Trapped in Silver: Sneak Peak (Eldryn Chronicles Book 1)
Emily Sowden
CHAPTER ONE
THERE WAS A time I was afraid of the dark.
Once the sun left the sky and the long shadows grew twisted and engulfed the world, I would leap under my parents’ bedcovers to find comfort in their warmth. But then my mother died, and Father and I were alone.
Those were lonely months filled with Father’s cries late into the night. Sometimes I hated them; sometimes I welcomed them; they were the only noises he made. Though it was overwhelming at the time it seemed I had two choices – break or bend – I guess in the end I did a little of both. My skirts were traded for practical trousers, my delicate shoes for hard-wearing boots, and I took up the duties of a son. I tended to the livestock, sowed and harvested crops, built fences and when I was old enough I traded at the market to compensate for my father’s absence. Sometimes I wonder if that’s why he took Roan under his roof six years ago, not only to help protect his land but to keep me from falling into the same despair that clearly suffocated him.
My feet moved automatically along the well-trod path on the farm’s perimeter. The moon was beautiful in its descent, so bright that it drowned out half of the stars in the sky and I looked into the black forest beside me. Yes, I was afraid of the dark once, but it was a fear I could no longer afford.
Something cracked in the woods and I stopped to listen, my fingers wrapping around the carved bone handle of my dagger sheathed at my hip. All was silent. I continued, my hand still resting on the blade gifted to me by Father when I was barely able to walk, let alone fight.
“She’s a girl, Richard,” Mother screamed that day, wresting the knife out of my hands. “We should be teaching her about the duties of a woman, readying her for the day she’ll be Matched-”
“She’ll never be Matched,” Father yelled. “Not here; not anywhere.”
That day – those words – still haunted me. Though I’m sure he meant no offence by them I couldn’t help but obsess over his meaning. In Wetherdon people couldn’t wait to Match their daughters with wealthy, eligible men but not my parents. I was an outlier; an oddity. Not that I minded don’t get me wrong. Barely seventeen, the last thing I wanted to do was be Matched to a narcissist who saw me as little more than a live-in cook and vessel for his seedlings. No thank you. I’d rather take a pitchfork to the eye.
Something tugged at the skin beneath my collar and I readjusted the delicate, silver locket around my neck tracing the design with my thumb. Who the locket had come from, I didn’t know. Where it could possibly have been made was the bigger mystery. Despite its delicacy it was easily as strong as a drawbridge chain, and both the blacksmiths and jewellers in Wetherdon were undoubtedly incapable of such skill. It was damn near close to witchcraft, if it existed. As I grew older though, I became curious. Even some of the wealthier girls in town couldn’t afford such things and for a farmer’s daughter to own something so fine...well, it seemed odd. In the end Father told me that it was a symbol, something that showed I was meant for better things. Though, on certain nights it felt different. It felt stiff and heavy, as if it had a body of its own.
What a ridiculous thought.
When the barn came into view I dropped my hand and picked up a spyglass from the bag I’d hung on the wall, before climbing the old, weathered ladder. Inside, the cows stirred at my footsteps but soon settled after I sat and stretched out my legs, waiting for the sheer monotony of night-watch to be over.
Seconds rolled into minutes, and minutes rolled into hours before something moved in the corner of my vision. It could easily have been a trick of the dark but I focussed on the shadow, pointing the spyglass in its direction. It moved in such a controlled manner that I had no doubt and was on my feet in seconds. Roan wouldn’t be awake; if he was home at all. The idea to watch the fields was mine, after all. A few drunken idiots outside the taverns spoke of thieving from the woods nearby. It didn’t take a genius to guess where the easier game lay. Times were getting hard and it made people desperate.
The figure was cautious in its approach, stopping every few paces to listen while making no noise of its own. But there was something about the way it moved that seemed almost inhuman – like a cat stalking its prey – and I couldn’t put my finger on it. Waves of goose-bumps broke across my skin and I brushed them away, unsure as to which of the night’s factors had caused them. I took a deep breath, cupped my hands together and blew into them, making a hoot I’d trained the dogs to respond to. They were out in a flash, looking up to where I crouched on the roof before I whistled, short and sharp, to set them in the direction of the lurker. By the time I heard the scuffling and snapping of the dogs I was already on the ground, sprinting toward them.
When I reached the field the man wasn’t fazed by my presence, nor by the dogs dutifully snapping at his legs and pinning him to the ground. In my time I’d seen many men wet their trousers under the jaws of my pups, but this one was strange: from the way he looked up at the sky to that way he stared back at me. I approached him carefully, making sure to leave enough room between us before I spoke.
“I warn you now, sir, if you’ve come to steal my sheep you’ll be returning to your hovel in pieces.”
The man chuckled. “You say that with such ferocity and yet I wonder,” he paused, “would you even raise a hand to me at all?”
It took half a second for him to rise from the grass, bypass the mutts and close the distance between us. His mouth twitched into a grin and faltered as he stopped abruptly. Most of his face was hidden by a large, dark hood but even in the dim light I could tell he wasn’t expecting my dagger to be pressed against his stomach.
“Do not underestimate me, sir.” I tried my best to keep my hand from trembling and to ignore the hammering in my chest. If I faltered, he would call my bluff and I’d be in serious trouble. “If you so much as breathe in a way I dislike I will slice you from top to tail.”
He raised his hands and stepped back, trying to hide what looked like a smirk. “I see you carry more on you than a silver tongue. That’s awfully bold behaviour for a girl.”
“What makes you believe that I’m a girl?”
“Call it intuition,” the man said.
“Your intuition is wrong.” My mouth was drier than a sack of sawdust as I fumbled for words. “And who exactly are you to come onto my land and insult me?”
“Forgive me, sir,” he mocked a low bow, “but I trade names: it’s the only fair way to play.”
Something white-hot rippled through me. Who was this stranger to mock me? “Cedar,” I said clearly. I had no trouble giving away that name; it was my shield.