I awoke the next morning to sunlight streaming through the cracks in our walls. The mud that we used for chinking usually washed out a bit during the spring rains, and we left it that way during the summer. Now that autumn was well underway, we would need to fill the gaps again.

We didn’t have any windows in our little home—we couldn’t afford glass, and shutters weren’t practical—but there was enough light for me to know that the morning was quickly passing.

I crawled out of the bed that I shared with Mother. It was a straw mattress in the far corner of the room, covered in a nest of blankets. I was surprised that I had slept in. That didn’t happen often.

“Mother?” I called.

“Out here,” her voice replied.

I stepped out of our hut, wiping the remains of sleep from my eyes. As if we had been sharing the thought, she was mixing up a bowl of mud for the walls. I could see my dress from the day before, freshly washed and hanging to dry in a patch of sunshine.

I felt a twinge of guilt. She had gotten up early to wash my dress, while I’d had a lazy morning.

“Good morning,” I said, standing behind her kneeling figure and wrapping my arms around her neck.

“Good morning, Tiff,” she smiled.

I plopped down on the ground next to her. “What are we doing today?”

She held up the bowl. “Chinking first, then we can check the walnut grove.”

I nodded. I was glad it wasn’t a sewing day, even though we had the fabric for our winter clothes. I hated sewing.

“Your breakfast is by the fire, darling. Go eat,” she urged.

I rolled onto my knees and then stood up. I skipped back into the hut, making a silly face at my mother before leaving her sight. 

The fire in our cottage was contained by a large clay pot, which funneled the smoke outside. The plate with my breakfast sat on the top, keeping warm. It consisted of some bread with honey on it, boiled dove eggs, and cooked root vegetables. I cracked the first egg and began to peel it, throwing the shells into the compost bucket.

“Mother,” I called through the doorway, “have you ever been to the other villages in Three Valleys?”

I could see her silhouette stand to begin applying the mud to the walls. “No,” she answered. “I’ve never left this village.”

“You never traveled with Grandfather?” I asked, trying to keep my voice casual.

Mother’s hand paused. “Merchants don’t typically take their children with them.”

“Oh,” I let the subject pass.

Her work resumed. “My auntie traveled quite a bit, and she said this was the most beautiful place in the world. So I’m happy to stay.”

She meant her great-aunt Theophana, my namesake. She was the only one who had been willing to help my mother after I was born. It was thanks to her that we hadn’t died during that first winter.

I began peeling another egg. “I wonder if Auntie is lonely,” I mused.

“The dead are never lonely,” Mother replied softly, “only the living.”

“We should go visit her soon,” I suggested. “We could take her the last flowers of the season.”

“I don’t know if we can make it soon enough for flowers,” she said. “We have to finish all of our preparations for winter, first.”

I made a face, even though she couldn’t see it. “Why can’t we just move back to Auntie’s house for the winter? No one is using it.”

We had lived with Aunt Theophana until she passed away when I was four years old. She’d been dead for less than a day when the rest of the family ordered us to leave.

I could hear Mother sigh. “You know we can’t do that, darling.”

“It’s not like anyone would notice,” I muttered to myself. “No one lives close by that house.”

“They would see the lights, Tiff,” she pointed out. “And smoke from the cooking fire.”

I stuffed the last bit of my breakfast into my mouth. Winter always seemed lonely, for some reason. Maybe it was because the forest was sleeping. I always felt the urge to wander someplace new when the autumn came, and let the forest sleep in peace.

“Are you done eating?”

I hopped to my feet. “Yes.”

“Then come help me with this.”

Filling the gaps in a wall woven from sticks is not as easy as one might think. I didn’t mind helping, but I wasn’t as good at it as Mother. I was soon covered in spatters of mud, and the walls of the hut looked less tidy than before.

Mother didn’t seem to mind my lack of skill, and I didn’t mind being dirty. I gave her a wide grin, singing the song that we always sang while performing this task.

 

Mud to seal up the secret place

Mud to seal up our hiding place

Winds can’t find us behind this door

Cold of winter won’t mind us more

 

My mother always stopped at that point, but I liked making my own verse to continue.

 

Mud to turn us into statues

Mud to darken our faces and shoes

Mud all over our hands and hair

Mud to make all the people stare

 

Mother laughed, and I did, too. I changed the words every time we sang it, but I always loved to make her laugh. The sound was like warm milk filling my entire body.

She reached over the wipe some of the mud from my cheek. “You certainly would make people stare in this state.”

“People stare no matter what I look like,” I said flippantly.

Her smile slipped, and I immediately regretted my words. Mother didn’t really talk about my yellow skin and crescent eyes. I knew that it bothered her to see how the villagers treated me, though.

Luckily, I was spared having to cover my carelessness. I happened to glance toward the walking path, and I spotted Tsuki standing there.

His gray eyes were wide as he stared at me as if he was seeing me for the first time. He was still wearing the wooden mask on the lower half of his face. I wondered what he was hiding under it.

Mother also saw him standing there and raised her hand to greet him. “Good morning, Tsuki. Have you come for the cart?”

He nodded, but his eyes were still locked on me.

I crossed my arms and glared back. “What?”

“Don’t be rude,” Mother whispered to me.

She walked away to fetch the cart, which was sitting next to our dovecote. I continued to stare down the cobbler’s apprentice.

“Your song,” he said quietly. “It makes the trees feel like summer.”

I wasn’t sure if I’d heard him correctly. His voice was so gentle, and the mask blocked some of the sounds.

“My song?” I asked, confused. I’d expected it to be some comment about my appearance, since no one had ever talked about my singing before.

Tsuki nodded but didn’t explain.

Mother pulled the cart next to him, then patted him on the shoulder. “Thank you for your help.”

He started as if coming out of a daze. “Mistress Eva, I have something Master Heele told me to tell you.”

My mother’s brow furrowed. “What is it?”

“He said to tell you that Miss Elsabetta was ill. The physician says it’s alpine fever.”

She gasped. “How did Ellie get alpine fever? She’s never left the village!”

Tsuki’s shoulders curled inward. “Master Heele said that she went to visit Mistress Humility and just came back after an extended stay.”

My eyes darted between the two of them. “What’s happening, Mother? Who are those people?”

She took a deep breath. I could see the forced calm settle onto her face. “Thank you for passing on the message, Tsuki. Please head back with Master Heele’s cart.”

The boy nodded and hurried away. He didn’t say anything in parting.

Mother didn’t wait for him to leave before rushing into our cottage. I followed close behind.

“What’s going on?” I demanded.

Mother knelt on the floor and began packing a travel bag. “Ellie is my youngest sister. She was only six years old when I was…asked to leave home. Millie—Humility—is also my younger sister, but she was married into a merchant clan in a different fief.”

I slowly processed all of the information I had received. “So, your sister is sick.”

“Yes.”

“With alpine fever.”

Mother sounded hoarse. “Yes.”

My medical knowledge was limited, but I knew the seriousness of the situation. Alpine fever was said to come from the night air of the mountains—although that seemed a strange explanation to me. It settled in the lungs, making breathing harder and harder for the patient. There were other symptoms, of course, but that was the fatal one.

“Is Aunt Ellie going to die?” I asked in a small voice.

Mother’s jaw clenched. “No. I won’t let that happen.”

I frowned. “How will you stop it?”

She continued to pack everything we would need to be away from our home for a few days. “There is a plant in the mountains that can cure alpine fever. We’ll go and find it.”

“These mountains?”

We’d lived in these small mountains for years, and we’d never come across such a valuable plant before.

Mother shook her head. “It grows in the high mountains. Much higher than these ones here.”

“Like the ones on the other side of Three Valleys?” I asked.

“Yes, like those.”

I went over to our clothes trunk and pulled out last year’s stockings. They were a little snug, but at least the holes had been mended. I put on my new shoes, lacing them up tight. “Will it be cold?”

My question caused her to pause. Our winter clothes for this year hadn’t been made yet. It wouldn’t be a problem for Mother, since she was the same size as the year before. However, I was growing out of all of my clothing at a steady rate.

“It will be colder the higher up we climb,” she acknowledged. “You can use my cloak to keep warm.”

“What about you?” I protested.

She shrugged. “I’ll wear my winter clothes. It will be fine.”

Each of us would have a bundle to wear on our backs. Even so, we couldn’t take much with us. Most of our food would need to be foraged or caught. The only clothes we would have would be the ones we wore.

We took Mother’s medicine kit—as we always did when leaving the hut for more than a few hours. We included a few tools to help with hunting and foraging, and for making a fire. We took water skins and emergency rations—just in case we couldn’t find food—but that was all.

There was nothing we had to do to close up our hut. We shut the door so animals wouldn’t wander in, but there was no lock. All of our winter supplies were stored in our cellar, so they would be safe. Our doves were able to take care of themselves until the snow came.

Mother and I walked down the path that led to the village. All of the villages in Three Valleys were connected by roads, and all of them were ruled over by the same feudal lord. The fastest way to reach the mountains on the far side would be to go through the villages.

However, Mother led me off the path once we left the foothills. I didn’t question her decision. I also knew that the shortest road would take the longest for us to get through.

It was a sunny day, and it was easy for me to forget why we were traveling. I skipped through the tall grass, humming a happy tune. I picked flowers to braid into a crown and pointed out the birds that I saw.

We were heading in a northeastern direction, circumventing the populated areas. I picked up a pebble, rubbing it in my hands. “Why aren’t there any farms over here?” I inquired.

“These areas are the personal property of Lord Yubran,” Mother explained. “He uses them as grazing land for his horses.”

I pursed my lips together. “Most people don’t use horses. It seems like a waste of land.”

She chuckled. “Most of the people in the villages don’t use horses, but they are still valuable. Merchants buy them at a high price, and they can also be given to the king as tribute.”

My eyebrows shot upward. “We have a king?”

Mother’s expression became pained. “Of course we do, Tiff. I’ve taught you this before.”

“I forgot,” I said dismissively. “Where does the king live?”

She pointed to the north. “He lives in the Capital, at the center of our nation. All of the fiefs circle the Capital like a wheel.”

I picked up a second pebble and tapped them against each other. “Why does he get to be king? Why not any of the other lords?”

She smiled. “Well, King Abbenon has the strongest resource of all.”

“What?”

“Soldiers.”

I laughed. “So, whoever has the most soldiers gets to be king?”

Mother nodded. “In this nation, yes.”

I tossed both pebbles away. “It doesn’t seem like a very good system.”

“How would you do it?” she asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Just let everybody take care of themselves, I guess. Why do we need soldiers anyway?”

Mother smiled again, but this time it didn’t reach her eyes. “You know, I once asked your grandfather the same question.”

I straightened my back. “What did he say?”

“He told me a story,” she replied. “Do you want to hear it?”

I nodded eagerly. I always loved hearing a story.