Page 129 of A Broken Throne of Bronze

I don’t have to know these people to know who they are.

They’re the families of miners, left with nothing when the mines emptied. They’re people who have lost their livelihoods and their loved ones.

They’ve lost everything.

All of them wear ragged clothing, their faces gaunt and scraggly from what I can only assume is starvation. Their rounded ears poke through limp hair, while some don’t have hair long enough to cover them.

Humans.

Starving, dying, desperate humans.

Some mutter prayers to gods who have seemingly abandoned them, while others stare ahead, unmoving. My heart sinks when I pass a woman rocking an infant to sleep. The child wails, its cries of distress piercing my ears.

The woman reaches out and grasps my skirt.

I pause, tightly gripping Storm’s reins.

“Please, Miss,” the woman begs, sobs racking her chest. The child in her arms howls even louder. “Please, help us. Help us.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, pulling back against her hold on me. “I don’t have any coins.” I wish I did. Acantha was only able to give me enough money to pay for a day’s worth of supplies.

But the woman doesn’t seem to hear me. Her cries only grow in strength, more forceful now. “Please, please, please!” she shrieks, her body shaking violently. Though, it doesn’t seem like she’s talking to me anymore.

I stumble backward and wrench my skirt from her grip. The woman doesn’t seem to notice, too wrapped up in her mania to process. Taking advantage of the opportunity, I urge Storm to move us forward.

To my horror, others seem to share the woman’s hysteria. Others cry out as she does, begging the gods to do something.

To save them.

When I finally reach the town square, my breath catches in my throat. The market is nearly empty, with only a handful of stalls still open for business. So many of them sit abandoned, with the cloth awnings torn or littered with large holes.

What happened here?

Is the curse to blame for all this?

Hopping off Storm’s back, I approach a market stall, sparsely stocked with produce that looks as if it’s seen much better days. I eye it warily.

“I’ll sell it to you for half the value,” the farmer says wearily, rubbing his forehead. “Whatever you want.”

Guilt tugs at my chest. “No,” I assure him. He needs the coin more than I do. “I’ll give you what it’s worth.”

“Thank you.” He shoots me a grateful look.

I gesture to the apples. They look decent enough, and both Storm and I can eat those. “A half-dozen, please.”

The farmer names his price, and I hand over the coins. The amount is less than I expect him to charge for how many apples I’m buying, but I don’t fight him on it. Luckily for me, Storm’s saddle is equipped with a leather bag for storage. I take the apples and put them in there.

“What happened here?” I ask.

“The mining sickness came first,” the farmer tells me, eyes darkening. “And that was all it was, for a while. Then, more and more, the few miners that remained started coming back empty-handed.” He hesitates, pressing a hand to his mouth. “We didn’t think it could get much worse.”

Dread grips my stomach.

“It spread to our land,” the farmer continues. “Our crops… They’d near harvest, and then they’d turn black. Ruined.” He pauses, as if the words weigh heavily on his shoulders. I imagine they do. “We couldn’t eat them. We couldn’t sell them.”

“The crops are dying?” Fear rises into my throat.

The farmer nods. “It’s a miracle that I have these to sell. They’re all I have this season.”

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