Tomorrow I will be blooded.
It's an honor among mortals to be chosen by the Priests to receive an elder dragon's blood. You gain the power of magic and the senses of the beast. Keen eyesight, impeccable hearing, and unfortunately, unsullied scent. My nose wrinkles at the thought of being able to smell everything as I shovel a load of cow feces into the rickety wooden wheelbarrow. The waste in the stables and barns is bad enough for a mortal nose. The stench must be tenfold with a Blooded sense of smell. As I fill the stalls with fresh hay, I wonder if their sense of touch is heightened too. Priestess Yarros taught me that all senses become more acutely aware, even the bodies response to battle. It's what makes Blooded so essential to the war efforts.
With my chores finished for the day, I head out through the double doors into the pasture. The cows lay lazily under the warmth of the sun's rays. The sheep feast idly on the soft grass, and the horses trot happily about the pen. A flock of birds soaring through the clear blue skies draws my gaze upward, a hand coming to my brow to block out the worst of the sun's harsh rays. One day soon, I'll be joining them in the endless sea of blue. To feel the waves over my wings and scales is something I've been dreaming of since I was small. Now, come tomorrow, my destiny will come to fruition. If it didn't mean becoming a weapon of war, I would be more excited.
Still, I wonder what power I'll come to manifest. The magic comes from our very souls, from who we are and the affinities we possess. Someone who is drawn to nature is more likely to be gifted with floral magic than that of lightning, just as someone with chaos in their heart may be gifted with flames or toxins. Being a farmer's daughter, I always thought I would become a nature dragon and wield the earth to take down enemies. My hair and eyes would turn green upon receiving the blood, but it wouldn't be the end of the world.
A nuzzle against my leg draws my attention away from the flock disappearing over the tree line surrounding the farm. I kneel to pet the calf on the head, its soft fur tickling my fingertips. "Hello, little Belle." The chocolate babe moos softly against my palm. I scratch under her chin as I say, "I know, love. I don't want to leave you either. I'll make sure to return to see you full grown. Don't give Papa too much fuss, you hear? You must be good while I'm away." She moos again and plops down onto the ground. With a laugh, I sink down so I'm sitting and rub her belly in loving strokes. I'll miss the farm when I'm gone, and though I like to think I'll come back, it isn't guaranteed. It will be years until I'm able to retire from service if I live long enough. Most blooded die at Venial's cruel hands, but that's a fact of war. You may live long enough to survive, or you may die trying.
The cause of the war is a blur in our long history. It began shortly after mortal claimed the land from the dragons. Beasts that can only be described as living nightmares. Razor sharp teeth for tearing into flesh, boney bodies, mouths that hang off their hinges, claws fit for ripping anyone into ribbons. Villages in our kingdom have been targeted and though my village has yet to see an attack, I fear what will happen once I'm gone. I have no doubt my father will be able to protect our farm, but the rest of the villagers?
He was once a soldier in Tyrron's army. Not part of the Blood legion, but my father was stationed at outposts throughout the kingdom. He'd met my mother the night her town went up in flames. Her home was actively being burnt to the ground with my mother stuck inside, and my father rescued her. Upon his retirement, they settled here in Windson. I owe it to him for the swordsmanship I have now. He made sure I would be able to protect myself should Windson ever suffer the same fate. Not only that, but also to help prepare me for my fate.
I leave Belle once she's fast asleep in the grass and head for our cottage on the outskirts of the pastures. It's a fine home with enough room for the three of us. Made entirely of stone, it's sturdy enough to have held off the worst of the storms that pass over the mountains. The thatched roof leaks some, but it's nothing a few buckets can't handle. The few windows have their shutters open to allow in the fresh spring breeze. My father allowed me to paint the doors and shutters red long ago. I thought it went well with the vines of flowers that creep up the walls. The small garden my mother tends regularly is in full bloom with pink and white flowers sprouting up to greet me as I open the small red gate leading to the front door. The smell of vegetable stew floods my senses, making my stomach rumble and my mouth drool as I enter the small home. My mother is bent over the hanging pot she uses for cooking, the fire crackling gently beneath it. Her tawny hair hangs loosely in a bun at the base of her neck.
"Smells good, Mama." I say with a peck to her cheek when she straightens at the sound of the door closing behind me. She grins, her round, red face heating with the warmth of the fire.
"Will you head into town for me, love? I just need a loaf of bread and a few other things."
"Of course," I say before heading for my bedroom to grab my satchel. Everywhere I look are small vines of paint I doodled as a child. Various flowers from my mother's garden and those I had seen walking the forest beyond. My bedroom is even more decorated. I painted the walls with all sorts of plants and flowers. Potted wisteria hangs loosely over my small dresser, and herbs hang upside down over my bed for drying. I grab my satchel and sling it across my chest before heading back into the kitchen, where my mother is waiting for me.
"A loaf of bread, a bundle of eggs, and see if Rose has some wild berries for jam." The coin purse she hands me sits heavily in my satchel, and she waves me off.
The afternoon sun is hot on my face as I walk down the dirt path. It's a good distance from the farm to the village. Usually, we take Papa's wagon as a family into the market square each Sunday, but when my mother needs something, I head out on foot. It'll be good to stretch my legs anyway. The breeze sways my long skirts around my ankles. As I leave the safety of the farm behind, the trees of the forest begin to close in until they're right up against the wide dirt trail I walk. Birds chirp happily from their perches. Some swoop down ahead of me, their small wings flapping so quickly my eye can only see a blur of feathers. A reminder of what is to come, of what I'm meant to be.
Though I've learned the history of this world, what is expected of me, and have trained with weapons, I don't feel ready for tomorrow. What if the High Priest of Agliath thinks me unworthy? I would be a disappointment to my parents, to my village, and to all our kingdom. Chosen are turned away often during the ritual, but I don't know if I could stomach it. My entire life has been leading up to this day. What would I do if I could not fulfill the only destiny I've known? I have no real dreams aside from keeping my family safe and flying among the stars.
Thatched roofs come into view as the path turns into that of stone. The woodcutter's son, Jeremias, heaves an axe down on a log, splitting it into two as I pass their family home. His bare back and blond hair glisten with sweat as he bends down to pick up the pieces of wood. He tosses them into the pile by their fence along the road. Jeremias has always been handsome, even when we were children. He's the only person, aside from Rose, that speaks to me.
My heart flurries at the memory of the kiss we once shared a few months ago. We'd laid in the meadow outside the village where the creatures of the forest join to drink the waters of the small lake residing there. He'd tucked a daisy behind my ear, told me I was beautiful, and kissed me under the light of the moon. Which may or may not have led to other acts that are typically reserved for those who are engaged or otherwise married.
Since then, we've spent countless nights wrapped up in each other in that meadow.
My mother always suspected he was keen on me, and she is known for never being wrong. I have feelings too, of course, otherwise I wouldn't be physically entangled in the man. There can never be anything more between us, though. We know I may never return to Windson. He'd offered to help me run away from fate, to have us live our days across the sea in a foreign kingdom. I declined, because running from the ritual is seen as treason, and you will be hunted down and killed. It would be selfish to put him in harm's way.
I stop a few feet from the fence to give a small wave, which Jeremias returns with a grin that shows the dimples in his cheeks. "Heading to the market, Aeris?" he asks, both hands gripping the fence as he leans over.
"I am. Care to join me?" He's quick to hustle over and bury the blade of the axe into the tree stump used for wood chopping. A rag comes away damp after he dabs most of the sweat away, and his loose white shirt hugs his muscles in all the right places. The smile he bares when he leaps over the fence to stand at my side meets his ocean eyes. I loop my arm through the one he offers.
"Busy day?" I ask as we walk past more of the villager's homes. Those who are outside stop long enough to watch us walk by. A woman with a young child sneer at me as she ushers them away from the path. Another with wrinkles at the corners of her eyes spits at our feet as we pass her vegetable garden. Jeremias frowns at them, pulling me closer to him.
"Not really. Just chopping wood for my father while he's out surveying a spot to build a family's cabin." He watches with fire in his eyes when several others make for the path head in the other direction at our approach. "I never understood why they hate you. You have never done anything to them."
I never understood it myself. My parents didn't have an answer either, at least not one they would tell me. Whenever I brought it up, they seemed distant, like their minds went elsewhere entirely. "Don't mind them,", "I don't know, darling,", "Perhaps they're just jealous," are my mother's typical answers. Jealous of what, I have no idea. Being chosen for the blooding? To become one of His Majesty's dragons and possibly die in an encounter with Venial's beasts? It feels more like a curse than a blessing.
I shrug, keeping my head down for the rest of the walk to the market. The main hub of the village is the square, where tenants and merchants from the village and beyond set up shop. We don't have much compared to the city. A small tavern owned by Rochelle Biggins and her husband, Theo. The church sits central to all the buildings in the square, its large stone towers providing shade against the late spring heat. There's also the blacksmith's forge, and an apothecary owned by my mother's oldest friend, Rosalia Turner. The buildings have seen better days, but much like my cottage they were built to last.
The square itself is bustling with activity thanks to the beautiful weather. Jeremias and I walk past stalls of pelts, fresh vegetables, and canvases dawning the most gorgeous paintings. I pause for a moment to watch the artist at work. His brush like an extension of himself as it sweeps across the cloth, the paints melding into a vibrant landscape. The Drakonis mountains, I realize, with their twin peaks jutting out from the forest encompassing the village. Stars are plucked from the white paint on his wooden tablet and are speckled across the purplish sky above the mountains.
Jeremias tugs me along to a stall selling farm goods. With the bundle of eggs tucked safely in my satchel and the purse a few coins lighter, we continue our stroll. "I leave tomorrow." I say as we pass a table full of jewels. Their sparkle beckons me, and the trader motions us closer with a yellow-toothed smirk.
"Buy something shiny for your pretty miss," he drawls. Jeremias pauses, staring down at the round jewels gracing the table. He plucks one up by its chain. A shining yellow stone makes up the sun with gold rays sprouting from its center. "Ten coins, lad. A special only for you and your miss." The merchant rubs his hands together before pointing to a ruby pendant in the shape of a heart. "Or, perhaps you would enjoy this one more? Pure ruby mined from the mountains of Honneth."
"I'll take this one." Jeremias fishes in his pocket for a moment before placing ten gold coins in the merchant's hands. The merchant bows in thanks, and my companion moves behind me, brushing the hair away before placing the necklace at my neck. "Something to remember me by when you're gone." Tears pluck at the corners of my eyes at the gesture. My fingertips brush against the pendant, the sharp points of the sun digging into the soft skin. I whirl around, hair and dress spinning with me, and embrace Jeremias tightly.
"Thank you," I whisper into his chest. His arms wrap around my back into a gentle squeeze before a knuckle lifts my chin. His mouth presses into mine, and for a moment I forget where we are, who surrounds us, and what is to come tomorrow. Our affections were never publicly displayed, only ever enjoyed in the privacy of the meadow. Anxiety makes my heart race, and I break away sooner than I would have liked. Still, I grin up at him, a reassuring smile that brings one to his lips too.
Despite the murmurs from the eligible women shopping in the square, we continue like they don't exist. At least, Jeremias does. He's all smiles as he chats up the merchants, asking about their goods and where they hail from. I, however, can't ignore the whispers pestering my ears, nor the glares slung my way by the pretty girls milling about.
Maiden of death, what does he see in her?
Women better suited are right here.
Ugly whore.
The words cut deeply, far more than the slights when it was only ever directed at me. Maiden of death they call me. I don't understand why, perhaps because that's what I'm to become when I enter the legion.
We buy bread for both our families, and I pick up the last of the items requested by my mother from Rose's apothecary. Rose is the only other person who is kind to me, and not because of her relationship with my family. She's about the same age as my mother, with long black hair. She always leaves it down to show off the streaks of silver that frame her face and compliment her bright, grey irises. "So, you leave tomorrow honey?" she asks as she packs away the berries I purchased.
"I do," I reply with a nod. My hands fidget with the edge of her dark wood counter, jiggling the jars of herbs there. Her entire shop smells amazing from the jars of spices and plants lining the many shelves. Potions are crafted by her hand for ailments. Not only that, but Rose is the village's only doctor. She's been the midwife for all the mothers here, including my own. The room in the back of the shop is where she houses her patients during treatment. I've had to go back there on more than one occasion when getting bucked off a spooked horse or enduring too many torments from the other children. Stick and stones may not break bones, but they certainly hurt when hurled at you.
Rosalia takes both of my hands in her own, the cool skin smoothing the trembling of my nerves. She looks me dead in the eye, and says, "You are more than you know, angel. You will persevere, you will conquer, and most importantly, you will survive." Her thumb wipes away the tear that escapes my defenses as she adds, "Priestess Yarros and your parents have taught you well, darling. We are all proud of you no matter what happens."
"Thank you," is whispered before I throw myself over the tall counter, needing to stand on the tips of my toes to hug Rose.
Her breath is cool against my ear as she says, "You've grown into a fine young woman, Aeris. Take care of yourself out there and make sure you come back to us." More tears break through when I pull away. Jeremias places a reassuring hand on my shoulder, the comfort welcome as I wipe away the wet streaks with the back of my hand.
"I promise."
Our walk back to his home is silent after we leave the apothecary. It's not uncomfortable, but I can't stop thinking about the women staring, the whispers. The rumors that are bound to plague the village once word gets out that Jeremias kissed me in the square. He'd basically claimed me by doing so. And nothing would come about it since I may never return from the capital.
When we reach his gate, I hand him the goods he'd purchased from my satchel. "Same spot tonight?" he asks, reaching over to tuck a stray curl behind my ear.
"Same spot after supper."
He presses a swift kiss to my forehead before latching the gate closed behind him. I watch him go, waiting until he's in the warmth of his home before heading down the long path to my farm. Dusk is drawing near, painting the sky with purples, pinks and oranges as the sun begins to set over the horizon. By the time I reach the cottage the skies are overtaken by the deep blues of night, my only source of light being that of the moon and the stars that twinkle in greeting. There's something comforting about the darkness of night. The still calm that settles over the earth, the scent of the chill wind that follows.
My mother is pouring stew into bowls when I enter. My father sits at the head of our small dining table, now set for supper instead of being littered with items from our cabinets. "Welcome back, love," My mother says as she sets the last bowl on the table. Stomach growling from the long trek and the scent of my favorite vegetable barley stew, I set the satchel on the small stone slab beside the large pot and take my seat beside my father. Once my mother is seated, we join hands, eyes sliding closed as my father begins the evening prayer.
"We thank the Gods and Goddesses for this harvest, and for the meal prepared by my loving wife." My mother giggles at this, making me smile. My father continues, "We thank Dryrenta for the fruits of our labor, and Vasus for the lasting peace gracing our homestead. We pray to Pheona for our long journey to the capital come morning. We pray for Aeris's safety during the ritual and beyond. Please, keep my baby safe." My heart squeezes as tightly as his hand grips my own at his words. "We thank you, Osdite, for our lives and well-being, and for giving us the greatest gift of all. May the Gods bless us this day." My mother and I recite the ending phrase, the queue that the prayer is over. Our hands release and our eyes open. Tears roll down my mother's round cheeks and she sniffles as she lifts her spoon to her bowl. I eye my father, who avoids looking at me as he brings a spoonful of stew to his lips and blows on it.
"Thank you for the prayer, Papa," I smile at him before blowing gently on my own bowl. The stew is explosive with flavor thanks to the spices and herbs grown in our garden. My mother never fails to make an excellent dish, especially my favorite stew. "The stew is amazing, Mama. Thank you."
This has the woman across from me grinning from ear to ear. "You're welcome, love. I wanted to make your last night with us special." Sadness laces her words and hangs at the corners of her eyes. "It's going to be difficult not having you at home. I'm going to miss you very much."
"I'm going to miss you too. Both of you." I look at my father, who stares at me with chestnut eyes that mirror my own. His lower lip wavers with the threat of tears but he steels his features. I've never seen my father emotional. He's a man of war, so he learned to hide it all beneath a hard exterior. But looking at him right now, I can tell that my leaving tomorrow is hitting him harder than he thought it would.
"My only child is leaving to join the war tomorrow," my father looks like he wants to laugh out loud but he holds it in, stirring his stew slowly with the spoon gripped tightly in his hand. "I still can't believe it. The Goddess blessed us with a babe only for her to be ripped away from us." The room falls silent as the wood groans beneath my father's hold. "We tried for years, your mother and I, for a child. We feared losing you throughout her pregnancy, only for you to—"
"That's enough, Alfred," my mother snaps suddenly. We both look at her in shock. My mother never raises her voice. It isn't in her nature. The mother hen she may be, but the wolf she was not. That role belongs to my father, the fearless man who fought valiantly in the war and lived long enough to tell the tale. So, to have her bang her palm against the table, shaking the dishes and spilling stew, was so out of character I didn't know what to say.
My father knows when to pick his battles and this is not one of them. His head dips as he mumbles an apology and continues sipping his stew. My mother shifts in her chair, eyes falling upon me now, to the shiny pendant hanging around my neck. Her head tilts curiously as she leans in to get a closer look. "You didn't spend our coin on that did you, dear?"
Blushing, I finger the pendant gingerly as I shake my head. "I—no, it was a gift."
"From whom?" my father presses, leaning in too to examine the jewel.
I shrink under their gaze, my face a furious red as I mutter, "From Jeremias."
My mother's brows shoot up with surprise while my father's furrow together. "From Jeremias? What a wonderful gift." Mama says carefully, nudging my father with her elbow. He grunts softly before returning to his meal. "So, you ran into him at the market, did you?"
I consider telling them about our stolen kiss since they'll likely hear about it tomorrow. Instead, I tell them about everything except that very public display of affection. My mother nods, a small smile on her lips. "Such a charming young man, isn't he? I always knew he was keen on you Aeris. He looks at you like he's been struck silly." We giggle at this to my father's dismay. He grumbles under his breath before standing.
"We leave at dawn. Make sure whatever you need is packed, Aeris. I'll ready the carriage in the morning." The bowl he carries is placed in the wash bin before he strides outside, likely to the stables to check on the horses before bed. My mother and I chat about Jeremias a while longer, giggling all the while until I finish my stew. We tidy up the kitchen and I leave my mother to unpack my satchel as I head for the front door.
"I'm just going to the meadow for a while." I say, and don't wait for a response before closing the door behind me. Indeed, the lantern in the stable is lit and my father's shadow can be seen against the twin doors left open. As stealthily as I can, I tiptoe through the gate and head into the forest beyond the road. Once I'm sure my father won't suspect I've gone out, my stride becomes easier, guided only by the moonlight streaking in through the canopy of trees.
The forest can be dangerous at night. Wolves and bears are known to prowl these woods. I'm not sure if I could take one down with only the knife kept in my boot, but I have yet to run into the predators. Tonight is no different. The meadow comes into view as I near the edge of the forest. The moon's silver slivers carry on the gentle waves of the lake and reflect on Jeremias's face as he sits at the water's edge, a same flower twirling between his fingertips. I watch him for a moment as he stares out at the water. His features at solemn, something I haven't seen since his mother passed away when we were children. We'd come to this very place and cried together. Seeing it wear on his face now pulls at my heart. I cross the distance and sit beside him with my legs tucked beneath me.
"It's a beautiful night," I sigh as I gaze up at the night sky. Jeremias's gaze makes my skin prickle, but I keep my sights on the stars blinking above us. Soon, I'll be among them, and Jeremias will still be here. I'll be out in the world, and he will still be chopping wood for his father's company. My heart aches at the thought of leaving him behind. That's exactly what I'm doing, isn't it? Leaving everyone I know and love behind for some destiny bestowed upon me as a babe.
"You're beautiful, Aeris." His voice draws me away from the constellations and has me looking into an ocean of blue. His gorgeous blue eyes that seem to sparkle whenever he sees me. It makes the pain in my heart grow into a festering wound, oozing with sullied words and regret. His hand cups my cheek, his thumb smoothing over the skin before coming to brush against my bottom lip. "I wish this wasn't our last night together. Are you sure you don't want to run away with me? There's still time, you know."
I shake my head with a soft smile. "They would hunt us down, Jeremias."
"So, we change our names. We can find a village across the sea—"
"No!" comes out more harshly than I mean it to. "We've talked about this. They will kill us if we run. I can't do that to you."
"If you go, you will die."
"I will come back," my hands cup his face as I shift onto his lap, straddling him between my knees. "I will come back because I will survive." His gaze searches mine, his hands finding purchase at my hips. A lump forms in my throat for what I'm about to say but I swallow it down, "I don't want you to wait for me. I want you to find a nice woman who will treat you with the same kindness you've shown me, and I want you to marry her. I want you to find happiness, Jeremias, and I don't know if you can find it with me."
He doesn't reply for a long while. His hands grip and loosen at my hips, his gaze never leaving mine in the silence. Finally, he pulls me so close our chests press together, his breath a ghost over my mouth as he says, "I would have asked you to marry me if you didn't have to leave."
The confession makes the pain worse, and I have to bite my lip to keep from crying. He reaches up to tug it away, breaking the dam I try so hard to hold together. He wipes away those tears, some with his thumbs, others with soft kisses to my cheeks. Soon, his mouth finds mine, kissing me so deeply and tenderly that nothing else matters.
Nothing else does matter, not when it's just he and I in the meadow. Not when we become a tangle of limbs and pleasure with only the moon as our witness.
If he asked, I would have said yes.