Chapter
One
EVERLY
1 summer (year) prior to the trilogy.
As the sundips below the horizon, brushing the sky with vibrant colors, I approach the gates of Karra. Snow-capped mountains loom in the distance, their jagged peaks piercing the clouds.
I wiggle my aching feet in my boots. Usually, I don’t mind traveling on foot. However, the journey from Astarobane to Karra would have been much quicker if my family could afford a horse, but we’re too poor.
Hope thrums through me as I stop outside the city and smooth down the front of my new surcoat—the one Mother had insisted on sewing for me before I left Astarobane.
I exhale and turn my attention back to the city. I’ve spent countless nights poring over maps, my imagination conjuring visions of towering stone battlements and winding cobblestonestreets. The reality before me surpasses even my most vivid dreams.
I tilt my head back to take in the sheer enormity of the walls. The rough-hewn stone towers high into the sky, with arrow slits jutting out against the brightness.
Please help me find work.
Please, Olah.
It’s been a long time since Olah, the god of all Tarrobane, has answered my pleas, but it doesn’t stop me from asking.
Guards stand on each side of the portcullis in rows, their studded armor glinting in the early morning light. They hold long spears, and their faces are marked with distinctive Bloodstone battle marks—those black smudges beneath their eyes and below their mouths.
As I pass beneath the portcullis, the city comes into view. The streets are narrow and winding. Buildings of various shapes and sizes nestle close together, their roofs blanketed in white. Shops and stalls line the streets, and the scent of wood smoke fills the air.
I breathe it in, savoring the familiar smell. It reminds me of home.
Despite the early hour, the city is already alive with activity. Merchants call out their wares, and people hurry past, their breath visible in the cold air.
I yank my threadbare cloak tighter around my shoulders as I make my way deeper into the city. Karra is so different from my home in Astarobane, where people like me are treated with disdain and suspicion.
Here, nobody seems to notice the red circle on my surcoat.At least, they don’t turn away as I walk past, unlike in Astarobane.
A young girl with braided hair and rosy cheeks approaches me, clutching a flower in her hand.
Warmth shines in her eyes as she offers the winter jasmine to me. “For you, miss.”
I accept the tiny yellow flower with a smile, tucking it into my hair. “Thank you. What is your name?”
“Olive, miss.” She runs a dirty hand against her worn surcoat as she continues. “My older sister named me.”
“That’s a beautiful name.” I reach into the bag tied to my waist and pull out one of my last coins.
The girl grins as I offer it to her, then scurries off, announcing her good fortune and intent to buy a loaf of bread.
Tears prick at my eyes as she disappears around a bend. I was like her once. Starving. Desperate.
Hope stirs in my chest as I pass three more buildings, each taller than the last. Hope that I will find work. Hope that my family will be better off when I return.
A smile tugs at my lips as I grab a wood carving of a small fox from the bag tied to my waist. My sister, Kassandra, carved the fox last summer, and I took it with me when I left for Karra. Its ears are too big, and its legs look like sticks, but Kassandra captured its bushy tail perfectly.
I close my eyes and draw in a quick breath, centering myself.
I can do this.
I have to.
