A passer by would have assumed she was older than she was — it was something about the depths in her green eyes. But if she smiled, then they would have seen her youth. She was slight of build and clad in a simple tunic, such as a farmer’s daughter might wear. She wore her pale blonde hair long.
However at this early hour there were few passers by and Ella had the entire bridge to herself. She shivered in the crisp morning air and looked forward to summer.
The basket was uncomfortable in her arms and she shifted it to her other hip. She had a hard day ahead of her and she quickened her pace when she saw the length of the shadows cast by the buildings.
Before long Ella reached the waking markets of the Poloplats. Vendors were drinking coffee and speaking quietly — something about early mornings always made them speak in softened tones. She knew how loud they could be though, calling their wares when the market opened in earnest.
A few men and women nodded to Ella as she walked past with her basket of flowers, wondering where she would set up today. She had been coming to the market for so long that it was as familiar to her as the house she lived in, yet it never stayed the same from one day to another.
Ella’s home was close to the Dunwood, far from the centre of Sarostar. She woke every morning while it was still dark and hunted for flowers, and she knew all of the best places to find them. Sometimes she found few, and her takings were meagre. Other times she was lucky, and she was able to return home with a handful of copper cendeens.
Winter was always the hardest. Ella hunted for pretty mosses and winter blooms but she was never able to gather as many, and people were less willing to pay good gilden. As well as rising early she stayed awake long into the night, trudging through the dark forest, seeing by the runes of a faded pathfinder.
The sun shone in Ella’s face as she exited a narrow lane and she smiled. Winter was over now, and she had a good feeling about the day.
Please, Ella thought, let her come today.
Nearly two years had passed since she had last seen Lady Katherine. She had replayed that encounter again and again in her mind. What had really happened that day? Why hadn’t Lady Katherine come to see her anymore?
Some of the market girls had laughed when Ella told them Lady Katherine used to visit her. Why would the High Lord’s wife visit a flower girl? They called her a liar, saying she just wanted to make up for the mother she never had.
Please, let her come today.
Ella’s dream was to study at the Academy of Enchanters, and to one day become an enchantress. Uncle Brandon couldn’t understand it, and although her brother Miro tried, he was too busy learning to be a soldier to really help. The only person who had ever encouraged Ella was Lady Katherine.
For some reason the High Lord’s wife had shown an interest in her. Lady Katherine loaned Ella books, and when Ella returned them the noblewoman always took them back with a soft smile. Lady Katherine brought some of her friends from court to Ella’s market stall, and with them came their friends. The High Lord’s wife was always different when her friends were around, and Ella guessed this must be to do with the difference in their stations, and acted especially deferential. Ella owed much of her success to Lady Katherine.
Please, she thought, willing it to become true. Let her come today.
Ella thought about the time her brother almost died.
When Ella was young there was a bitterly cold winter, and the Sarsen froze from one bank to the other. A group of boys had gathered on the bank and were throwing stones at the river, trying to break through the ice. Each boy tried to pick up a heavier stone than the others, and to throw his stone further. Ella and Miro watched them for a time, and as small as she was, Ella could still see the loneliness in her brother’s eyes.
"Go on. Go and play with them," she said.
Miro left without another word, running over to the group of boys and trying to join their game. His face set with determination, he had picked up a grey boulder, bigger than any of the others.
As Ella looked on, Miro tried to make his throw, but slipped on the treacherous ground, his feet scrabbling before he fell heavily over. The boys laughed.
Expecting Miro to run away, or burst into tears, Ella was instead surprised to see him pick himself up off the ground, his face red with anger, hands held in fists at his sides.
Without another word, Miro ran out onto the ice. His footsteps left cracks behind them, each wider than those before. The other boys stopped everything, dropping their stones to the earth with a series of thuds. Before long they were calling out encouragement, as Miro did what none of them had the nerve to do.