She ran across a harvested field â light, swift, breathless with joy. The crisp breeze caressed her skin, fueling her with newfound energy. In that fleeting moment, it was as if the world had emptied itself of other human beingsâany trace of doubt or fear erased entirely.
Turning her gaze to the horizon on her right, she finally saw them.
Black horses galloped at a distance, their ominous forms moving as one. Despite the unease they stirred, she knew, instinctively, that they were not there to harm her. They were guiding her. To where, she could not tell. Above her, the evening sky burned with shades of violet and crimson. Something in that celestial display seemed to call out to her. And then, where red met lilac, the heavens split open, revealing a massive violet eye. It gazed upon her with a mix of surprise and curiosityâas if she was never meant to notice it. How could she?
A shiver ran down her spine as she finally grasped the danger of her situation. For a brief moment, the confusion in that cosmic gaze gave her an advantage. She had to run. But now, there was only one path left: the forest. Before she even realized it, her legs were already carrying her toward the dense shadows of the trees.
The edges of her vision blurred, swallowed by sheer speed. Then, as the forest finally enveloped her, she emerged into a clearing. Her mind began piecing together her surroundings.
A dozen armed men stood encircling a crackling fire, set before a moss-lined cave. From the cave's depths, an elderly man emerged, his chainmail glinting in the firelight. Beside himâan unexpected figure.
Lissa?
The two stepped forward, but her attention was inevitably drawn to the darkness behind them. There, once again, the violet eye appearedâgazing at her with crushing intensity. An invisible weight pressed against her, as if trying to hold her in place. Straining against it, she forced her gaze upward. She had to find the sky, had toâ The darkness swallowed her whole.
When she opened her eyes again, she stood at the edge of the path leading to the village.
How did I get here?
The sun was rising, bathing the sky in soft shades of gold. She turned. The cabin was only a few steps away.
She needed to get back before Valeria woke up.
âââ
Later that day, Ninka was surprised by how easily her mother had agreed to let her visit the village.
Of course, the festival was a convenient excuse, and mentioning old Miroslava as her possible chaperone had sealed the deal. Still, Valeria's reaction had been unexpected. Her mother had always shown a natural aversion to crowdsâsomething that irritated the villagers as much as it fed into her air of mystery. Ninka had her own theory: her mother simply disdained the peasants.
As she made her way toward the village, she drifted into thought, only to be jolted back by a sudden flicker of recognition. Her gaze swept across the fields. She stopped in her tracks. This was it. The field from my dreams. She looked to the horizon. No black horses. The sun still ruled the sky, just as it should, though it wouldn't be long before the moon took its place.
Fortunately, she wouldn't have to cross the village before changing. The abandoned cabin Lissa had mentioned was right at the village's edge, near the riverbank. With luck, she could avoid any unwanted encounters until she was properly dressed.
After all, that cabin had a peculiar reputation. People said it was haunted by the ghost of its former owner, old Casmir. He had been the village's oldest inhabitant after Miroslava, but unlike her, Casmir had never been beloved. Reclusive and unfriendly, he spoke little and heard even less. He had lived there alone until the end of his daysâno wife, no children.
Following the riverbank, Ninka relished the cool dampness in the air. She stepped carefully, mindful of where she placed her feetâshe couldn't afford to scuff or ruin her boots. They were a gift from her father, the most valuable thing she ownedâboth sentimentally and practically. Her father could not have afforded something like them with what he earned from the fur trade at that time, choked as it was by the Ivanoves' taxes. So he had made them himself. He wasn't exactly a skilled craftsman, but they served their purpose. To Ninka, they were perfect.
As she neared the cabin, something caught her attention. Twenty paces ahead, near the water's edge, three boys were fishing. Among themâIvan.
That damned pest.
He always seemed to be lurking whenever she strayed too far from home.
She quickly scanned for a place to hide, but it was too late. If she had spent less time fussing over her boots and more time watching where she was going, she might have avoided him.
"Well, look who it isâour little witch."
Ivan's voice carried that ever-present taunting lilt, the one that never failed to set her on edge.
"Come to settle our bet?"
Little witch was the nickname the village boys had given her, but Ivan was the only one boldâor foolishâenough to call her that to her face. The others were too afraid she'd have her mother put a curse on them.
The three boys abandoned their fishing rods and followed Ivan as he strode toward Ninka, a smug grin plastered across his face.
"That water was freezingâbut you already know that better than anyone."
He smirked, alluding to the lake incident.
"I'd say we're even now, huh?"
"You got lucky with the lady's presence, though. I still don't get why she wastes so much time on you," said Ivan.
Ninka cast a glance at the two other boys trailing behind Ivan.
They were brothers, sons of one of Valeria's regular clientsâa woman perpetually dissatisfied with life, always seeing signs of misfortune lurking in every shadow. The older of the two couldn't have been more than eleven, while the younger barely looked nine. It was almost amusingâhow the elder followed Ivan's every move, waiting for direction, while the younger mirrored his brother like a miniature copy.
"And who should she spend time with instead? You?"
Ninka shot back, her voice dripping with mockery.
Ivan faltered, visibly flustered. His mouth opened twice, but no words came out. At last, he muttered,
"What are you doing here?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Ninka quipped.
"I came to chat with old Casmir's ghost. Isn't that what witches do?"
She directed the remark straight at the youngest boy, whose unease was already evident.
"You're lying!"
the older brother shouted, but his younger sibling had gone pale, casting nervous glances toward the abandoned cabin.
"Why would I lie?" Ninka countered, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
"The dead get lonely too, you knowâespecially someone who died as alone as he did. Or do you think you lot were good company for old Casmir before I showed up?"
The youngest boy couldn't hide his distress. Slowly, he began edging away, clearly set on retrieving his fishing rod and leaving. His older brother hesitated, throwing a quick glance at Ivan, as if silently apologizing for abandoning the battlefield.
"Don't believe this scrawny thing! She's just messing with you!"
Ivan tried to salvage the situation, but his tone lacked the confidence he intended. That was Ninka's cue. As the older boy turned to look at her, she seized the moment. With a subtle shift, her features transformedâher eyes and the contours of her face taking on the appearance of someone far, far older. The boy let out a yelp and bolted after his brother, not even remembering to grab his fishing rod. Ivan, too distracted, missed the trick entirely. Ninka stifled a laugh but felt a sharp sting in her face.
She still wasn't used to altering small details of her appearance so quickly. Even so, she masked the discomfort with practiced ease.
"You're more cunning than you look, little witch, but you won't fool me."
Ivan's voice carried an edge of challenge.
"What are you up to?"
She narrowed her eyes. Only he would be this insufferable.
"Why don't you mind your own business?" she snapped.
"And why all the secrecy? Planning something forbidden?"
Ivan smirked, his tone thick with mischief. Ninka felt a flicker of anger, but her cunning quickly took over. She decided to turn the situation in her favor.
"All right, I'll tell you."
Leaning in close, she whispered into Ivan's ear.
"I'm meeting Lissa here."
"Lady Vasilissa?"
Ivan's expression flickered between excitement, doubt, and intrigue.
"For what? When?"
"Right now! She's waiting for me inside the cabin."
She saw his eyes narrow. Of course, he wouldn't believe her that easily.
"You think I'm stupid? I've been here for an hour and haven't heard a single sound from inside."
"I do think you're stupid, but I'm not trying to make you even more of a fool." She smirked.
"And that's easy to prove. Step aside, and I'll go talk to her. Once she comes out, you'll see for yourself."
"Fine," Ivan agreed, crossing his arms.
"But I'm staying by the door, and you're not coming out unless you're with Lady Ivanove. Otherwise, you'll be keeping the old ghost company for real."
"Deal."
With a grin, Ninka stepped past him and entered the cabin, making sure to shut the door before he could peek inside. The room was dim, musty with disuse. Where had Lissa left the damned dress? After rummaging for a few minutes, she finally spotted itâwrapped in cloth and tucked beneath the straw of a torn mattress.
From outside, Ivan's voice rang through the walls, annoyingly smug.
"Seems like you're getting along well with old Casmir!" His laughter followed.
The dress was a little looseâbut not for long. Lissa was slightly taller than Ninka, which wasn't surprising given the four-year age gap. But the difference ran deeper than height. Lissa no longer had the body of a girl, but of a womanâand not just any woman. She had curves people noticed, a posture that made the environment around her warm. Ninka, on the other hand, was all elbows and sharp edges. She'd always been described as scrawny. But soon, that wouldn't be a problem.
She tried to ignore the toll her ability took on her, the pain it demanded. But pain had no intention of ignoring her. It came anyway. She usually closed her eyes when shifting, allowing her to better visualize the person she was imitating. When she opened them again, strands of pink hair fell into her face. For a moment, she was distracted by them. She looked down and confirmedâLissa's linen dress now fit her perfectly.
The chemise was blue with red trim along the edges, while the dress itself was shorter, white, with golden embroidery in the shape of birds along the cuffs and hem.
"Did Lady Ivanove get lost inside a drawer?" Ivan taunted again.
"I don't think I'd fit in a drawer," Ninka replied as she stepped out of the cabin.
"Lady Vasilissa! I thoughtâ"
"You thought Ninka was playing a trick on you, didn't you?"
Ninka interrupted, surprised by how effortlessly she could mimic Lissa's mannerisms.
"You two and your games." She smiled sweetly.
"Then let's go. You're going to escort me to the festival. I want to be there before it starts," Ninka said.
"Of course, m'lady." Ivan still looked uncertain.
"Isn't Ninka coming with us?"
That was the first time she had ever heard him say her name instead of some insult or mocking nickname.
"She said she'll stay a little longerâsomething about speaking with old Casmir about the village boys."
Ivan swallowed hard before nodding.
"We can go then, m'lady. I'll walk ahead to make sure the path is safe."
"Thank you," Ninka replied with an easy smile.
âââ
They walked through the village toward the area prepared for the festivities. As they passed, the villagers looked on in surprise. They hadn't expected the Ivanove heiress to appear so earlyâlet alone accompanied by the blacksmith's boy instead of an escort of her father's armed men.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
This was only the second time Ninka had attended a Harvest Festival, and it seemed everything was on a smaller scale than before. That was expected, considering most of the village men had left with Lord Ivanove, summoned by Duke Velimirâthe Elisian-appointed ruler of Svarogia in Rajmirâto defend the border against a Hellanian force in the frontier with Helleim.
Even so, everything was a feast for the senses. Colorful banners and candles adorned the square, along with garlands of seasonal flowers. The air was thick with the scent of bread, spices, roasted piglet, and fish.
Ninka intended to take full advantage of the situationâenjoying the festival the way only a noblewoman could. She had even secured herself a servant in Ivan, who hovered near her attentively, wearing that same smug grin like a badge, practically begging for an order.
She had never been treated with contempt in the villageâhalf the people came to her home for Valeria's prophecies, while the other half feared the so-called witch. Yet, Ninka was always an outsider.
She planned to try a little of everything, but at the second stall, she came across something she hadn't realized was missing from her life: apple pie. It was, without a doubt, the most delicious thing to ever touch her lips. Ninka was not a big eaterâher thin frame made that clearâbut at that moment, she devoured slice after slice like a gluttonous king. The woman running the stall noticed she would soon run out of the festival's star pastry, but she said nothing. Making any remark about a noble's appetite could be a fatal mistake.
Ninka's last meal had been a bowl of soup she had cooked herself the evening before, and only now did she realize just how hungry she was.
There it wasâthe last piece of pie. And she didn't hesitate. There it wasâthe last piece of pie. And she didn't hesitate. Her hand moved as swiftly as a frog's tongue catching a fly. But just as she took a bite, a sharp wail reached her ears from the left.
She turned her head but saw nothing. Then she looked downâand there, staring up at her, was a little boy, his wide eyes locked onto the half-eaten pastry in her hand.
"You want a slap upside the head, brat?" Ivan snapped, indignant.
From the neighboring stall, a woman gasped in horror.
"A thousand pardons, m'lady! My son won't cause any more trouble!"
"It's quite alright." Ninka flashed that warm, signature smile of Lissa's.
"It was my faultâI should've noticed the little gentleman."
She crouched to meet the boy at eye level, figuring that was what Lissa would do.
"What's your name?"
"Radu," the boy answered, trying his best to hold back tears.
"Radu, have you ever seen an archery contest?" The boy blinked, intrigued.
"Arc'ry contest?"
"That too," Ninka chuckled.
"No," Radu said, now in a much better mood.
"Well then, today you will. You'll get to see Ivan show off his archery skills."
"What?" Ivan blurted, caught off guard.
"The targets aren't far. Let's go."
Taking the boy's hand, Ninka led him forward. Ivan followed, looking utterly baffled, while Radu's mother, unsure of what else to do, trailed behind at a respectful distance.
Once they reached the clearing where straw dummies had been set up for target practice, it didn't take much effort for Ninka to get her hands on a makeshift bow from one of the boys. At her request, Ivan managed to borrow one as wellâthough the boy who lent it to him seemed far less pleased about it than the one who had handed his bow to Ninka.
"I'm not very good with a bow, m'lady," Ivan admitted as he examined the weapon.
"My father taught me how to work the forge and wield an axe, but not much else."
"That's alright. Just do your best."
That was certainly something Lissa would have said. But in truth, Ninka was having far too much fun watching him squirm.
"Now, go on! Radu came all this way to see some archery!"
"Fine," Ivan muttered.
His first shot landed awkwardly between the dummy's legs. The second arrow missed entirely, embedding itself in the dirt three paces to the left. The third struck the dummy's left arm, barely scraping the elbow.
"You don't know how!" Radu burst into laughter.
"Oh, you littleâ!"
Ivan's hand twitched, nearly swatting the boy.
"Easy now, you're a grown man, aren't you? No need to get so worked up over a child,"
Ninka chided, stepping in front of him.
"Yes, m'lady," Ivan grumbled, averting his gaze.
But when their eyes met again, his face grew even redder. Meanwhile, Radu laughed even harder. Ivan shot him a narrow glare.
"My turn, then," Ninka announced.
She had been trained in archery by her father. Every so often, he would take her huntingâdespite Valeria's disapproval, who much preferred teaching her reading, writing, and household crafts. Ninka had no particular preference for any of these skills, as she was merely average in all of them. However, she did excel at archeryâthough she couldn't handle bows that required great strength to be effective. Because of that, she favored short and composite bows. Her father often said she had a steady mind, capable of focusing on multiple points at once, with an incredible sense of perception.
Still, the skill Ninka truly longed to master was music. Ever since a skazi had performed in the village when she was eight years old, she had dreamed of the sound of the lute.
"Looks like I won."
She had landed all three shots straight into the dummy's head.
Radu clapped his hands in delight, grinning from ear to ear, while Ivan stood there, visibly stunned.
"Lord Ivanove taught you archery, m'lady?" he asked.
"I thought he had no taste for it. I never heard of him going hunting, even though these woods are perfect for it."
Now that Ninka thought about it, that seemed like a problem. It didn't make much sense for Lissa to be skilled with a bow. Lord Ivanove certainly wouldn't have taught her, nor was it something Lissa would have taken an interest in. Before she could come up with a convincing excuse, a voice called out:
"Vasilissa!"
She barely had time to process what was happening before she was caught in a warm embrace, leaving her completely stunned.
"Where have you been all afternoon, darling? Have you lost your senses? You had me worried sick!"
Lady Evonia Ivanove was in no way overshadowed by her daughter's beauty. She was a stunning sight, though she shared few physical similarities with Lissa beyond a delicate chin and a shapely figureâone that would remain evident even beneath many layers of winter garments. Not that Evonia often wore such heavy clothing. She preferred tailored silk and linen dresses, cut to accentuate her curves in the Elisian fashion. Her long, pale blue hairâtypical of the Rajmiriansâstood in stark contrast to the rare pink strands of her daughter.
"I'm sorry, Mother," Ninka said, hoping to put an end to the conversation.
"I was eager to see the festival. I wanted to watch the preparations, and in my excitement, I forgot to mention it."
She prayed that excuse would suffice. Lady Ivanove made her uneasyâNinka simply wasn't used to such displays of motherly affection.
"I'll forgive you," Evonia said, embracing her once more,
"but I don't want this to happen again. You've never behaved this way before, my rose."
This time, however, Evonia turned her attention to the two boys standing nearby.
"And who are these boys?"
"Just a couple of village boys who were helping me,"
Ninka replied quickly, eager to escape the situation before Evonia started questioning why her daughter was holding a bow.
Evonia offered them a gracious smile as she stepped closer. She stopped before them and said,
"So, you assisted my daughter?"
Radu looked confused, while Ivan responded,
"Yes, m'lady."
Much like with Lissa, his face turned red, and his gaze wavered.
"We did our best, m'lady."
"I am most grateful."
"It was an honor, m'lady," Ivan added, even more flustered.
"Shall we go, Mother?" Ninka interjected.
"Of course, dear."
Before leaving, Ninka handed the bow back to Ivan. Evonia caught the exchange but said nothing. As they walked away, Radu's mother rushed to him, taking his hand. Ninka overheard the boy complain that he was sleepy, to which his mother replied that she would take him home. Ivan remained where he was, still holding the bow, a pensive look on his face.
They made their way to a wooden platform, built as a place of prominence for the Ivanoves. Four men-at-arms escorted them, while another four stood guard at the base of the structure. These eight guards represented a significant portion of the forces Lord Ivanove had left behind to protect Lesgrad. In total, Lady Evonia had twenty-five men-at-arms at her disposalâa situation that had left Lord Ivanove frustrated, as he was fiercely protective of both his wife and daughter. However, when summoned by a duke to aid a Bellicoriom in defending the frontier, arriving with less than half of one's available forces was not an option. Besides, the Ivanoves had never commanded a particularly large force to begin with. A handful of able-bodied villagers had been left to assist with the harvest, which had stirred resentmentâboth among those recruited and those who remained behind, as well as among their wives.
At the top of the platform, mother and daughter settled into chairs designed to resemble thronesâor at least what the peasants imagined thrones to be. Ninka felt uneasy in such a position, elevated and set apart from everyone else. Evonia, on the other hand, always looked as if she were ready to be immortalized in a painting.
"What sudden interest is this in archery?" Evonia inquired, casting a probing look at her daughter.
"I... just thought it would be fun."
"Well, you've always been a spontaneous childâconstantly putting yourself at risk, believing the world to be as harmless and kind as you are."
That, without a doubt, summed up Lissa's personality. A mix of that naïve optimism and the occasional posture of a proud and dutiful noble defined the young woman. Reflecting on it, Ninka wondered if, perhaps unconsciously, Lissa had been trying to emulate her mother.
Despite the lively chatter of the festival crowd, a sudden commotion near the artisan stalls drew everyone's attention. A fight between two peasant women broke the festive atmosphere. As the two women yanked each other's hair in a fierce tug-of-war, some onlookers watched with disdain at the disruption, while others seemed unsure of how to reactâincluding the husband of one of the combatants, who stood by with a look of frustration and resignation.
"Sir Bosko, please, put an end to this," Evonia said firmly.
Sir Bosko, the captain of the small guard left behind in Lesgrad, was a rugged and unpretentious man. Though well into his fifties, he still bore the strength and solidity of an old oak. His position was owed to his pragmatism and unwavering loyalty.
Ninka watched as he approached the husband of one of the women, seemingly reprimanding him. The two men then moved in and forcefully separated the combatants, each dragging one of the women in opposite directions.
Evonia caught the attention of another man-at-arms and commanded:
"I will address the people."
The man blew a great horn made from the curved horn of a taurine, its deep sound reverberating across the square and drawing all eyes to the platform.
"Hear! Hear! Her Ladyship, Evonia Ivanove, requires your attention!"
Evonia stepped forward with steady, purposeful strides to the center of the platform.
"We live in uncertain times, she began, her voice carrying effortlessly over the crowd. âOur men are far from home, risking their lives in the virtuous task of repelling the evil that creeps from the cursed lands of Helleim. These invaders bring death and oppression to the people of Rajmir and dare to defy the great Elisian Empire."
"But do not let your apostolic faith in the Celestial waver."
"Despite everything, our fields remain plentiful, and our sons and daughters grow strong. Lesgrad is a blessed land, and today, its people will show their gratitude with joy. So sing, dance, drink, and celebrate!"
Ninka was so caught up in the speech that she failed to catch the small signal Evonia gaveânor did she recognize the group gathering near the platform, waiting for it. When she finally realized who they were, a sudden brightness rose in her chestâso sharp it almost hurt. She knew that sound, those shapes.
Musicians.
She saw drums, lutes, recorders, and even a balalaika. The musicians quickly arranged themselves before the platform. With an exuberant cry of
âHei!
they struck up a lively tune, their infectious energy rippling through the crowd:
A hunter came with eyes like coal,
He stole the girl and paid no toll.
He bound her fast with hands of fear,
And vanished deep where trees grow near.
Raise your glass and sing tonight! Praise the lord who chased the night!
Through the woods and morning mist, He followed where the light had kissed!
Her father rode for seven days,
Through mountain storms and briar ways.
His horse grew weak, his eyes grew dimâ
But still no sign was sent to him.
He climbed his keep at dawn's first glow,
With weary heart and head bowed low.
And there he knelt with sword in hand,
To beg the Celestial's command.
Raise your glass and sing tonight! Praise the lord who chased the night!
Through the woods and morning mist, He followed where the light had kissed!
A flame burst bright beyond the trees,
It danced like fire upon the breeze.
The sign had come, the way was shownâ
To guide him to his daughter's moan.
He found her near the hunter's den,
And brought her home through root and fen.
They sang his name with cheers and might,
The noble lord who followed light!
Raise your glass and sing tonight! Praise the lord who chased the night!
Bless the light, the sword, the vowâLet every father rise as now!
Evonia watched her daughter's enthusiasm with mild curiosity, though her poise remained intact and graceful.
"I've never seen you so taken by the musicians before. It seems you woke up today craving excitement and novelty, my flower."
"What?"
It took Ninka a few seconds to process the comment.
"I was caught off guardâa pleasant surprise. I needed to hear music today."
"So it seems," Evonia said with a knowing smile.
Without realizing it, Ninka tapped her foot to the rhythm of the drums, her gaze fixed on the flutist. She tried to decipher the quick patterns of the musician's fingers as they danced over the holes of the recorder. The air around her suddenly felt lighter, almost caressing her skin, as all her senses surrendered to the melody.
For a fleeting moment, she wished her true mother were there beside her. She imagined the sound of the lute melting away all the bitterness that clung to her, sweeping the shadows of the past into nothingness.
Below the platform, people danced in small groupsâsome in pairs, others aloneâbut all moving with unrestrained joy. Their steps were unpracticed, yet the flow of movement seemed effortless, as though the music wove an unseen thread binding them together.
After a few more songs, one of the musicians stepped forward and announced that the next would be for the ribbon dance. The crowd quickly cleared a large circular space at the heart of the festival. Soon, men and boys emerged carrying a tall, slender pole fixed to a clay base. At its top, a metal ring held numerous ribbons of vibrant fabric, fluttering in the wind.
Among the helpers was Ivan. There, amidst the other boys, he seemed just another humble, dutiful youth.
The pole was set at the center of the circle, and as soon as the men stepped away, several village girls approached to take hold of the ribbons. Each one grasped an end, stretching them taut until they formed a perfect ring around the pole. The lead musician called out, asking if they were ready, and the girls nodded in unison.
The instruments struck up again with renewed vigor, and the ensemble delivered a lively performance, weaving rhythm and movement together. The girls began to dance in circles, their steps carefully choreographed. With each turn, the colorful ribbons wrapped around the pole, creating an intricate pattern that transformed the space into a living work of art. Ninka watched, thoroughly enjoying the performance. She couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to be in their place, dancing with such grace and precision. Surely, it must have taken them a long time to perfect such a refined routine.
But the most striking part was the finale: with fluid, practiced motions, the dancers wove the ribbons into a six-pointed star. From her vantage point atop the platform, Ninka could see the design clearly, and the symmetrical beauty of it filled her with admiration. The festival erupted into cheers and enthusiastic shouts. The girls, beaming with happiness yet visibly bashful under so much attention, hurriedly withdrew from the circle. A brief silence settled over the crowd as the men removed the pole from the heart of the celebration.
Murmurs rippled through the gatheringâcurious whispers about what would come next. Then, a scream from the direction of the forest shattered the momentary tranquility, sending a ripple of unease through the crowd. Instinctively, people turned, searching for the source of the unsettling sound.
Those on the platform were the first to spot the commotion: a woman was running after a small boy who, seemingly unaware, was walking straight toward the woods.
"Sir Bosko." Evonia's voice was calm but firm.
The captain immediately understood the unspoken order. Without hesitation, he and two of his men hurried toward the scene, a few hesitant villagers trailing behind.
"Stay close to me, dear," Evonia said to her daughter as she rose, stepping forward for a better look.
Equally curious, Ninka followed. Together, they advanced under the watchful escort of armed men, who cleared a path through the restless villagers. By the time Sir Bosko arrived, the woman had already reached the boy. She held him tightly, wrapping her arms around him to keep him from moving forward. The child seemed detached from her presence, his arms stretched as if grasping something unseen.
Evonia and Ninka arrived moments later, followed by their escort and a growing crowd of curious, uneasy villagers.
"Do not worry, we will take care of him. By morning, he will be well, as if nothing happened," Evonia assured the woman.
The mother clutched the boy tightly, her fingers trembling. Ninka, intrigued, took advantage of the moment to get a closer look at the child.
"Radu?" she called, startled as recognition struck her.
At once, the woman's expression twisted into a mixture of agony and fury.
"You!" she cried.
"What did you do to him? What curse did you place on my son?"
Her voice cracked with hysteria as tears streamed down her face. She held her son even tighter, as if trying to shield him from unseen forces.
A restless murmur rippled through the gathered villagers. Some turned suspicious glances toward Ninka, while others exchanged hushed whispers, feeding the growing unease. Evonia, who had thus far maintained her usual composureâserene, poisedâsuddenly radiated something far more chilling. Her expression became glacial. Imposing. As sharp as a drawn blade.
The woman, realizing the weight of her wordsâcomprehending the grave mistake she had just made by speaking so recklessly in the presence of nobilityâwas consumed by sheer terror.
"M'lady, please, forgive me... I... I did not mean..." she stammered, in desperate supplication.
Evonia remained unmoved.
"Sir Bosko," she commanded, her voice unwavering.
"Take the boy to Apostle Venceslave. He will know what to do."
Then, her cold gaze fell upon the kneeling woman.
"As for the mother..." Her words were deliberate. Merciless.
"Throw her in the dungeon for the night. Tomorrow, we will ensure that her reckless tongue does not cause any further harm."
Silence. Heavy. Suffocating.
The crowd stood frozen, as though even the slightest movement might draw Evonia's scrutiny. Then, her voice cracked through the stillness like the lash of a whip.
"As for the rest of youâthis festival is over."
A collective breath was held.
"You have until the last candle burns out to return to your homes. If, after that, any group is seen gathering outside their residences or places of work..."
Her voice dipped into something colder.
"Let it be knownâthe next harvest will be watered with blood."