Chapter 8: Iveyna’s Burden

Roots of Desire

Chapter 8: Iveyna’s Burden

The air grew heavier the deeper Iveyna descended into the coal mine. Each step echoed through the tunnels, the weight of the earth pressing from all sides. The familiar scrape of her boots against the rocky path blended with the distant clang of pickaxes. Dampness hung thick in the air, laced with the biting scent of coal dust that settled deep in her lungs.

She tightened her grip on the rusted handle of the cart, muscles aching as she shoved it forward along the narrow track. The ache had long since become familiar; an old companion, dull and unyielding. But today, another weight pressed against her thoughts.

Him.

The image burned behind her eyes; Woodward, half-man and half-wood, standing in the moonlit grove. The gnarled edges of his bark-like skin, the way the air thickened around him as if the forest itself bent to his will. She had never seen anything like him, and his voice… it still echoed in her ears.

"The forest is sick, and the poison festers beneath your feet."

Her jaw tightened as she shoved the cart harder. What did he mean? And why did it feel as though his words weren’t just about the forest; but her?

A shiver curled along her spine despite the heat of the mine. Something was changing. The world she thought she knew; the simple cycle of work, duty, and survival; felt too small. There was something beyond the coal, beyond the town. Something that called to her.

She pulled the cart to a stop at the base of the shaft, heart pounding harder than it should. When she glanced behind her, the shadows seemed darker than usual, stretching too far, creeping in the corners of her vision. And though she was alone, a gnawing sensation told her she was being watched.

The distant murmur of voices echoed down the tunnel. She shouldn’t listen; didn’t want to listen; but her ears caught the rough edge of the foreman’s voice. “She’s a strong one,” he said, and another man snorted. “He’s had his eye on that one for a while.”

Iveyna froze.

The hair on her neck bristled. She knew who he was without needing to ask.

The Steward.

She swallowed the bitter taste rising in her throat and pushed the cart forward, forcing herself to keep moving. Let them talk. She wasn’t a prize to be claimed; no matter what power the Steward thought he had. But the knot of unease in her stomach tightened

Iveyna pushed the cart deeper into the mine, her muscles burning with the familiar strain. The faint lantern light ahead flickered against the jagged walls, casting eerie shadows that stretched and twisted like living things. The air thickened the farther she went; an oppressive mix of earth and coal dust that clung to her throat.

A sharp whistle cut through the noise of picks striking stone.

"You’re brooding again, Ivy." The voice; warm, teasing; belonged to Lyric, her closest friend since childhood. "What is it this time? Did your father scold you for tracking mud into the smithy again, or are you plotting how to escape this gods-forsaken hole?"

Iveyna smirked, pausing to wipe the sweat from her brow. "If I was escaping, you'd be the first one I'd drag with me."

Lyric leaned against his pickaxe, his golden-brown hair messy beneath a soot-streaked bandana. His smile, bright even under the grime, softened the tightness in her chest. "Tempting offer. Anywhere’s better than here; unless you mean those druid rumors. I heard one of the boys swear he saw a tree move on its own." He wiggled his fingers like creeping roots. "Terrifying."

Iveyna forced a chuckle, though the memory of Woodward’s bark-like skin burned fresh in her mind. "Superstitions. We both know the boys will say anything to avoid work."

He arched a brow. "And what do you think?" The question hung heavy in the air. For years, she would have laughed it off; called it nonsense like the rest. But now? After what she'd seen in the forest, her certainty wavered.

"I think…" She hesitated, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I think there's more out there than we understand. Maybe the forest holds secrets we shouldn't ignore."

Lyric tilted his head, studying her with an expression that turned serious. "Since when did you start caring about the forest?" She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she leaned against the cart, the cold metal biting through her work-worn gloves. "Since I realized this village isn’t the whole world. Don’t you ever wonder what’s beyond these tunnels? Beyond the Steward’s grip?"

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A flicker of caution crossed Lyric’s face. "You should be careful talking like that, Ivy. You know how quickly loose words find their way to the wrong ears." His voice dropped lower, barely audible beneath the distant clang of pickaxes. "He’s been watching you."

Her stomach twisted. "I know."

Lyric stepped closer, his hand brushing against hers; a brief, grounding touch. "If he tries anything…" The warmth in his voice faded, replaced by a rare hardness. "I’ll burn his whole house to the ground." Despite herself, she smiled, leaning into the comfort his words offered. "You’d burn down half the village just trying."

"True," he admitted with a laugh. "I’ve never been subtle." A silence settled between them, heavier than the dust in the air. For years, their days followed the same rhythm; work, exhaustion, repeat. But now, everything felt fragile. Like one wrong step would shatter the fragile balance holding their lives together.

"You’re not alone," Lyric added, his smile softening. "Whatever happens. You know that, right?" The words wrapped around her like a shield against the creeping dread. She held onto them, even as the weight of the mine; and everything beyond it; pressed down.

"I know," she whispered. "Thank you, Lyric." And for a moment, the shadows around her felt a little less cold.

By midmorning, the weight of coal in her cart matched the heaviness pressing against her chest. She hauled it back to her father’s smithy, where the heat of the forge blasted her skin the moment she stepped inside. Her father barely glanced her way as she unloaded the coal, his hammer striking metal in a rhythmic clang. The sound filled the space, drowning out her thoughts; but not the unease lingering beneath them.

After finishing the delivery, she brushed coal dust from her hands and made her way to the village market. The scent of fresh-baked bread and overripe fruit filled the air, but there was no warmth in the bustling square. Conversations buzzed around her in low murmurs, and despite the usual noise, something felt… wrong. A heaviness clung to the village, like a storm waiting to break.

She moved between the stalls, inspecting bruised apples and wilted greens, when a whisper caught her attention. “Gone,” a woman said under her breath. “Same as the others.” Iveyna’s fingers stilled on the basket of apples. “They never find them,” another voice answered; sharper, edged with fear. “And no one dares to ask why.”

Her heart pounded in her ears as she listened, her hand tightening around the basket’s handle. “The Steward?” the first woman asked, barely audible. The butcher nearby shot them a hard look, and both women fell silent, their faces pale beneath the morning light.

Iveyna forced herself to finish her errands, but the chill beneath her skin wouldn’t fade. Another girl had vanished. And no one would speak his name aloud; but everyone knew where the shadow led.

Woodward’s words echoed in her thoughts. Was this the poison he spoke of? Something deeper than sickness; something rooted in the village itself? Her mind spun with questions as she walked home. What did the Steward want? Why did Woodward care? And why did her presence seem to stir something in the man who wasn’t fully a man?

Iveyna forced herself to keep moving, but the chill beneath her skin wouldn’t fade. Another girl had vanished. The third this season, if the rumors were true. And no one would speak his name aloud; but everyone knew where the shadow led.

She passed the tailor’s booth, where her mother had once bartered over linen and thread. Now the cloth hung limp, dull and colorless, like the village itself. The laughter that used to weave through the square had faded. The children no longer played near the old well. Even the wind felt wrong, carrying the weight of unspoken fears.

Woodward’s words echoed in her thoughts. The poison isn’t in the earth. It’s in them. Was this what he meant? Not blight or sickness; but something deeper, something rooted in the bones of the village itself. And if it wasn’t disease stealing these girls, then what was? A sudden hush swept through the square. Iveyna froze mid-step. The Steward.

He emerged from the stone hall at the edge of the square, his stride smooth and unhurried. As always, he was dressed in the colors of the kingdom; deep crimson trimmed with black; but even without the fine wool and polished boots, he would have drawn the eye. His face was too smooth, too composed. Like he’d been carved from marble, cold and perfect, and nothing inside could break through the surface.

He moved through the crowd with practiced ease, his expression warm but his gaze sharp. Watching. Weighing. The villagers bowed their heads as he passed, shoulders hunched as if the very air grew heavier in his presence.

Iveyna did not bow. His eyes found her anyway. A thin smile touched his lips. He let his gaze sweep over her; slow, deliberate; before he turned away. Her grip tightened on the basket, the wood biting into her palms. She hated the way he looked at her. As if she were already his. The tension in her chest coiled tighter as she hurried toward the edge of the square. She needed to get home; away from his eyes, away from the weight pressing down on her ribs. But the questions wouldn’t stop spinning in her mind.

What did the Steward want?

Why did Woodward care?

And why; ever since that night in the forest; did her presence seem to stir something in the shadows that had long lain dormant? The wind shifted as she reached the village path, carrying the scent of smoke and something darker; something that didn’t belong. The forest loomed in the distance. And somewhere beyond the treeline, she knew he was watching. Woodward Oakenheart. And she had the strange, chilling sense that her part in this was only beginning.

As the sun slipped behind the treetops, her gaze drifted to the forest’s edge. The trees stood still in the fading light; silent sentinels watching from the border of her world. Part of her wanted to go back. Wanted to find him again. But duty still held her here.

That night, the house felt quieter than usual. The fire burned low in the hearth, and the soft creak of her father moving about his workshop was the only sound that broke the silence.

Iveyna sat by her window, staring out at the moonlit village. She should be asleep; but sleep wouldn’t come. Not when questions still gnawed at her. Not when the Steward’s shadow stretched closer than ever.

Woodward’s voice echoed in her mind. Stay out of the forest. Yet, it wasn’t the forest she feared. It was the village. A distant sound stirred her from her thoughts; a cart’s creak, too heavy for this hour. She leaned closer to the window, frowning as the sound faded into the night. The cold air brushing against her skin didn’t raise her suspicions; but the silence that followed did.

She never heard the footsteps behind her.