Page 2 of Terragnata and the Heir of the Earth

I’d definitely been reading too many novels.

The dream stuckto me like an invisible oil the entire next day. I rose, like I always did, to start a fire in the kitchen.

I hesitated that morning. The idea of seeing flames felt oddly nauseating. But my mother would be up soon, and I knew baking could not be done without a fire.

I stared at the flames, entranced, searching for the shadows that visited me in the night. But the logs burned harmlessly, as they had the morning before and the morning before that.

“Oh no. It’s finally happened. She’s gone mad.”

The flat joke snapped my gaze from the stove.

My brother Danson sported a crooked grin, crossing his arms. “Should I call the healer? Brilliant, actually. A claim of insanity might be the only thing that could get you out of Spring Day.”

“I’m not that desperate,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. Though I hid it, I cringed within at the mention of our town’s upcoming match-making event.

Danson’s brows rose. “Oh really? I’ve seen you do far more to avoid the Argenti male population.”

“That is because the Argenti male population is full of leering brutes,” I snapped, shooing him away from the kitchen. “Shouldn’t you be waking Javis? Shifts start in a half hour.”

My eldest brother flashed his winning smile and backed away, hands raised. “It’s no secret you’ve been unimpressed with the other members of my sex, but I’m just saying, we’re not all that bad. Maybe it’s time you branch out of your normal… circles. And try to breathe a little less… fire.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, exhaling with a loud sigh. “I’ll take that into consideration.”

He was gone with a wink, dragging my youngest brother—eyes half-open—through the front door of our log cabin.

They would head to the mines, my father in tow. Our town, Argention, made its living primarily through silver mining, a trade my whole family participated in. My father and brothers mined the silver, and my mother and I worked it. We worked it so hard that it sometimes left rashes on my skin. It was a grueling process. Melting, cooling, hammering. Melting, cooling, and hammering again. Coins, jewelry, beads, serving dishes, and more were all sold by the townswomen to travelers and merchants.

We rarely kept our wares, not needing the finery, but occasionally one trinket made its way out of the selling basket. On my eighteenth birthday, almost two years ago, my father bade me select my favorite of my mother’s creations. A small dragon—devastatingly intricate in its carving—hung around my neck ever since.

My brothers had teased me endlessly, calling mefirebreather. It was somewhat of a masculine choice, I supposed. Not a flower, nor a heart, nor a simple shape. But it seemed powerful, a feeling rarely afforded to the young ladies of my village. My mother had smiled knowingly when I’d chosen it, as if she’d fashioned it for me in the first place.

“Are you just going to stare off into the distance, letting the garden wither away, or will you be getting on with your chores this morning?” My mother’s sharp voice, lined with weariness,cut through the room. She appeared, tying an apron around her waist. “The plants won’t water themselves, dear.”

I nodded, not complaining for a moment about the upcoming ache I knew would line my arms after my thousandth trip to the well. I tugged on my mud boots and woolen jacket, inhaling the scent of the smoky stove before ducking out the door.

I was home. I was safe, at home.

I only wondered if that was all there was to life. If there could be more.

After morning chores,it was my duty to drop off all new silver creations and a fresh basket of my mother’s jams at the seller stands in the market. The elderly women who weren’t strong enough to work the silver maintained the booths on behalf of the town. They might not have been strong enough to work physically, but they haggled mercilessly with the merchants who came to trade their exotic foods and new fashions for Argenti silver. My father always grunted when he saw those merchant caravans cresting the Argen hills, making the descent into our valley. I never knew if his grunt meant approval, for they bought the silver he and my brothers mined, or if it meant a sort of silent regret since he and my brothers would have to return to the mines the next day.

But today—something felt different at the market. The cobbled roads, humble shack stands, the smell of roasting nuts and fresh bread were all the same. But a thickness filled the air that raised the fine hairs on my arm.

A familiar face greeted me as I handed over our wares to my mother’s most trusted seller. “Fine day,” Miralvda remarked, gesturing to the general hustle of the market and gleaming sky.

I nodded, fondness blooming in my chest, settling my unease. Miralvda—one of the elderly in town—never gossiped, never pried into who I would choose to match with on Spring Day. I would have picked her as our seller every time, had my mother not thought it imprudent. We had to maintain a bench of trusted partners—it was risky to play favorites.

“You seem chipper this morning.” I smiled as she thumbed each piece of silver, inspecting our work. “I think it’s some of her best?—”

Something shoved into me, and I stumbled forward, nearly toppling the table. Before I could catch myself, strong hands guided me back to stand.

I pivoted, pulling myself out of the stranger’s grip.

“Apologies miss. It’s rather crowded in these stalls, and Iamrather large.”

Indeed. I was staring at quite possibly the largest man I’d ever seen.

Miralvda’s eyes shot back and forth from us as if she’d launch herself between me and this wolf.

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