I: Lacey Everknight
The morning sun barely warms the streets of Ashvale as I walk through the market, my dark gray ripped shawl slipping off my shoulders. I tug it back into place, trying to ignore the chill clinging to the cobblestones beneath my feet. My boots have definitely seen better days, but they are all I have. My mom has been up before dawn, tending to the garden and my little sister back at home, leaving me to explore the morning market. “Five for the bread,” the baker says, his gaze lingering on me. I swallow the lump in my throat and hand over the few coins left in my pouch. This is how it has always been for my family, barely getting by and often overlooked. But even in the dullness of it all, I can’t help but appreciate the rare moments of peace. As I tuck the bread under my arm and turn to leave the market, a familiar voice cuts through the crowd.
“You’ll need to try harder than that if you want a discount, Lamberra,” Lacey teases, falling into step beside me. The daughter of Lord Wendell Everknight wears her status like a second skin, her fine cloak soaked in purple and gold sweeping the ground as she walks. Two knights by her side. For a brief moment, I can’t help but envy the ease with which she moves through the world. “I don’t think the baker’s heart is that soft,” I mutter, adjusting my shawl tighter around my shoulders to cover up my cleavage as best I can. Lacey laughs, flicking a strand of her coppery hair out of her eyes. “Not everyone’s heart, no. But yours is.” She glances at the bread in my arms and raises an eyebrow. “Is that for your family?”
“Of course it is,” I shoot back, my voice sharper than I intended. I don’t need her pity, even if she is my friend, oddly enough. For all her warmth, she can never fully grasp the weight of my reality. Most people’s reality. “Well, good,” she replies, her expression softening. “You know I can help you and your family. However, I, on the other hand, could use a drink.”
“I’m sure you could,” I say, rolling my eyes and ignoring the comment about her charity, though a small laugh escapes me. As we walk side by side, the bustling market of Ashvale fades into the background. We approach the slums, the poorest part of Ashvale and the entirety of the Ravenwood Lordship. We pass by the elves who mostly live here, but there are other humans, too. “Well, I am off. My lord father requires me on this Friday morning. I’ll see you tonight, yes? At the tavern?” Lacey asks, grinning. “Sure, I’ll be there, but I can’t buy—”
“Stop it. That is never an issue,” Lacey says, shushing me, her finger briefly brushing my lips, the gesture both teasing and affectionate. I roll my eyes, but a small laugh escapes me. Before I can muster a retort, she vanishes into the crowd. I almost yell for her but decide not to waste my energy. As Lacey vanishes into the crowd, her laughter still echoing in my ears, I take a deep breath, clutching the bread tightly. I navigate through throngs of people, all busy with their own lives. The vibrant colors of the stalls blur together. The store I need now, the apothecary, sits at the edge of our neighborhood, a small, unassuming building that looks as worn as the people who frequent it. The scent of dried herbs and spices wafts through the air, mingling with the less pleasant odors of the streets. I push open the door, the small bell jingling above me, and step inside. The shop is dimly lit, filled with shelves of glass jars containing various powders, dried plants, and elixirs. Old Mister Finch looks up from behind the counter, his bushy eyebrows rising in surprise. “Ah, Lamberra! What brings you here today?” he asks, his voice shaky yet warm.
“Good morning, Mister Finch. Mama needs some more lavender for her herbs,” I reply, scanning the shelves for the familiar purple buds. He nods, slowly rising from his chair. I watch him shuffle around the counter. “Lavender, eh? Good for calming the nerves. I have just the thing.” He retrieves a jar from a shelf and hands it to me. “How is your mother? Haven’t seen her in a few weeks,” he asks. As I weigh the jar in my hands, I can’t help but think about Lacey and her life at the castle. Her father’s wealth, her opportunities, she has everything. I sometimes wonder why she bothers with me, why she steps into my world when she has everything she could ever need. But no matter how hard I push her away, she always comes back. “Lamberra?” Mister Finch asks, breaking my concentration.
“Oh! She’s fine. Had a slight cold, but she’s better now!” I say, laughing nervously. “Good, tell her to stop by soon. Anything else you need, my dear?” Mister Finch asks. I shake my head, realizing I’ve become lost in my thoughts. “No, just the lavender, please.” After exchanging the rest of my coins for the jar, I leave the shop and head home. The streets begin to thin out as I enter the quieter neighborhood, where the houses stand in disrepair. The air is heavier here, filled with the sounds of distant crying and laughter from children playing in the streets. When I finally reach my home, I find my mother, Selma, sitting on the porch with my little sister, Amara. Selma’s dark gray hair is tied back in a messy braid. She looks exhausted but content as she watches Amara play with a few wildflowers.“Look, Mama! I made a crown!” Amara beams, placing the flowers atop her head. Mama smiles, her eyes softening as she admires Amara's handiwork. “You look like a true princess, my love.”
I feel a warmth spread through me at the sight of them together. “I’m back!” I call out, holding up the jar of lavender and bread. “I got things for us, Mama.” Her gaze shifts to me, and her smile widens. “Thank you, Lamberra! You always know how to help out the most.” As I step onto the porch, I set the lavender and bread down and kneel beside Amara, admiring the crown of flowers. “You’re quite the artist, you know.” Amara giggles, brushing her fingers through the flowers. “I’m going to wear it when the King visits next week! Everyone will see me!”
“Of course, they will,” I say, a hint of pride swelling in my chest. “You’ll be the most beautiful girl in Ashvale. The king would be a fool if he didn’t recognize it. ” But even as I say it, a flicker of doubt lingers at the back of my mind. Amara deserves more than just our small home and the meager life we lead. I pray we both escape the slums one day. “How was the market, dear?” I hear Mama ask me.
“It was good. Ran into Lacey again,” I reply, trying to brush it off. “Lacey? Why does that highborn girl keep bothering you? It was really sweet what she did for you, but I cannot keep getting embarrassed by her sudden appearances.”
“I know, Mama. I can’t control it. She just shows up.” I stand, fatigue weighing heavily on my shoulders. “I’m tired. I didn’t get much sleep last night.” I feel Mama’s hand grip my arm gently, her soft brown eyes searching mine. “Don’t do anything foolish, okay?” I don’t respond, feeling insulted by such an assumption. With a sigh, I retreat into Amara's and my room, seeking solace in the dim light. As I settle onto the small bed, my eyelids grow heavy, the day’s troubles melting away. I drift slowly into a dream.
Suddenly, I find myself in the dimly lit tavern, laughter and shouts swirling around me as I sit at a rough-hewn table, the scent of ale and smoke thick in the air. My heart races, fueled by the warmth of too many drinks. I don’t remember how I got here, but the clinking of mugs and the raucous banter feel like an escape from reality. “Another round?” the bartender asks, a knowing glint in his eye. I nod, feeling emboldened by the drink. The room sways slightly as I take another gulp, the laughter around me growing louder, the faces blurring together. I catch sight of an elderly gentleman watching me from across the room. His gaze lingers a bit too long, and I feel the hair on my arm stand up. He saunters over, a crooked smile plastered on his face. “Well, aren’t you a pretty one,” he says, his voice gravelly. “What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this? I’ve never seen you before.”
“Just enjoying a drink, trying to forget the realities of this world,” I reply, attempting to sound nonchalant, but my voice wavers. “Ha! Aren’t we all? Say, how old are you?” he asks. His breath reeks of beer and shit as he leans closer, the scent of stale tobacco and sweat overwhelming me. “How about I buy you another? I can show you a good time.” Suddenly aware of how isolated I am, my heart races as I push away from the bar. “No, thank you. I think I’ll just—” But before I can escape, he grabs my wrist, his grip surprisingly strong. “Come on, don’t be shy. I promise I can make it worth your while.” Panic rises in my chest as he drags me toward the back door. “Let go of me!” I protest, my voice sharp, but the noise of the tavern swallows my words. I fight against him, but he pulls me into a dark alley, the sounds of the tavern fading behind us. “Just a little fun, that’s all,” he insists, his breath hot against my neck. Why did nobody inside stop this? In a burst of panic, I push against him, but he shoves me back, and I stumble drunkenly, falling to the ground. My shawl slips, exposing my undergarments. “You’re making a mistake!” I shout, scrambling to my feet. But he lunges at me again, and I shove him away, my fists swinging. “Get off me!” I scream, desperation fueling my fight. This time, he slaps me across the face with so much force that my ears immediately start ringing. The world spins around me, and I find myself on the ground in the middle of this pitch-black alley, feeling the cold air on my backside and the sound of something unbuckling. My heart races as I twist in his grip, my breath coming in ragged gasps. Each time I push, he pulls me closer, the alley spinning around me. His breath reeks of sour wine, and the world narrows to the darkened street and his crushing hold.
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As I feel the rest of strength leaving me, I hear the unmistakable sound of heavy boots approaching. The man’s eyes widen in fear as he turns to see three knights of the royal army striding toward us. “What’s going on here?” one of them demands, his voice steady and commanding. “He’s trying to—” I begin, slurring my words, but a knight raises a hand, motioning for me to stay quiet. The man quickly drops his hold on me, stumbling back. “I—I was just talking to the girl!” he sputters. “Talking?” the knight scoffs, taking a step forward. “Looks more like you were trying to get something wet.” The knights, clad in the royal army’s red cloaks adorned with the burning red arrow insignia on their armor, restrain the man, pulling him away as he protests. “This is a misunderstanding! Let me go!” Once they drag him off, I lean against the wall, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I feel vulnerable, exposed, and ashamed, trembling as the cool night air bites at my skin, pulling me back to reality. Just then, I spot a girl standing a few paces away, her expression a mix of concern and curiosity. She stands tall, her posture exuding confidence despite the chaos around us. Her copper-brown hair cascades down her back in soft waves, catching the dim light. A finely tailored gown of deep emerald clings to her figure, accentuating her graceful curves and hinting at her high status. Golden eyes, vibrant and piercing, survey the scene with fierce intensity that oddly calms. “I saw everything,” she says, her voice steady yet soft. “I was worried about you.”
“Who… who are you? Why do you care?” I'm still slurring my words, feeling dizzy from the alcohol. “I’m Lacey Everknight, daughter of Lord Wendell Everknight. I was in the tavern with my guards, trying to get an idea of the people I will one day rule,” she states, placing her hands on her hips with confidence. I feel my eyes widen, and before I can speak, I suddenly throw up on her. “Oh my god, I am so sorry, my liege! Please allow me to go!” I say frantically. Lacey steps closer, her golden eyes searching mine, and for a moment, the intensity softens. “All is forgiven. You’re safe now. Let’s get you home.” I feel her warm hands grace my shoulders, my dark brown eyes connecting her eyes of gold. As we walk side by side, I feel her striking presence steadying me. One knight walks ahead of us, and another follows behind. The night is pitch black as we enter the slums, where no lights illuminate the streets like they do in the city. I wonder if she has ever experienced such darkness.
I jolt awake with Amara jumping on top of me. “Dinner time!” she yells, grinning. I blink against the sunlight filtering through our small window, my heart racing from the remnants of my dream. The warmth of the afternoon sun wraps around me like a comforting blanket. “Okay, okay, I’m up!” I groan, pushing Amara off me and sitting up. She giggles, her laughter brightening the room. I take a moment to gather myself. As I stand and stretch, the familiar scents of cooked vegetables and bread waft through the air, making my stomach rumble. “What’s for dinner?” I ask. “Soup and bread! Your favorite!” Amara exclaims, bouncing on her toes with excitement. I can’t help but smile at her enthusiasm; it’s infectious. “Mhmm. Is that tomato soup I smell?” I say smiling, already knowing the answer. “Then let’s not keep Mama waiting,” I reply, ruffling her bleach blonde hair as I make my way to the kitchen. The simple act of preparing for dinner feels grounding, reminding me of the joys in my everyday life. It’s always the little things.
As I step into the kitchen, the warmth of the hearth envelops me, and I see Mama stirring the pot over the fire. She glances up at me with a tired smile, her dark hair loosely tied back, strands of gray peeking through. The weight of her life shows on her face, but she’s always found a way to keep us together, no matter how tight things become. “Finally decided to join us?” Mama teases, her voice soft but with a hint of fatigue. I chuckle, moving to help her with the pot. “Blame Amara for waking me up so late.”
“Always the troublemaker,” Mama says fondly, giving Amara a playful glare before handing me the ladle to serve the soup. I dip it into the pot, and the rich smell of tomato fills the air, making my mouth water. I usually only eat once a day, so when it’s time to eat it wouldn’t be a lie to say it’s the one of the more exciting parts of my day. As we sit at the table together, the usual chatter begins. Amara talking about her day, her excitement about the smallest things, filling the room with a joy that somehow makes the weight on my chest lift, even if just for a moment. Between the laughter, there’s an underlying tension I can’t shake. I keep glancing at Mama, noticing how her hands tremble slightly as she lifts her spoon. I wonder if it’s just exhaustion or something more. We’ve all felt the strain lately, though. Money is tight, work is nonexistent, making the future seem unattainable. As I take a bite of bread, my gaze drifts out the window, the distant sounds of the town creeping in through the open shutters. “Mama?” I ask.
“Yes dear?” her soft voice responds.
“Why don’t I try to get a job at the castle? Perhaps as a maid. That way, you can rest and we all can stop worrying about money?”
“No.” Mama’s voice cut the air like a fresh forged sword. “Don’t ever ask again.” Her face is pale white. My eyes are unable to meet hers.
“Mama, I am an adult now. I don’t want to keep doing odd jobs for people like Mr. Finch.”
“Good, maybe you’ll help me with the garden then and we actually make that successful.” She said, still not looking at me.
“We both know it will never be successful,” I mumble. I know Mama heard me, but she chose not to reply. Amara looking at both of us without saying a word. “Well,” I say standing up with barely any food eaten. “I am going to leave, as I am an adult and can do as I please,” I feel my stomach nagging at me. I start to walk out the door and I feel Mama grab me, “Don’t do anything stupid,” her eyes piercing my soul. I yanked my arm from her grasp and ignored her comment. Looks like I’m gonna go to the tavern a bit earlier. I exit out the door and see the dusky sky light by a half moon. This isn’t what I wanted to wear, but I cannot understand why Mama gets so bent when it comes to the castle and especially Lacey. Perhaps she has an issue with highborn, I mean I get it. They look down on us as if we shouldn’t exist. My people starve to death during the summer and freeze to death during the winter all while they eat the finest meals with a fire by them year round. However, I do enjoy Lacey’s company, even if she is oblivious to everything right in front of her. “Hey, Lamberra!” that high pitched voice can only be one person.
“Hey, Belli.” I say, not missing a stride on my walk into town. Belli is one of the elfen leaders of the slums. Quite young, similar to my age but replaced her father when he died fighting a pointless war several years ago.
“Where ya headin to? Need an escort during these scary hours?” Her voice chuckles with ease. Her long red hair just above her back end and bright blue eyes always seems to light the way.
“I’m okay. Just heading to town to escape a bit. Perhaps get a little tipsy,” I say lightheartedly.
“Understand that. Unfortunately I can’t do that as most folks hate our kind. I only drink in the comforts of my home.” She replies in an upbeat tone.
“Well, you do have the nicest home in the slums, being a leader and all,” I tease.
“You betcha! Say, I know you’re busy tonight but come over soon to my place. I would love your company!”
“Of course, let’s plan on it,” I tell her, holding my arm out. She grabs it and smiles at me. An agreement in place now.
I walk into town and pass the now closed markets. The closer I get to the town center, the more torches I pass. The clatter and music grows louder and louder and as I turn the corner I see three knights with the burning arrow insignia. One moves and there she is in all her beauty and strength, Lacey Everknight.