Page 86 of Drawn in Blood
Before Gaelen could reply, Aoife walked in the kitchen. Ember stiffened, averting her eyes. She was still so angry with her mother, she barely said anything to her on the days she happened to be home. Ember saw less and less of her each day, whatever work she did with Helvig eclipsing her responsibilities as a parent.
But she was going stir crazy, and she was desperate.
“Mum?” she said quietly. “Could I go into town today?”
Aoife furrowed her brow. “What for?”
“Just to explore.” Ember shrugged. “Explore my new home.”
Home.
The word tasted sour in her mouth. But whether she liked it or not, this was home for now—at least until she found a way out.
Aoife smiled, tilting her head. “That sounds like a lovely idea. Should I send for Collum to go with you?”
Ember wrinkled her nose. “No, Mum. I’ll be fine,” she replied, as she shook her head.
“Just be home for supper, yes? Your granda’ will be by tonight,” she replied, and then she was gone, just like every day.
Ember ran her book upstairs, grabbing her bag and quickly slipping her father’s journal inside. She tore down the steps and out the door, breathing in the smell of the grass after rain. It was February, still chilly enough that she needed a coat, but not so cold that the rain had turned to snow. The sun was shining brightly, warming her cheeks as the wind bit into them, and she couldn’t help the smile that took over her face.
She chose to walk into town, instead of using the Echopoint by her house that would take her there instantly, following the curve of the road as it wound around trees and streams. There was something old about these hills—something that felt untouched by the modern world. The houses she passed were simple, wooden exterior and thatched roofs surrounded by gardens that had long died in the brutality of the harsh winter.
She stopped at the edge of the road as she squinted her eyes at what looked like a door in the distance, carved into the side of one of the rolling hills.
“Curious,” she mumbled to herself, and she made her way through the grass and to the opening. As she got closer, she realized it was the entrance to what looked like an old mineshaft. She took a quick step back—she knew better than to wander inside. There was no telling how old this mine was—no telling what had made its home inside or how well the walls were holding up. Ember shivered as she turned and made her way back to the road.
She made her way over the top of another hill, seeing a few more mineshafts dotting the hills in the distance, and finally, a city came into view. It resembled Sigurvik, the buildings a rainbow against the bleakness of the grey sky. Seagulls flew overhead, and for just a moment, if Ember closed her eyes tight, it almost felt like she was home.
Home.
She made her way down the path further, and the hustle and bustle of the city grew louder. Children shrieked and laughed as they ran down the street, mothers walked among the shops carrying baskets filled with eggs and vegetables and baked goods, and the joy reverberating through the streets was almost palpable.
She walked over a bridge, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw a small cellar door pushed up against the side of one of the buildings. She furrowed her brow as she tilted her head—being this close to the ocean, cellars weren’t all that common. The island wasn’t very far above sea level, and flooding happened more often than not during the rainy season. She peered closer, and it looked like the door hadn’t been opened in ages. The lock was rusted shut, the hinges discolored and coated in salt from the air. That at least meant that nothing was lurkinginside. Either that, or something was locked in and forgotten about.
She adjusted the bag on her shoulder and shuddered. She would prefer not to find out if there was anything lurking in the cellar beneath the pristine shop.
Ember wandered along the cobblestone streets, up and down the rows of shops, restaurants and tiny homes tucked in between. She walked past a small flower shop, taking in the smell of daffodils, snowdrops, and magnolias. Most people longed for the flowers of spring—the first bloom of lavender in the open fields—but Ember had always been partial to the flowers that bloomed in the winter. The flowers that grew despite the cold and dark surrounding it, the ones that not only grew, but flourished.
As she walked further, the smell of fish became more prominent. Living in a fishing town, the smell was always present, but she could always tell when she was close to the water. The way it mixed with the salt in the air almost made her homesick.
She wandered into a small apothecary, vials of potions and tonics lined the shelves, along with ingredients she had only ever read about, that seemed plentiful in this hidden village.
“Looking for something in particular?” a voice said from the back of the shop.
Ember turned around to see a woman carefully placing ingredients on the shelves, long auburn hair flowing in waves down her back. Her pale skin almost glistened in the rays of sun beating through the window, her green eyes sparkling as she smiled.
“No, ma’am.” Ember smiled. “Just wanted to look around.”
The woman furrowed her brow as she studied Ember. “I’ve never seen you about the city before.” It wasn’t a question.
Ember chewed her bottom lip. “I just arrived a couple of months ago. This is my first time coming into town, but it’s very lovely.”
“Aye,” the woman nodded, “we don’t get many visitors, let alone people moving here. What’s your name?”
“Ember,” she said, “Ember Lothbrok.”
The woman’s eyes lit up knowingly. “Lothbrok?” she whispered. “Are you kin to Torin?”
