Half the realm was still reeling from the burning of Fennings Forest a hundred years ago. Dragons, infected with withering magic, had carved a path of destruction. Folk then believed that Eldrene’s power might be waning.
Which, of course,didcause it to wane. But that was a Celebration year, and the Crown Jewel Tulip reinvigorated the hope lost.
Had I just lost the world’s physical manifestation of hope?
Why did it have to be so small? Small things love to get lost.
Oh Goddess.
I let out another groan.
“Shhh,” a soft voice cooed. “You always overdo it.”
Despite the possibility of the world ending, I smiled. I would know that voice anywhere. The panic creeping up my spine subsided at the familiar scent of honey from Sylvie Alderson.
At least I’m home; at least I’m safe.
Even if I was a failure who needed to get to work right away.
I tried to lift my head, but gentle hands forced it back onto the pillow. There was no use in fighting this battle. I fancied myself to have quite the iron will, but it was nothing compared to one of my dearest friends.
“I don’t think so,” Sylvie admonished. “You were dealt quite the blow this morning. And for what? To run after an innocent squirrel seeking refuge in the forest?”
“More like a villainous vermin stealing my tulip,” I corrected her. Speaking worsened the pounding headache.
“Oh, so now you’re going toblamethe squirrel? That’s a new low, even for you, Miss Curmudgeonly,” she said with a loving lilt despite the ill-seeming nickname.
I’d earned it on my first day in Moss. As soon as she saw me trying to sell the tunic off my back for an apple, Sylvie had taken me in. Well, she tried to take me in. I fought her all the way down the main street, until she plopped me down on a bench next to a child presumably my age.
“Look after her for one moment, will you?” Sylvie had asked.
“Yes ma’am,” the child said softly.
“And don’t you run away, or I’ll send the bees after you.” She pointed an accusing finger at me, then darted off into the nearest dress shoppe.
That’s when I noticed the child’s green skin. They were anorcchild. A folk I only ever read about, was taught to fear. To hate. I was mostly skin and bones and had nothing to protect myself other than my nails and teeth. Fear gripped me.
I made to run, but the child grabbed me by my tunic. I struggled against them, but it was no use.
“She really will send the bees after you,” the child whispered. “She’s got honey magic.” As if on cue, I heard faint buzzing around my head. I went rigid, terrified of being attacked by a swarm of angry pests. “Don’t worry, they won’t sting you.” The child shooed the bee away. “Honey magic really makes things extra sweet, doesn’t do much by way ofcontrollingbees. Just gives you a chance to talk to them if you wanted to. That’s if they even listen to you. I’m sure you know that, though!”
I didn’t. The only thing I knew about magic was that it was impossible.
The child had large saucer eyes with a round, sweet face. Back home, I saw children with faces like mine—gaunt and haunted, fending for themselves as soon as they could walk. But the face that met mine that day was full of life.
Of love, I came to learn.
All of the children running along the streets each had that same roundness, that same easy smile.What must that be like?I wondered. They ran not for fear nor survival. They ran for joy. There was laughter, there was even music. Was I in Haven’s Halls?
“What’s your name?” the child asked.
“Cla—Clara,” I stuttered.
“I’m Rosie.” She beamed, letting go of my tunic and reaching out her hand to me. “Would you like to be friends?”
Friends. I read that word before. In books about grand adventures, books that took me far away from the sad little life I lived.
Friends,love,family. They were all just words, though, only found in stories. In the real word, they were nowhere to be found.
