Page 34 of Lore of the Wilds

It was hard to even grasp an age difference like that; it seemed more likely to be the gap between grandparent and grandchild. She’d scanned the passage again. Despite the low birth rate, Alytheria was a powerful kingdom and was equal in size to Rywandall, at least geographically. But how about population wise? The book didn’t say. And anyway, according to the book, Alytheria and Rywandall were fierce allies. Outdated information, as to be expected considering how old it was, because Lore overheard a few of the staff discussing turmoil in the south. There were reports that the light fae were gathering troops and forming alliances with the sirens from Olan,an island off Rywandall’s southern coast. There were talks of closing the borders, but it hadn’t happened yet, as far as she knew.

For now, Alytheria had increased guard presence along the border and added new posts in some of the smaller entry points and port cities. She just hoped that didn’t mean that the crown would raise the taxes on her people back home. If they weren’t already broken, Alytheria being at war would do it.

She also couldn’t help but worry for Asher a little bit. Though being stationed at Wyndlin Castle seemed dull, at least it had been safe. She didn’t know what things looked like for the soldiers who were patrolling the borders. She didn’t want to think about how often she looked to the doors in the dining hall searching for a familiar pair of antlers and a pouty bottom lip.

Lore sighed, slipping from her train of thought as she reached Tarun and Libb. She kneeled by the boys, smiling. They were sweet younglings, and so helpful. She felt bad that they had to work with her all day, every day.

“Is there anything we can collect for you?” Tarun asked.

“Why don’t you take the evening off? I shouldn’t need anything.”

They grinned at each other as they scooped up their game pieces and tore off down the corridor. No doubt they had a million other places they would rather be instead of hanging outside a cursed library.

They could be older than her, officially, but that wouldn’t really matter; they acted just like the human kids back home, full of mischief and excitement.

What were they doing right now? Were they comfortable? Warm? She didn’t think she could ever get used to not knowing the answers to these questions. She had never been away from some of them for longer than a day, not since the littlest was born, crying into the sky and angry at the world for taking them from the safety of the womb.

She remembered the feel of Milo’s little hands in hers, gripping her fingers so tightly despite being so small, so new. She’d just turned fifteen, but assisting Aunty Eshe in deliveries wasn’t new to her. Milo’s mother had been young and one of eight children herself. Her family had chosen not to take him in when she passed. When Milo was born, he was thrust into Lore’s hands, squalling and covered in his mother’s blood, while Aunty tried to save her.

When his mother’s weak cries grew silent, Lore knew that the baby would be one of her responsibilities. She bathed him and wrapped him in a warm blanket, singing a song that her mother had sung to her on nights when the moon had disappeared and the dark appeared to creep into her window.

Lore stood from the cold stone of the corridor, long after the sound of the boys’ footsteps had stopped echoing, and stepped into the library.

***

Later, Lore pressed her sweaty forehead to the inside of her bedroom door and latched the lock. She sank to the floor and tried to calm her ragged breathing.

She had made it—all the way from the library, past the warded doors, and to her room with the magical sage and roses book.

And nobody knew she had it.

She pulled the blank book from beneath her tunic, rubbing her thumb over the stitched moons and the ring of florals and moths. She set it carefully on her frayed quilt and took down her hair, massaging her scalp. She hoped the slight headache she’d gotten from restraining her thick hair would dissipate. If only Aunty Eshe was here to help her clear out the library while giving her all the gossip of their neighbors and, more importantly, braiding her hair.

It would be nice to not have to worry about her thick curlseverymorning.

Absently, Lore felt the purse at her hip. She’d also finally been paid again, a small sum.

Lore grabbed the quill and ink from her bedside table, sat, and opened the blank book. She flipped through the thick pages, all blank except for the bits of twigs and flora pressed into the rough parchment. She liked that; it reminded her of the books at home, as she’d made the paper herself for a lot of them.

She brought the book up to her nose, inhaling the scent. She loved that smell.

Carefully, she wrote her name at the top of the first page in her most careful script.

LoreAlemeyu.

She waited a moment, holding her breath. When the book didn’t suddenly sprout wings and fly away, nor curse her with some terrible disfigurement, she laughed, feeling a bit silly. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened since the day she’d found it, and she had almost convinced herself that the separate room, plush rug, and warm tea had all been her imagination, little more than a combination of isolation and lack of sleep.

She began writing down her thoughts, her worries, and herwishes. It was a relief to write in a journal once more, just as she had done back at the shelter. It was as if some semblance of normalcy had returned.

She wrote about Grey’s easy and loud laugh, Milo’s quirky habits, and the rubble that was all that was left of her room above the apothecary. She described Asher’s pouty bottom lip and how seeing it made her heart skip a beat. She wrote about her fear for her community and the uncertainty that every single person she knew faced right now.

She made a list of everything she would buy with the coin she was earning and her wishes for priceless things, such as safety and security, the apothecary to be rebuilt, and for things to go back to how they once were.

And then she crossed that out and wrote her most secret desire. The one she’d buried for three years—the desire to leave, explore, and find magic of her own before going back to settle down and run the apothecary.

The sun had dipped well below the horizon by the time she placed her quill down and stretched the muscles in her hand. She hung up her tunic and stood in her shift. She missed her home, but she needed to be strong for those she loved. She needed to be strong so she could build a better world for all of them.

The next morning, she woke up and did it all again. And again.

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