It is the sixteenth day of the second month of 1281, and for most, it is a day of insignificance. But for Aurelia Camwell, it is both her final day as a seventeen-year-old and her final day as a normal girl.
It is The Day that Will Change Everything, and it is already off to a bad start—she is late for her bi-weekly trip to the Sun Temple. She has overslept. The day before, she had been reading a romance novel given to her by a girl she helped heal a few days ago. The male lead in the story was in the midst of giving a very charming and brilliantly-worded proposal, but Aurelia had been too tired to continue and fell asleep on the worn armchair that is now more gray than blue.
“I’ll be back at night!” Aurelia yanks on her only coat now, basket thrown over one arm as she kicks her boots into place. She snatches a black cap off the hat-decorated owl statue at the door. Without waiting for the maids to respond, she throws open the front door and makes a mad dash into the arms of the wintry Arcadan streets.
Spring is already approaching, so the wind is not at its full strength, something she is grateful for as she tugs her coat tighter to herself. Her feet crunch against snow. The sun shines down lazily above her, warming her cheeks and the drab gray town.
When she was younger, she resented her father for leaving her in Plerin, a remote little village far away from San Lohn. She had read about the prosperity of the capital, and she had longed to be there to see the city and all its splendor. She knows better now. She is grateful for the freedom she has. She can come and go from the house in whatever clothes she likes, and she can read as many romance novels as she pleases, when she pleases.
No, she is the privileged one, in some sense.
Besides, the town is not so bad after getting used to it. The townsfolk are kind to her, and she really has most of everything she needs. And if she looks hard enough, pretty little details can be found tucked into the perpetual murk—a pot of blooming daisies in a windowsill, petals in all their splendor angling towards the sun; a painted wall outside the town school with a blue sky and deep green mountains, decorated lovingly with little hand prints marked at the edges of the wall; slivers of golden sunlight that sneak through the pattern of cluttered houses, casting threads of yellow and weaving their warmth wherever they can reach.
She inhales, shutting her eyes, stopping right there in the streets. She angles her face up towards the sky and feels the sun’s heat against her skin. The world seems to breathe a little slower around her in that moment. What was it that they said about time going faster and faster with every passing year? She is almost eighteen now, and—
I should buy a cake.
With that in mind, she opens her eyes and rushes down the streets again in a quick jog. She needs to finish up at the temple before the eighth hour strikes if she wants to buy a proper cake, and she is already an hour later than she usually would be.
Thankfully, the market is small. She runs past a sign tacked on a lamp post, proclaiming the marketplace to be beyond it. The “marketplace” itself is simple, too, just two aisles of humble wooden stalls with fresh produce and the occasional inedible item. She waves no to a tall man with a sunflower at his ear trying to sell plants to anyone passing by.
“Aurelia!” A woman behind a bushel of apples calls to her, setting down the box in her hands to beckon.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Feige,” Aurelia says, moving backwards to offer her a dramatic curtsy, which makes the other woman laugh. Mrs. Feige has always been fond of her. “Is your ankle still bothering you?”
Mrs. Feige smiles and adjusts her crooked spectacles. “Not at all, thanks to you. Are you in a hurry?”
“A bit, yes, if you’ll excuse me.” Aurelia bobs the older woman a second curtsy before pointing forward. “I’ll see you on my way back!” And she is off again, running as though dark spirits from another realm are chasing after her.
While she runs, she cannot help but be thankful once more for the simplicity of the town. She’d read about sprawling marketplaces before in both geography books and adventure novels—bazaars selling all sorts of foreign and exciting objects, with so many stalls it would take days just to look at them all, snaking and winding through the streets.
Plerin Town Market is nothing like that. It is just a single, straight line, which any child could follow right to the end, where a two-story marble building stands, easily the most colorful structure in the entirety of the city. Circular stained-glass windows are set beneath a domed roof, which glimmers beneath the sun. Though she does not believe in Saint Rosalia herself, she breathes a hushed prayer that she is not too late, for there is already a line of people at the front steps of the temple. The line shuffles forward slowly. Most of them are standing, while a few sit on the ground. One of them nurses a bloody leg.
Her hands start to tingle, but she ignores them as she enters, brushing by a team of brown-robed acolytes hurrying by with a bucket of hot water.
“Sorry I’m late.” Aurelia approaches a white-robed woman standing behind a wooden table covered with ceramic jars of poultices and cloth bandages. She is supervising the other acolytes as they check the line of the ill and wounded. “How can I be of assistance today?” Somewhere in the background, a baby begins to wail. The sound of the disciples talking in their low, unrushed tones blends with the chatter of townspeople waiting in line, buzzing in her ears. She rubs at her face, trying to clear her mind.
The woman glances at her briefly before handing her an apron. Her eyes are weary. “There, third line,” she said. She does not give Aurelia any extra greeting, but Aurelia is used to that. The Taine, the Head Nurse, is always this brisk while working.
Aurelia darts to the third line while pulling on her apron. The acolyte there is checking bandage dressings. They belong to a young man in a dirty linen shirt and torn trousers. His left sleeve is rolled up, revealing a wound oozing pus, most likely from a knife or ax wound. The man’s entire face is quivering. He looks as though he will pass out any moment soon.
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“What happened?” Aurelia squats down in front of the man.
The man raises his head to look at her. His brow twitches in confusion, but he replies nonetheless. “I cannot go to work like this tomorrow. I got hurt by an ax, and . . . I can’t go to work tomorrow. And my baby at home—” his voice breaks. He turns away to stare at the floor.
She swallows. Her fingertips are tingling dangerously again, so hard that they feel numb. “Tell me more about your baby.” To the acolyte behind the table, she holds out her hand. The girl places the bandages in Aurelia’s hands before gesturing towards the next person in line to approach. “Are they a boy or a girl?”
The man manages to squeeze out a wobbly smile. “A girl. She looks exactly like her mother—beautiful eyes and dark skin. She’s so small, too.” As the man speaks, eyes unfocused, Aurelia passes her hand over the slice on his arm, nodding and hoping he is too lost in his own world to notice what she is doing. “I got my new job partly because she likes eggs. I’d do anything for her.” He finally looks back up at Aurelia. His eyes gleam deep sapphire blue. His breathing has steadied.
“Your daughter is lucky to have you as her father,” says Aurelia, putting her entire soul behind the words. “Hold out your arm, now. I’m going to tell you how to treat your wound so you get better sooner.” She wraps the bandages around his arm gingerly. “Keep it clean and dry until the next day. Use this ointment here and a clean cloth every day until it closes up. If it starts bleeding, apply pressure to the wound with clean fabric. If it becomes red or itchy, or if you just think it looks odd, you must come back and let us reinspect it.” Not that that will happen to him. She has already seen to that. Aurelia hands him a ceramic jar and a roll of white bandages.
The man nods and stood. He shifts his left arm slightly. “I already feel much better. Thank you for your help, and for listening.” He bows before turning to leave. Aurelia smiles at him as wide and genuine as possible, trying to press down the wave of dizziness and nausea that sweeps through her head as she stands back up. She has become mostly used to the sensation, but sometimes, it still catches her off guard.
“Are you alright?” The acolyte beside her asks. She has already moved on to the next patient.
“I’m quite alright, thank you. I just . . . stood up too fast.” Aurelia fixes her smile, trying her best not to let it slide off her face as she greets the next person.
The hours fly by. People come forward with various ailments—a woman cradling a sick child, a little boy with his arm in a makeshift sling, an old lady who needs medicine for her joints—and Aurelia does her best to help. She knows the Sun Temple is the only facility that will offer people here any sort of medical assistance. Barely anyone in Plerin can afford real healers, and most healers aren’t inclined to give out their expertise for free.
“I think that’s the last of them.” The acolyte with pats the stack of blankets on their table. She begins sorting the leftover jars of medicines and tinctures into labeled boxes.
She turns to look out the huge crystalline windows. Above the Sun Temple, the sky has dimmed into deep tangerine, and instead of lines of people, there are only a few pigeons pecking in the courtyard. “Good work today,” she replies, rolling up the remaining bandages into a neat wad.
The temple is finally silent, then, except for the occasional clatter. All the temple staff work wordlessly and efficiently, until everything has been tidied away.
“Happy birthday, Aurelia,” says a quiet, tired voice behind her, and Aurelia jumps, almost dropping the stack of blankets she is carrying. The Taine stands there in her white gown, holding a paper box, her expression neutral as usual. However, her eyes glimmer blue-gray like a stormy sky.
Aurelia gives the Taine a slight, confused bow. “How did you know my birthday is tomorrow?” No one but the maids at their house know. She has never disclosed her personal information to the Taine during their four years of acquaintance.
The Taine smiles faintly. “Saint Rosalia has her ways of letting us know.” She raises her box slightly. “I’ll leave this on the table over there. Take it when you leave, and may the Saints watch over you.” With that, she steps away towards the table, calling for an acolyte passing by to be careful with the glass bottles, before finally vanishing into one of the temple rooms.
Aurelia does not wonder why the Taine has decided to give her something for her eighteenth birthday. She knows the acolytes of the Sun Temples usually receive something from their seniors when they are about to come of age. She had been coming to the Sun Temple to help out for over three years, so perhaps the Taine has come to see her as an acolyte of some sorts.
I’ll have to thank her next week. Aurelia places her blanket stack on the neat pile in the storage room. She wonders whether the Saints will like it if she gifts their servants with apple pie.
As she finishes sorting through the blankets, a flock of younger acolytes, definitely too young to have been on healing duty earlier, stop at the doorway, carrying piles of supplies. Their faces are rosy and their long hair is twisted up in braids behind their heads. They chatter excitedly, talking over one another.
“I’m so thankful they can’t get me to do anything here. My mother wants to marry my sister off already—”
“I heard Tonat Houck is coming by Plerin for a few days—”
“My father made a batch of stew that’s absolutely delicious, you must try some—”
One of them catches sight of Aurelia and quickly nudges the others. They fall silent all at once, inclining their heads towards her.
Awkwardly, Aurelia returns the nod. She always feels odd when other temple staff members treat her with such caution. Everyone knows, more or less, about the circumstances of her birth. She doesn’t feel she deserves any of the special reverence they give her, one of the reasons she has always felt more comfortable with the Taine, who has never uttered a word about her father or treated her any differently from the acolytes she is in charge of. Aurelia scoots out of the storage room as quickly as her legs allow her. Without stopping for any pleasantries, she picks up the Taine’s box and dashes down the steps.
Over Plerin, deep blue night drifts down from the heavens, one shade at a time. By the time Aurelia says good-bye to Mrs. Feige, with five ruby-red apples in her basket, and makes her way out of the town’s only bakery with a single slice of cake in a little cardboard box, the darkness has already draped itself all over Plerin. The stars glimmer above her as she heads back towards her house, humming under her breath. Aside from the occasional dizzy spell, she feels perfectly fine today. She has a cake to enjoy, a gift tucked in her basket, and a proposal to continue reading once she arrives home.
It is the perfect way to celebrate her last day of being seventeen, if she has to say so herself. She does not care that there has been no word from her father, even though she is coming of age. She has long since given up on that hope. Now she is old enough, she wants to make something of herself apart from the Camwell name, a name she’s never felt any connection to.
With a decided rush to her step, she hurries back towards her house. It is her last day of being seventeen, and she wants to make the most of the rest of it. Besides, if for nothing else, she wants to see what the Taine had given her.
When she arrives at the front gates of her house, she is breathing hard and feeling all at once tired and exhilarated from her run. She places her hands on the rusty metal, pushing it open with a loud creak, her mind entirely on her cake and her box. She does not even register how easily the gates swing open that night, nor the droplets of maroon on the ground that signify the beginning of all her troubles. She does not see any of it, until she nearly trips over the dying man.