Chapter One
Prologue
It’s a strange thing, carrying the feeling that death has marked its date. Where dreams turn into nightmares that seep into the real world.
***
A single shrill cry echoed through the star-dotted sky.
The hairs on the back of Elena’s neck rose. She pressed her hand to the wooden frame of the window. The glass was cracked open just enough to let the sharp biting cold in. Her breath misted in front of her.
Below, the cottage sat in sleep. Nothing moved. Not the chickens in their coop, not the snow-dusted branches near the door. Nothing but the thin stream of chimney smoke curling into the stars.
She turned her attention toward the forest beyond the fields, where the trees stood black and dense against the horizon. But the night had gone quiet again.
And still, she felt it.
Like eyes on her back.
“Elena,” her younger sister said from the other bed, her voice small in the dark. “Close the window. You’ll catch your death.”
Elena didn’t move.
There was something in the dark.
Not close, but not far.
Watching.
“Elena,” Julie said again, this time with a shiver in her tone. “I’m cold.”
Elena exhaled and turned away. The latch clicked into place as she shut the window.
Below, just beyond the trees, a figure slipped back into the shadows.
Back in bed, the straw mattress scratched at her legs through the thin sheet. She pulled the blanket tighter. Her body ached with the kind of tiredness that didn’t come from work or weather.
“Are you alright?” Julie whispered from across the room.
“Go to sleep, Julie,” Elena murmured.
“I can’t,” came the soft complaint. A pause. “Can you do that thing again?”
Elena pressed her lips into a thin line. Her eyes closed. She let out a long breath.
“Fine,” she whispered. “But remember, this stays between us. You know what the others would do if they found out.”
The floorboards creaked as Julie squealed in delight, scrambling across the room.
“Shhh!” Elena hissed, lifting the blanket and making space. Julie climbed in beside her, nestling close as Elena pulled the covers over them both.
“I don’t even know if I can,” Elena admitted, voice tight with doubt.
“Please try,” Julie whispered.
Elena took her sister’s hands gently in her own and closed her eyes again. Her brow furrowed with concentration.
A sharp gasp broke the silence.
Elena opened her eyes. Her hands glowed faintly with a pale red light, soft and pulsing like embers beneath the skin. Warmth radiated from her palms.
“Wow,” Julie breathed. “It’s like magic.”
“Remember, don’t tell anyone,” Elena said, her voice firmer now. “If they found out… they’d think I’m a witch.”
Julie shook her head, curls bouncing. “I promise!”
Something pulled tight in Elena’s chest at the words.
Julie had only just turned ten. Elena would be seventeen in a few months. A gap wide enough to make them grow up in different worlds, but small enough that Elena had always felt like she had to keep them both safe. Especially now.
Julie’s eyelids drooped. A yawn escaped her. “Can I sleep with you tonight?” she asked, voice small. “It’s too cold in my bed.”
“Alright,” Elena said, rolling her eyes. “But if you hog the blanket again, I’m kicking you off.”
Their laughter bubbled up, soft but bright, spilling into the quiet house.
“The two of you should be sleeping!” their mother called from downstairs, but the smile behind her voice was unmistakable.
“Sorry, Mother!” Elena called back.
The glow between her palms dimmed and faded.
Darkness reclaimed the room, but the warmth lingered.
And far beyond the window, in the hush between the trees, something had seen it.
Chapter One
A Loaf of Bread
he village seemed to be as alive as it ever was.
Elena weaved through the crowd, dodging muddy boots, steaming horses, and shouting vendors as she tried to keep up with her mother’s brisk pace.
The butcher’s bell rang out with a clang that made her flinch. He stood on a crate in his usual filthy leather apron, hollering into the noise of the street.
“Half a lamb! Two sou!” he bellowed, shaking the bell above his head.
Elena winced and turned her head away from the clamour, just in time to notice that the blacksmith’s forge was still closed. Her brows furrowed. He was usually the first to open.
Farther up the road, the shoemaker’s shop was already bustling with customers. The smell of tanned leather mixed unpleasantly with the tang of fish and smoke hanging in the air.
“Keep up, Elena.”
She turned to find her mother casting a sharp look over her shoulder. With a huff, Elena picked up her pace, only to slow again a heartbeat later.
A group of children clustered in front of the toymaker’s window, noses pressed to the glass. Julie was among them, eyes wide with wonder.
It was always her favourite part of market day.
Elena smiled softly. Julie had only one doll, a fraying bundle of straw and old cloth, but she carried it everywhere. Even just a glimpse of the painted wooden toys behind the glass was enough to keep her humming all afternoon.
The toymaker stepped outside and waved his arms to scatter the children. They fled in a blur of giggles, but Elena knew they’d be back again tomorrow. They always came back.
A sharp breeze whistled down the street, and Elena shivered. She tugged her shawl tighter across her shoulders. The wool was scratchy and thin, but it was all she had. Her dress, made from pieced-together scraps of older clothes, pinched at the seams. She’d outgrown it months ago, but there wasn’t enough fabric for another one. Just like her shoes — patched, muddied, and stretched past their limits.
A gentle nudge against her back drew her from her thoughts.
“That bread won’t buy itself,” her mother said, smiling. “Come on.”
Her mother always knew when she was drifting off. Julie had taken hold of their mother’s sleeve, still glancing wistfully toward the toy shop. With a sigh, their mother handed Elena the basket.
Elena took it, the woven handle rough against her palms, and followed the scent of fresh bread down the road.
The warmth from the bakery drifted into the street, with the sweet aroma coming from the ovens. Her stomach growled.
She stepped inside and wiped her shoes carefully on the worn rug, trying to keep the mud from spreading. Others hadn’t bothered. The floor was a mess of damp footprints.
She had barely stepped aside when a man stormed past her on his way out, muttering under his breath. Elena pressed herself against the wall.
“Good morning, Mr. Martin,” Elena said as the man stomped past her.
He shot her a sideways look. “Not much of a good morning,” he grumbled. “We’ll all freeze to death by tonight.”
A thick line carved across his brow, deepening the furrows around his eyes. It made him look older than his forty years.
Without another word, he turned on his heel and marched into the street, still muttering under his breath. Elena couldn’t quite catch the rest.
Her mother stepped into the bakery moments later, shaking her head.
“I wonder what caught Mr. Martin’s wrath this time,” she said, brushing the cold from her sleeves.
“I can’t imagine living next to him,” the baker’s wife said. “Does he cause you much trouble?”
“Only during harvest,” Elena’s mother replied. “He always manages to forget where our boundary ends and his begins. If he weren’t the only blacksmith in town, I’d have crossed that family off our acquaintance list years ago.”
A tightness bloomed in Elena’s chest.
“What about Lucas?” she blurted out before she could stop herself.
Her mother paused, then glanced down at her.
“Yes, well… Lucas is a good egg,” she said carefully. “I’m glad he’s your friend.”
Elena nodded quickly and stepped forward, placing a few worn coins on the counter.
“One loaf of bread, please!”
Two officers stood whispering in the corner of the bakery, their eyes flicking toward Elena. She glanced up, just long enough to catch one of them bowing his head with a smile.
Heat rushed to her cheeks. She looked away quickly, tugging her shawl tighter around her shoulders.
“They’re quite handsome,” the baker’s wife said with a knowing smile. “You’ll be looking for a husband soon, hmm?”
“A military man is no choice for a husband,” Elena’s mother interjected without missing a beat. “And besides, we still need her at home.”
The baker’s wife chuckled, undeterred. “What about that Lucas boy, then? I think he’d make a fine match for Elena!”
Elena’s flush deepened, rising into her ears. She stared resolutely at the bread counter.
The baker’s wife let out a gentle laugh. “Alright, alright, I’ll stop pushing.”
She turned toward the shelves, shifting her weight carefully as she reached up, one hand resting on her heavily pregnant belly. Elena had always liked her, she was the kind of woman who tucked sweets into children's hands when their parents weren’t looking, and who always smiled even when her ankles were swollen.
With a quiet grunt, she turned back, slipping something beneath the cloth in Elena’s basket.
“I hear apricot tarts are your favourite,” she whispered with a wink.
Elena’s face lit up. “Thank you! Yours are the best I’ve ever had.”
“They’re also the only ones you’ve had,” the woman teased, grinning. “But I’ll take the compliment.”
She turned to Elena’s mother. “What about you, Louise? Can I tempt you with one for the road?”
Louise shook her head. “That’s very kind, but you shouldn’t be giving away so much. Not with another one on the way.”
The baker’s wife shrugged and smiled, already greeting the next customer.
Elena adjusted the basket on her arm.
“Take the bread back home,” Louise said, resting a gentle hand on her daughter’s arm. “I’ve only a few fittings left today, then I’ll come home and finish sewing their dresses.”
Elena grabbed Julie by the hand and exited the store as the sun hit her face. It only warmed her slightly against the cold wind. The village was in a happy atmosphere that seemed excited for the early spring.
Elena's eyes drifted along the rooftops where the mason was fixing a roof that had caved in because of the heavy snow a few weeks back.
A woman poked her head out of the window and reached out to him, handing him a piece of cloth he used to wipe the sweat on his brow.
Before Elena could look ahead again, a door flew open in front of her and slammed against the wall with a loud crack. She jumped, startled, as the stained-glass windows beside it rattled in their frames. The man who’d opened it flinched, clearly not meaning to cause the commotion, and tried to catch the door too late.
Inside, a woman’s sharp voice rang out. “What have I told you about banging the doors?”
The man shut it with his head bowed in shame, as a dog, on the far end of the house, cocked its leg and peed on the pebbled wall.
The houses were very small and huddled next to one another. They seemed to have been built by the sweat and hard work of those who lived in them as was common for small French villages in the area.
As she passed the busiest section of the village, she entered the road leading to the farms in the surrounding countryside. The soft welcoming sound of a river could be heard. The gentle, constant flow of the water slowly broke the thin ice that imprisoned it. Nature was struggling to bring back the green beauty of spring. Elena couldn't wait for the warm wind to rustle the leaves and the summer days to brighten the sky. She felt like she was living in an icy prison. The long winter months had killed the tall grass that used to hide the river Elena could now see.
Just behind it, she could see the outline of the little cottage nestled in the greenery. Home. It wasn’t much, but they were proud of what they had, even if they had to pay taxes to their lord. They sold the wheat at the village market, but prices had to be competitive as they lived in a farming village. Their home was very small, even with an additional floor. The top level had a room that Elena shared with Julie. On the ground floor was the main room where Elena’s parents lived during the day and slept at night. The fields behind the house still had the winter crops, not yet ready for harvest.
“When I reach your age,” Julie said, breaking the silence, “do you think we’ll get our own rooms?”
Elena raised an eyebrow as she gave her sister a side glance. “A couple more years and we could maybe build the extension ourselves.”
Julie stopped in her tracks, her mouth agape. “Wait… Do you mean we can build a bigger house?”
“I’m sure by then we can collect enough wood,” Elena said, “and perhaps Lucas could help us build a small room.”
“But…” Julie said, before taking a pause. “If we can build a bigger house, why haven’t we already? Why not build a bigger kitchen, and another room for mother and father to sleep in?”
“Well, materials aren’t cheap,” Elena explained. “We have to cut down the trees, strip them, cut them again and then we need tools to put it all together. And then we have to build a roof over it so that rain and frost don’t get in the house.”
“Oh… That sounds complicated.” Julie said as her shoulders dropped.
Elena’s heart tightened. She wished she could offer Julie the world in the palm of her hand.
“How about this,” Elena said, grabbing the bread and the apricot tart to place the basket upside down on Julie’s head, who giggled. “You and I can start small, with a tree house when it gets warmer. So that we can be queens of our own castle. How does that sound?”
“But there can’t be two queens!” Julie laughed and repositioned the basket on her head. “And I already have my crown.”
“Ah! Planning to dethrone me already, your majesty?” Elena asked with a grin.
The unmistakable sound of a coach echoed across the countryside.