A sudden cry had me freeze in mid step as I pricked my ears.
There was a soft murmur, almost too soft for even my hearing to pick up, and then another cry.
I took off again, this time at a full sprint. Now I recognized that voice.
It was Seranni.
Within minutes, I was crouching in the upper branches of a tree, looking down in the clearing at the scene unfolding before me. A haze came over my vision, and the dragon within me roared, straining to slip the tight leash I kept on him and run amok.
The dragon within me demanded blood, and I was inclined to let him run rampant.
Below me, a man had his hand around Seranni’s throat. Her eyes were wide and fearful, and she was pleading for the man to let go.
I had seen enough.
For once, my dragon and I were on the same side.
This man would die tonight.
Chapter 4: Seranni
When I had woken up today, I had no idea that it would be the last day I would ever spend in Vilusia.
The sun had peeked timidly over the horizon, casting long beams of pale gold through the cracks in my curtains. The room smelled faintly of lavender soap and woodsmoke, a combination that usually brought me comfort. But as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, unease settled in my chest. The dreams that had haunted me in the night had faded, leaving only an inexplicable sense of foreboding.
A sharp knock at my door startled me from my thoughts. I threw on my cloak and padded to the door, half expecting the wind to have rapped on the wood.
Instead, I found Riana Narr on my doorstep, her cheeks rosy from the cold and her grin as wide as ever.
“My grandmother sent me to give you this,” Riana she said brightly, holding out a mince pie that smelled of cinnamon and warm raisins.
“Riana, you didn’t need to—” I began, but she brushed past me, placing the pie on my kitchen table with practiced ease.
“It’s my favorite, she puts raisins in them,” she said, her voice sing-song as she ignored my protests. “I’ll bring over some bread and cheese for your lunch.”
“Wait, Riana, this is too much—”
“My grandmother says you could do with some fattening,” Riana said cheerfully, as she walked out of the door. “I’ll be back at noon with lunch, Seranni.”
Then she had slammed the door shut behind her, and I was alone again.
The Narrs meant well, but I couldn’t help bristling at their unsolicited help. I didn’t need charity. Did I?
It was true that I hated cooking, and I was glad of the help, but Mother Narr was treating me like I was helpless. I washed up and sliced myself a piece of pie for breakfast, even as I smarted at the idea that Mother Narr thought I couldn’t look after myself.
The morning passed in a blur of chores. After a quick breakfast of pie—delicious, even if I refused to admit it—I scrubbed my kitchen floor until it gleamed, washed and mended my clothes, and set out my herbs to dry on the windowsill. My small home, though modest, felt like a sanctuary when I kept it in order.
When Riana arrived at noon with more food, I was determined to put an end to the Narrs’ excessive generosity. I accompanied her back to her house, my heart set on speaking to Mother Narr.
The afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the streets as I walked to the Narrs’ house, Riana chattering away even as I stayed silent.
The Narrs’ cottage sat near the edge of the village, its stone walls and thatched roof weathered by time. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney, and the front door creaked open as Riana rushed inside, calling to her grandmother. I lingered on the threshold for a moment more, trying to tamp down my irritation and remember that I was truly touched by the Narrs’ help.
Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door and stepped. Mother Narr sat by the fire, her gnarled hands knitting a bundle of yarn into what looked like a scarf. The flames cast flickering shadows across her lined face, and she hummed a tuneless melody to herself as she worked.
“Ah, Seranni, dear child,” she said, her voice soft and warm as she looked up from her knitting, her eyes twinkling with goodcheer. “Are you here to check on the babe? He and his mother are both asleep, I’m afraid.”
I forced a smile, despite the nervous fluttering in my stomach, and stepped forward into the warmth of the cottage. “I've come to talk to you, Mother Narr,” I said, keeping my voice steady with an effort. “I wanted to thank you for your kindness. I'm truly grateful.”
