.¡±


    ¡°Because it is Leopold¡¯s and Taryn¡¯s home. And being twelve years of age, it is time for Taryn to train and learn the ways of our people. The dragons are calling,¡± Godfrey snarled.


    I blinked my eyes. The fact that the Cruxwing clan rode and fought on full-blooded dragons had always left me unsettled, since they were of the same blood themselves, no matter how diluted. Not to mention, their practices were primitive and ruthless, and I wanted Taryn to have no part of them.


    ¡°Dragons?¡± Taryn¡¯s face was alit with the news, and I involuntarily gripped him even harder. ¡°Ouch, Mother.¡±


    Loosening my grasp, I drew a deep breath. ¡°The dragons can wait. He¡¯s just a boy, and he¡¯ll have no part of this. I¡¯m sending him to a prestigious academy outside the city in a few months.¡±


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    Rowena cackled. ¡°An academy can never teach him the laws of fire and claw. Let him come home and be trained, Aislinn. That¡¯s what the boy wants.¡±


    ¡°If I let Taryn do everything he wanted, we¡¯d be eating cake and custard for every meal and he¡¯d still be in bedclothes with unkempt hair right now.¡±


    ¡°Aislinn.¡± Rowena narrowed her eyes at me.


    Taryn looked torn, his eyes darting from me to Rowena; he was eager to please me with his compliance, but I knew he was practically bursting with excitement at the thought of lordship and dragons.


    ¡°No,¡± I growled. ¡°A war is coming, and my child will not be involved.¡±


    Godfrey stroked his neatly shaven jaw, his face calm and contemplative. And somehow unnerving. ¡°If battle is coming, the manor is safer than Windport. Training for combat is more important than books and study. Let him come with us.¡±


    ¡°Never.¡±


    ¡°But, Mother! Please let me go! Please! I¡¯ve always wanted a dragon.¡±


    It irked me when Taryn acted so childish and impulsive, and in that moment, I thought he sounded more like a four-year-old instead of being three times that age.


    ¡°Exactly why I will not let you. You whine and cry like a toddler still on the teat. You are twelve, not a man. I won¡¯t allow you to suffer the same fate as your father.¡± The words rashly took flight from my lips before I could decipher how hurtful or truthful they really were; I regretted it instantly.


    Taryn¡¯s ears burnt red as his unfledged face twisted with disgust. I¡¯d hurt him, wounded his pride before near strangers. I knew his next words before he uttered them.


    ¡°I hate you.¡±


    I still winced as he said the poisonous words, even though I deserved them. Rowena appeared amused, her perfectly plucked brows flying to her widow¡¯s peak hairline.


    ¡°Taryn,¡± I cooed as he grabbed his iron from the mantel and took off outside. Where he was going, I didn¡¯t know for sure, but I thought it might be to seek comfort from the cobbler¡¯s daughter.


    His fleeing left things awkward in the bakeshop. I¡¯d never had any sort of pleasant interaction with my in-laws, but I could physically feel the criticism radiating from Rowena as she scowled. For some reason, the perpetual silence of Godfrey was worse.


    ¡°Aislinn, this can be painless for everyone if you would just kindly hand him over,¡± Rowena said.


    Painless? Hand him over? ¡°Absolutely not.¡±


    ¡°We can provide him with a life of comfort. It¡¯s what Leopold would want. He¡¯d be ashamed to see his boy sleeping in a one-bedroom loft over a dinky little bakeshop. He¡¯d think you were emasculating him, neglecting his true calling.¡± Rowena inspected the dirt under her pointed fingernails, unfazed by the gut-punching sentences she¡¯d spoken.


    ¡°Perhaps you should just leave,¡± I suggested. ¡°Because he¡¯s not leaving, and that¡¯s final.¡±


    ¡°No one can say we didn¡¯t give her a chance, Godfrey.¡± Rowena sized me up before turning on her heel.


    I squinted at her, confused and angered by her quizzical remark.


    Godfrey stalked toward me. ¡°Don¡¯t forget all I¡¯ve done for you, girl.¡±


    His profound voice made hot tears of anger well up in my eyes. I would not cry before them, no matter how upset or furious I got. Swallowing hard, I simply nodded as they made their exit.


    Once I heard the slam of the door and the jingle of the bell, I slunk to the floor. Knees to my chest, I drew a deep breath, trying to calm myself. How could I be so blinded by my emotions that I¡¯d hurt Taryn? Visits with my in-laws always opened up raw wounds. That was nothing new. But to hear the child I loved so much say he hated me? I knew it was likely just from anger, but I couldn¡¯t help but wonder if it was true. I was keeping him from his destiny, forcing him to be something he wasn¡¯t. Was it silly to think I could make a natural-born warrior into a scholar?


    I wouldn¡¯t fold. Taryn was mine. I¡¯d busted my ass to get us where we were, and I wasn¡¯t about to let him go so easily. He¡¯d learn to love the quill and paper, just as I loved baking. If he didn¡¯t, it wouldn¡¯t matter. He¡¯d at least be safe. And safety was more important than happiness.


    Malady pooled in my stomach at the thought of displeasing Leopold. I knew he¡¯d be disgraced that I was holding our son back, but I thought he would be proud of how far I¡¯d come with the small sum of money I¡¯d inherited.


    Leopold had put back thrice as much for me as I¡¯d been actually given, but I didn¡¯t question it at the time; I was just too happy to leave Cruxwing. After he died in battle at Mettler Hill, the Evenons made it very clear I was unwelcome. They¡¯d wanted me to leave Taryn with them to raise, but that was madness. He was only two at the time, not to mention the only piece of Leopold I had left.


    I hadn¡¯t been of noble birth like my late husband. I was only a fatherless commoner. My mother had been an impoverished potter; she passed when I was ten years of age, leaving me to be raised by the streets. It was no easy life, but it had taught me many lessons. So while I wasn¡¯t rich or royal, I was resilient and strong, and I didn¡¯t fall victim to the plots and games the wealthy always played. Like my in-laws always played.


    After my husband¡¯s passing, I fled Cruxwing and went back home to Windport with my toddler in tow and a skill-set I¡¯d forged in the streets long before marrying Leopold. Then, I went by my maiden name, Lockmere, as I wanted nothing to do with Leopold¡¯s coldhearted parents or the Evenon name anymore.


    Being only twenty-two at the time and a woman, even though I was the widow of a powerful warrior and lord, it wasn¡¯t simple obtaining property. In the realm of Carafye, women were often seen as chattel and requiring ownership. Especially commoners. The slave trade frequently auctioned off unruly or unwed women in the streets to be purchased as wives or servants.


    Owning property as a woman wasn¡¯t illegal, but it was no easy feat. I was thankful Godfrey had used my inheritance to purchase us the bakery and loft as a final act of kindness to his son. After Leopold¡¯s death, Godfrey became my legal guardian by proxy. No matter how unfriendly he¡¯d been, he didn¡¯t wish to see me sold off to some brute, and I was thankful for that rare shrivel of kindness. Still, in the back of my mind, I¡¯d always known it would come with a price. And apparently, that price was Taryn.


    They wouldn¡¯t win. Even if they sold the bakeshop out from under me. We¡¯d survive and thrive. Somehow, someway. I¡¯d been born of nothing but soot and clay. I had no decorum or title to sacrifice. I was afraid of nothing.


    If they wanted my son, they¡¯d have to pry him from my cold, dead hands.

 Long Live the Odsbys

    The doorbell jingled again as the door squeaked open. The masculine sound of boots thudding into the room echoed in my ears. Was Godfrey so relentless?


    My head hung between my knees. I called out shakily, ¡°He¡¯s not here. He¡¯s still out there somewhere, Godfrey.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not Godfrey.¡± An unfamiliar voice so powerful and deep that it gave me chills filled the room.


    I jerked my head up to face the stranger and caught my breath in my throat. He was remarkably handsome, with golden locks of hair and a beard to match, his eyes the color of warm amber.


    He towered over me as I rose to my feet. I noticed the familiar point of his ear, and I knew at once he was some sort of elf creature.


    ¡°W-who are you?¡± I asked, his honey-colored skin glistening as he stepped further into the sunlit room.


    He was so large and robust that he made the entire bakery appear miniature, and I was afraid he¡¯d break the rickety chair he settled himself into. The flimsy furniture creaked and whined, but it didn¡¯t collapse. He scooted his chair up to the round table I¡¯d dressed in a white lace cloth.


    ¡°I¡¯m Lord Woodthorne, madam. I believe I scheduled an appointment for a sampler this afternoon at three o¡¯clock.¡± He watched as I scurried over to the counter. ¡°Have you forgotten me?¡±


    I smoothed my apron, embarrassed my high-paying customer had seen me indisposed. I¡¯d been so distressed that I really had forgotten about him. ¡°Of course not. An order that large couldn¡¯t be forgotten.¡±


    Nor could an elf that large, I thought.


    He smirked, his apricot lips stretching across his warm face. His orange eyes were mesmerizing, and I tried not to appear too flustered as I admired them across the room. An odd sense of d¨¦j¨¤ vu nagged at me, but I pushed it aside.


    He softened, his smirk easing into a sympathetic smile. ¡°Is everything all right, madam? You seemed distraught when I first arrived. I do not enjoy seeing women suffer.¡±


    He sounded sincere, but he was in no place to be burdened my troubles. ¡°Yes, just a small family matter is all. I will be fine.¡±


    He nodded acquiescingly. ¡°Madam Lockmere, am I correct?¡±


    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s me. But you can just call me Aislinn. Everyone does.¡± No sense in scathing formality; I¡¯d had enough of that to last me a lifetime.


    ¡°Like your shop, Aislinn¡¯s Apple Strudel.¡±


    ¡°Correct,¡± I said, carrying a large tray filled with the desserts and pastries I¡¯d painstakingly curated for him. The breads were fluffy and moist, the pastries filled with what fresh fruit I¡¯d had left. The platter was large enough for two or three people, but Lord Woodthorne was alone. ¡°Dining alone, Lord Woodthorne?¡±


    Intently watching as I settled the tray before him, he answered, ¡°Yes, madam. But you may call me Landyn.¡±


    Landyn Woodthorne. The name sounded familiar in my mind, but I wasn¡¯t in the right headspace to question him. I simply wanted the appointment to be over so I could make amends with my son.


    ¡°Well, Landyn, pick your poison. I¡¯ve got tea, ale, milk. What will you be having to wash this down?¡± My hands on my hips, I watched as he delicately spread a cloth napkin across his lap. Just one of his thighs looked to be almost the size of both of mine together.


    ¡°Ale, please.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± Going back into the kitchen, I retrieved a pitcher of ale and my best pewter mug. I¡¯d shined it that morning, but it still looked dull before the elven man whose very skin glittered. Much unlike my own, my arms and hands battered from years in the kitchen. I was glad I¡¯d worn long sleeves that day.


    Pouring the ale into his cup, I watched as the liquid swirled before me, its color a pale version of Landyn¡¯s enchanting eyes.


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    ¡°Thank you, Aislinn.¡±


    ¡°My pleasure,¡± I added with a quick curtsy before stepping back a few feet to give him his privacy. ¡°If you need anything at all, I¡¯ll be glad to serve you.¡±


    He nodded, his silver fork piercing into an apple tart. I tried not to stare, but my curiosity got the best of me as I watched him savor each bite. I hadn¡¯t seen anyone nearly as attractive since my Leopold. The guilt of that realization made me nauseous, and I darted my eyes away.


    ¡°Delicious. Simply delicious. You¡¯ve outdone yourself, really, Aislinn.¡± His voice was muffled with his napkin against his lips.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re pleased,¡± I chirped, a smile blossoming across my face; I always enjoyed it when my customers praised my art.


    ¡°Come, have a seat.¡± He pointed to the empty chair across the table. It wasn¡¯t often guests asked me to dine with them, and nervous jitters danced through me.


    I found myself waltzing across the stone floor, the hem of my dress rustling against it. Perching before him, I hoped I hadn¡¯t looked as sweaty and frazzled as I had in the mirror earlier.


    ¡°Have a bite,¡± Landyn said.


    ¡°Oh? No, I couldn¡¯t possibly.¡± It seemed strange and unprofessional to dine with my client, but the fritters did look particularly mouth-watering, and I had been too busy to eat that day.


    ¡°Oh? Come on.¡± He must have noticed which dessert I¡¯d been eyeing because he carefully scooped it up on his fork and held it forward for me. ¡°You must learn to loosen up, Aislinn. Make the best of each opportunity and never deny oneself a chance at harmless happiness. Even momentary, fleeting joy.¡±


    He seemed good-natured, but I didn¡¯t appreciate him spouting off cheap wisdom as if he knew anything about me. I would have loved to tell him where he could shove his happiness, but the prospect of losing a large payment kept my quip at bay.


    Awkwardly, I took the utensil from his grasp, the sensation of his knuckle grazing mine making me tense up. I straightened my posture as I took a bite of fig fritter. He was right; it was delectable, but I already knew it would be. I was Aislinn Lockmere, after all. I could make pastries blindfolded.


    ¡°I do believe that,¡± he chuckled.


    ¡°Believe what?¡±


    ¡°Believe you could make pastries blindfolded.¡± He wiped his hands on his napkin and leaned back on the back legs of his chair.


    ¡°H-how did you¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m half-elf, madam. It leaves a lot to be desired in the magical abilities department, but I can read the minds of humans and others of lesser magic. Or, rather, I can hear them. At least of those in proximity.¡± He crossed his arms behind his head cockily.


    A deep blush swept over me, the heat encompassing. I hoped I hadn¡¯t been so close that he¡¯d heard my thoughts about him being attractive earlier.


    ¡°Yes, I heard them, darling.¡± His white teeth flashed at me as my stomach churned. ¡°But appreciating beauty is nothing to be ashamed about.¡±


    Just what I wanted. To be humiliated by an elven lord within my own bakery. I vowed to myself to be more careful with my thoughts as an annoying sweat broke out across my skin.


    A loud chorus of shouting and chanting came ringing through the street. It grew louder by the second, voices crying and screaming. Landyn knitted his brows together and jumped from his seat. Despite my previous embarrassment, I followed suit, and together we went to the window and peered into the clustered street.


    Commoners lined the road, distressed and in tears as one of the king¡¯s knights rode by on a horse, a long post in one hand and reins in the other. At the end of the post was a severed, scruffy-faced human head covered in tattoos. The troublemaker from market.


    The knight shouted over the wailing citizens, ¡°Let this be a warning to those of you that dare blaspheme the king! Long live the Odsbys!¡±


    Landyn¡¯s face fell as if bewildered by the atrocity. His shoulders stiffened, and he appeared frozen in thought for a moment before turning away and heading towards his chair.


    I had to find Taryn. The streets were never any place for a child, especially not during the knight¡¯s brutal display.


    I was only a breath away from telling my customer his visit would have to be cut short when my hands were grabbed forcefully from behind. Landyn pulled me against him.


    ¡°Hey!¡± I shouted, the heat and scent of his body devouring me. Sandalwood and pine and warm skin. My hands were bound tightly with rope as I kicked forward and back, his long legs dodging each blow rhythmically as if he abducted women every day. Maybe he did. Maybe I was about to be auctioned off.


    ¡°Sorry, love. With all the commotion in the street, this was the perfect opportunity. I figured you¡¯d be a screamer, too,¡± he whispered against my ear as he tied a strip of cloth over my mouth, gagging me and silencing the shriek climbing my throat.


    Opportunity for what? Panic flooded me, my heart pounding in my ears. My world went dark, and he clasped one mighty arm over my chest, holding me tight against him as the cloth over my lips absorbed my cry.


    ¡°Let¡¯s see what else you can do blindfolded.¡±