SHETÂNA VILLAGE IN THE WESTERN REGION OF DROEVINKA
My name is Céline Fawe, and I am a Mist-Torn witch.
By the age of fifteen, I had no idea what this meant, as none of my powers had manifested yet. I only knew that my mother had just died, that the apothecary shop she’d owned was now mine, and that I had to provide for my twelve-year-old sister, Amelie. My father had been killed long ago, and with my mother’s passing, the two of us were alone.
What would you have done?
I did what anyone would do—I fell back upon my only strengths: the abilities to listen and to lie.
Of course, I didn’t even know about those two skills until the week after Amelie and I had buried our mother and a young man came through the front door of our shop. His eyes were wild, shifting back and forth, reminding me of a colt locked in a stall for the first time.
But I was still so numb that I could barely draw breath, and I didn’t care what he wanted or why he’d come.
“I have an appointment,” he said hesitantly, “with Eleanor.”
Eleanor was my mother.
“She’s dead,” I answered.
To my surprise, the flash of disappointment on his face moved me, and for the first time, I really looked at him. He was medium height, with brown hair tucked behind his ears, wearing a burgundy tunic and a sword. I guessed him to be about eighteen.
“Dead?” he repeated. “No…She was going to tell me…”
He trailed off, but he didn’t need to finish. My mother had been a seer, and he wanted to know something about his future. I was just about to tell him to go away when I spotted the small pouch of coins in his hand.
I tensed. I was no seer, not like my mother. I could grow healing herbs and cast small spells to stop bad dreams or ease the pain of unrequited love, but I was no seer.
Still, the cupboard was nearly bare, and that pouch beckoned. Curing bad dreams didn’t exactly pay well.
A risky idea struck me, and at that point, I had little left to lose.
“I’m Eleanor’s daughter,” I said. “I have her gift. Sit down, and I can help you.”
The relief washing over his face shamed me—but not enough to make me stop. I let him sit.
“What is it you wish to know?” I asked.
He sank down into the chair, facing me across my mother’s faded table. “I…I want to marry, but my father doesn’t approve.”
“Why not?”
“Because Joselyn has no dowry. Her father has a title, but her family has no money, and my own father has been making arrangements with the Baron Driesè. Father expects me to marry the baron’s daughter, Rhiannon.”
“And you don’t want to marry Rhiannon?”
He began to shake his head and then stopped himself. “I don’t know! The baron controls half the silver mines in the northeastern province, and Rhiannon’s dowry would bring my family great wealth. Joselyn would bring us nothing.”
I cocked my head. This seemed a simple decision to me. Marry the rich girl. But I knew my mother would not see it so simply.
“Then what troubles you?” I asked. “Is Rhiannon ugly? Has her hair fallen out? Is she covered in pockmarks?”
He blinked, possibly finding my questions somewhat childish, which they were, but keep in mind that I was only fifteen. “No, if anything, most people would find her prettier than Joselyn,” he said. “But when I’m with Joselyn, I don’t feel alone.”
I stared at him, and that was my first real glimpse into the adult world.
“If you don’t marry Rhiannon, can your father disinherit you?” I asked. Even at fifteen, I was pragmatic.
“No.”
That was all he had to tell me. I’d seen my mother do this a hundred times. “Did you bring something of Joselyn’s?” I asked, knowing my mother would have given him instructions.
“Yes, a lock of her hair.”
I took it from him, holding the soft, light brown strands in my fingers. With my other hand, I reached out to grasp one of his. He almost pulled away, as if he didn’t like being touched, but then let me grip his palm.
I closed my eyes. Although of course I saw nothing, I forced my body to jolt once, and then I swayed several times, breathing through my mouth. I opened my eyes again.
“Did you see it?” he asked, leaning forward. “Did you see my future?”
“Yes,” I answered without wavering. “You marry Joselyn, and you are happy. I saw the two of you after your wedding, and everything was as it should be.”
He sucked in a loud breath like a man saved from drowning and shoved the pouch across the table. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
That was how it started.