PROLOGUE
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Iris Everton
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Maros, 923 Purist Calendar
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Iris ran her finger across the page slowly, hoping she’d missed some important clue somewhere in the tome. Sadly, it all looked the same, said the same, meant the worst. She let out a long, silent breath. Things in the Everton household had become ominous days before. Now, they were desperate, charging toward tragedy.
She reluctantly peered at her younger sister lying in bed across the room. There were dark circles under Candice’s eyes. Gone was the smile that could get Iris through anything, replaced by dry lips and labored breathing. Her hands were lying at her sides beneath the trio of blankets Iris had wrapped her in and yet her entire body still shook with chills. “And your stomach still doesn’t hurt, right?”
The shake of Candice’s head was nearly imperceptible.
Iris had to force the next words out. “That’s a good sign.” She sounded like the teenager she was, not the adult she always tried to be. Smiling felt too foreign in this dark, dreary room, so she simply nodded.
When Candice let her eyes fall shut, Iris’ sadness finally overwhelmed her. She covered her mouth with hopes that by doing so the ugly frown there would cease to exist.Her thoughts were directed at The Creator. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. Can you spare no mercy for a child? Please, I beg you. Have mercy. So often did she try to control her emotions that this moment of vulnerability filled her with embarrassment, forcing her to wipe her eyes and stop this childish behavior. .
This was far from how it was meant to be. Change the world. Give commoners hope. That was their destiny. They’d promised each other after their father planted the seed in their minds years before. It took Iris several years to appreciate her father’s strict rules and high expectations – regularly resisting him with a snappy mouth and teenage sass – but when he sat his girls down and told them he expected them to inspire other young women all over the kingdom with their brilliance, Iris finally understood. Not only that, she’d become obsessed with becoming beacons of hope for all those commoners who lived in the shadows of the Purists who ruled the world. Unfortunately, the idea of the sisters working together to accomplish this was hanging on by a thread no stronger than Candice’s fading will to live.
It was a hard lesson to learn this young – that the world could be so cruel, that The Creator could be so uncaring. It hurt. But not as badly as it hurt to hear her father’s soft crying coming from his room down the hall each night. His girls meant everything to Norrie Everton. They were the reason he went into the mines before sunrise each morning and stayed until sundown each evening. They were the reason he didn’t spend his time in the pubs like all the other men in Faylawn. And they were most certainly the reason he had kept going after Iris’ mother had died. How many times had she heard him tell the other miners no one could find two sisters more intelligent and capable than his girls? How many times had she seen that proud face as he said it? But that was before. Before Candice had complained of shortness of breath one evening. Now, he seldom spoke and he couldn’t smile.
Every detail from that night still burned in Iris’ mind. The way her sister had closed her arithmetic book slowly and placed her gentle hand on her chest. The expression on Candice’s face as it had gone from confusion to concern and then panic. The terrified way Iris’ voice had sounded as she screamed for help.
Things had worsened by the next morning and had continued to decline for the better half of the two weeks since. In that time, Iris had read every word of the few medical books she could find in the village, thinking she might be able to find something the herb doctor hadn’t thought of. No luck. Only the hopeless torment that comes with sitting at the bedside as a loved one fades away.
Father always told them, “You work for your good luck, your bad luck just finds you.” Apparently, no amount of hard work was enough to hide you from despair.
Iris sat her book on the floor beside her chair and let an innocent lie slip through her lips. “It’s going to be alright, Can-can.” Candice’s voice had all but abandoned her the night before. They communicated now with their eyes like they’d done behind their father’s back for years. These eyes made Iris’ heart weep. “It will.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “You have to believe that.” She could barely believe it. She couldn’t imagine how difficult a task it was for her sister to do so.
A noise she recognized but would never expect in front of her house pulled Iris to the window. She was careful not to let the sunlight bother Candice’s sensitive eyes as she pushed the curtains aside. A stagecoach like she’d never seen – built from dark walnut wood and covered in gold swirls – sat in the sun-baked dirt Faylawn was known for. The crates strapped to the top were almost as gorgeous as the coach itself. More on the back as well. The gold curtains that covered the windows on either side of the passenger doors hid the secrets within, spiking her insatiable curiosity instantly. The driver climbed down from his box and patted the hindquarters of one of his powerful brown stallions before straightening his coat and opening the door. A man dressed in fine black robes eyed him annoyedly then stepped down slowly, scowling at the entire village like it was beneath him. His hair reminded Iris of how her mother had worn hers, long and brown, straight as an arrow. The way he held his posture, elegant and arrogant, told her right away there was magic in his soul. How did father arrange this? Why didn’t he tell me? A third man, dressed in gear meant for conflict, came around the back of the vehicle. His tan skin was worn out and scarred, suggesting the armor he wore had been put to the test on multiple occasions. The life he lived made the sword on his hip a necessity, she knew that, but it struck the childish nerves she so often tried to hide nonetheless.
“Everything’s going to be alright, Can-can,” Iris said as she scurried toward the door. The fact that it didn’t feel like a lie made her nearly giddy.
She stopped at the end of the hallway, tossing her black hair over her shoulder before peering around the corner into their tiny front room. The Everton household was above average for a place like Faylawn with its decent furniture and no makeshift sleeping arrangements, but it was pitiful in the eyes of a Purist, she was sure. Her father stood in the doorway watching their visitors approach. He was barely recognizable without remnants of a day in the mines on his clothes and in his thinning black hair. The exhaustion that came with sleepless nights had been tucked away for now, sure to come back that evening.
Iris stepped into the room at roughly the same time as the men. The man in black robes glowered at her like her presence alone was an insult. Only briefly though. His focus shifted to the dull decor quickly. He was none too impressed.
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The grizzly man stopped at the doorway and gave a stoic nod. Avoiding eye contact with the sword allowed Iris to notice the years of wisdom that had gone into the expertise with which his short gray beard had been trimmed. By the time she’d managed a smile the protector had already turned around. The sunlight nearly vanished behind his wide frame. An unexpected appreciation rose within her. For once, the bad intentions that lurked outside would surely think twice before knocking on her door.
“You have a… lovely home,” the Purist said. To call him disingenuous would be laughable but the Evertons didn’t care what their home looked like. As long as it kept them warm they were better off than most of the village.
Still, there was obvious embarrassment on her father’s chiseled face as he opened his muscular arms wide to help make everyone comfortable. “Iris, this is Barik Liskin. He’s a healer from Ithica.” It must have taken two days to get here from Ithica. More than enough time to inform me of this visit.
“Nice to meet you.” Barik’s arrogance kept him from hearing her greet him so she spoke louder. “I think I have narrowed it down to a few possibilities.” The healer glared at her as though she had screamed. Perhaps she had, she was excited after all. And more than a little annoyed with him. “The herb doctor claims it is-”
“I don’t care what the herb doctor claims. Nor does my magic.”
Iris made a face of bewilderment at her father as the two men passed her. She followed, walking through the trail of citrus aroma the healer left behind. “She’s having a hard time breathing and-” She stopped abruptly, trying not to run into Barik when he came to a halt in the middle of the hallway, back still to her, head hanging low.
Her father peered over the visitor’s shoulder at her. “That’s enough, sweetheart. Mister Liskin knows what he’s doing. He doesn’t need our help.”
“No. I don’t need your help and I don’t need to know the symptoms. All I need to know is that she’s curable and my magic can tell me that. Assuming there’s enough silence for me to concentrate.” He squeezed past her father. “In here, I assume.”
Her father nodded to Barik then looked at her firmly when the healer was in the room.
“What? This is important,” she said.
“I know sweetheart, but we can’t help her. Only he can. If we’re lucky.” The hand on the back of her neck was firm and protective as it led her into her room.
Barik’s presence beside Candice’s bed was nearly omnipotent. As if The Creator had answered Iris’ prayers; sent mercy in the final hour. At first, Iris thought it was the focus plastered on Barik’s face as he placed two bony fingers on her sister’s forehead that had drawn her in, making her watch his every move intently. But then, she found herself taking mental notes on his every move, searching for an answer as to how he used his magic, why he would possess such power while she was nothing. How does he know it’s there, in his soul? Is it somewhere deep inside my own as well? It must be. Why wouldn’t it be?
The room was something greater than silent now. As if sound knew it could not exist while Barik listened to Candice’s body. How long this lasted was impossible to know. How long Iris had held her breath waiting for some kind of hope to latch onto was lost to the magnitude of this moment.
Then, when Iris conceded to the thought that the disease was too complex to understand, Barik finally stepped away, turning to her father. “I could save her.”
Her father squeezed the back of Iris’ neck excitedly as an ocean’s worth of relief washed over them.
“Iris.” She turned to her father. “I need to speak with Mister Liskin alone for a moment.” She frowned but he gave her the look that she knew better than to question.
Her father closed the door behind her, all but inviting her to press her ear to it. And for a moment, she did, but when her father spoke his voice was still so close she stepped away nervously, rushing to the end of the hallway. Norrie Everton was a loving man but he did not appreciate being defied.
Back in the main room, she found the sellsword still standing in the doorway. Spring in Faylawn came in the form of blistering temperatures and bright sun. Both of which crawled through the threshold around the man’s girthy frame. Quiet as she was, she knew he was aware of her presence. Kindly, he spared her the uncomfortable experience of having to speak to him.
Then, an unexpected thought arose in her mind. The kind that shames you for having it in times like these. A Purist at the Everton household. Swords. Magic. We will be the talk of the village for weeks. Purists and their hired swords did not make appearances in Faylawn often. Never in her lifetime. Most in the village spoke of them as though they were myths, constantly facing correction by those few who had seen one. She was one of the few now.
Her tense gaze at the numerous weapons hanging from the guard’s belt was broken when the bedroom door opened and muffled voices became loud, angry terrors.
“Wait, dammit!” her father said.
Footsteps.
She darted across the front room, fleeing the incoming storm and the sellsword alike now that he’d turned around.
Barik came gliding out of the hallway, fixing his already fixed collar and scowling worse than when he’d arrived.
“I said wait!”
Barik turned on his heel much more nimbly than she expected of him. “Mister Everton. You lied to me.”
“I didn’t lie! I can pay you. Just not all at once. I’ll give you a third today and bring you the rest in one month’s time. I swear on my life.” She’d never heard such desperation in her father’s voice.
“It’s my experience that commoners say whatever they must to get whatever they need. You’ll forgive me if I don’t trust you. Not with something as precious as my magic.”
Her father’s strength was back instantly. “I’m not like those filthy liars! I’ll pay you your damn money as soon as I have it!”
“Compelling, Mister Everton. Truly. But alas, I must take my leave. Please, in the future, don’t waste my time.” The only emotion on Barik’s face was annoyance as he turned around – no remorse, complete indifference toward their circumstances.
Her father’s eyes landed on her. They’d been doused in oil and set ablaze. “Go to your room.” He used the tone she never objected to but she did have to shed a coat of fear before she could move.
She stopped halfway down the hallway, unable to choose between looking at her dying sister and watching her desperate father beg for help.
“You don’t understand. There’s no other way!”
“If there is anyone here that understands what is happening, it is me. But I simply cannot donate a portion of the little magic I possess every time The Creator calls a child home before her father’s ready to let her go.”
Barik’s cold voice made her shake with anger.
“It’s not a donation! I said I’d pay you and I will! Please, you're our only hope!”
The scratchy grind of a sword being drawn melted any courage Iris had built in the hallway. She burst through Candice’s door and shut it behind her, pressing her back to it. Tears swelled in her eyes.
A noise from the other side of the room pulled Iris to Candice’s side, dropping to her knees and wiping her eyes as she tried to smile. “What is it, Can-can?”
Candice was slightly stronger now, aided by the drops of magic the healer had given her. “Is he going to help?”