Stormrise

Willow waited for me by the substantial wooden door of Madam S’dora’s shop, its surface thick with layers of paint, its leaded glass panes grimy. From the awning, a sign creaked on its iron rings: Tinctures and Cures.

Willow reached for the door’s handle, but I stepped in front of her.

“What would Mama say if she saw us here?”

“She won’t see us,” Willow said. “And you won’t tell her.” She cupped her hand around my cheek in a distinctly older-sister way. “It’s fine, Rain. She’s just an old woman selling things that nobody gives her credit for. And Mama said to buy whatever would make me happy.”

I sighed. “You don’t even know this boy.”

“When you’re betrothed, you’ll understand.” She pushed the door open and gestured with her head. “Go on.”

The air in the shop was heavy with scents I didn’t recognize, pungent and musty and sickeningly sweet all at the same time. In the dimness, I stumbled over a basket of—something—on the floor when I stepped aside to let Willow enter. Long, big-knuckled fingers caught me by the forearm and kept me from falling.

“I told Current to find another place for the basket. Looks like I’ll have to move it myself.”

“I—thank you.”

One of the packs of embroidery floss slipped from my pile, and Madam S’dora bent to pick it up. She had to have been older than mud—stories of her little shop stretched back to my grandparents’ day—but her hair was as solidly black as my own, hanging to the small of her back. When she stood again, she towered over me by a head at least. Taller than Papa.

“There’s a place here,” Madam S’dora said, patting a rough wooden table that sat in front of the curtained shop window. “Lay your things down and give your arms a rest.”

Gratefully, I dumped Willow’s goodies onto the table and thanked Madam S’dora again. Willow cleared her throat.

“You’re Madam S’dora?” The squeak in her voice told me she wasn’t feeling as confident as she had a moment ago.

“Well, I’m not the queen of Ylanda.” Madam S’dora turned toward the counter at the back, her gait slow but not stiff. “One of you is clearly getting married.” She slipped behind the counter, then turned to face us, her eyebrows arched, her eyes on me. “Is it you?”

My face grew warm. “No. My sister.”

Willow sidled through a narrow aisle between shelves of merchandise. “I’m looking for something for my wedding night.”

“You’ll have to be more specific,” Madam S’dora said.

I spied a short, round stool near the other end of the table, so I sat and made myself as small as possible. Hopefully, Madam S’dora would figure things out and we could leave. I didn’t want to listen to Willow talking about her wedding night for longer than I had to.

“Well…” Willow cleared her throat again. “Two things, really. I’ve heard … I mean, friends have told me … that you have something to take care of … of unwanted bleeding?”

I closed my eyes and sank lower onto the stool.

“Ahh.” Madam S’dora sounded all-knowing. Empathetic. “No bride wants to be surprised by her monthly bleed on her wedding night.”

“Yes,” Willow said. “That’s it exactly.”

“Easily remedied,” Madam S’dora said, “though I am admittedly low on supply right now. That will affect the price.”

“Any price is fine.”

I opened my mouth to contradict her, thought better of it, and clamped my mouth shut.

Madam S’dora pulled something out of a jar—a small bag of some sort. “I’ve found that the most effective way to administer the tincture is through a simple tea. Drink three cups during the day your bleeding starts, and by the next morning, it will stop.”

Willow took the bag. “How does it work?”

Even in the dim shop, Madam S’dora’s smile was bright. “Dragon magic, of course. That’s all you really want to know, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Willow’s laugh was nervous. “If you say so.”

“Whether I say so or not hardly matters.” Madam S’dora took the bag from Willow’s hand and placed it on the counter.

“Three cups of tea, then,” Willow said. “And you’re sure it will work?”

“I wouldn’t sell something I wasn’t sure of.” She gestured to the bag. “Extract of dragonmilk never goes bad. So if luck goes your way on your wedding night, you can save it for another time. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Well, yes. I was wondering … I mean, some of my friends told me you have…”

She lowered her voice so that I couldn’t understand her words. I considered sneaking up the closest aisle and eavesdropping, but that would have been like admitting to Madam S’dora that my own sister didn’t want me to hear what she was ordering. I folded my arms and wished they’d hurry.

“One tak, thirty,” Madam S’dora said when they’d finished whispering.

My head shot up as Willow sucked in an audible breath. “Two hundred thirty coin?”

“It’s a full tak for the tea,” Madam S’dora said. “Creating extracts is a long, complicated process.”

I waited for Willow to look over her shoulder and ask for my advice with a raise of her eyebrow, but she only sighed and reached into her leather pocket-purse. Two dull plunks sounded through the dust—a tak and a half-tak hitting the counter.

Madam S’dora scooped them up, then counted the change into Willow’s hand. “May every blessing be upon your wedding night.”

“Thank you.” Willow placed the small package on top of her embarrassing nightgown and picked them both up. “Ready, Rain?”

I gathered her purchases from the table, balancing them carefully before following her out the door. As soon as the door closed behind us, I turned to her.

“What were you thinking, spending that kind of money on back-alley tinctures?”

Willow bit her lip. “I didn’t know the tea would be so expensive.”

“And for what? To avoid bleeding on your wedding night? Why would it even matter? You’re going to be married the rest of your lives—he can surely wait a few days if he has to.”

“A successful wedding night ensures the blessing of future sons,” Willow said. “You know that.”

I didn’t know any such thing. But if it were true, then Papa and Mama must have had an unsuccessful wedding night.

“You’re going to have a successful marriage no matter what,” I said. “I wish you’d stop worrying.”

Willow kissed my cheek. “Once you meet him and approve, then I’ll stop worrying.”

“Why then?”

“Because if you like him, you won’t attack him in his sleep.”

I laughed. “Let’s go home. I’m starving.”

We passed two of the horsemen as we turned onto the main street. As always, I lowered my eyes and continued along my way. But as soon as they were some distance, I turned and gawked.

“I wonder why they’re here.”

Willow shrugged, her mind too full of wedding plans to be bothered about the horsemen. We continued in silence until we passed another horse and rider. Something in my stomach tightened.

“What do you think is going on?” I said after the rider had passed.

“It could be anything,” Willow said absently. “Or nothing.”

By now, we were at the mouth of the Central Square. A fourth rider made his way through a growing crowd that had clustered around a wooden signpost.

“Some sort of edict has gone out,” I said.

“Or an invitation?” That was Willow—always hopeful.

“We’re not close to any holiday. Come on.”

Worry gnawed at my stomach as I tried to read the faces of those who had already seen the sign. Concern. Introspection. Anger.

One girl shoved her way through the crowd, her face wet with tears.

“Rain, let’s not push,” Willow said.

But I was beyond worrying about stepping on anyone’s toes. My arms burned with Willow’s tower of purchases, and I used their bulk to my advantage as I wedged my way between unyielding people. It was either move aside or be squashed by wedding clobber.

Finally I reached the sign, nailed firm and embellished with the seal of the high king’s secretary. The words dropped like stones into my heart.

By order of His Majesty the high king of Ylanda: Every household within the borders of our kingdom shall submit unto His Majesty’s national army one able-bodied male, whether father or son, nephew or brother, according to the census and in accordance with the Law of Mandatory Conscription. Soldiers must report to the camp at Grigsbane by Bri 20 to receive immediate assignment or training.

Willow pushed up beside me as I stared at the words, her breathing rapid in my ear. “What does this mean? What’s going on?”

My mouth could barely form the words. “It means we’re at war.”

I didn’t say what I also knew to be true—that Storm was bound by law to go, because he bore no physical disability.

And he would be among the first to die.