In a corner of the world far removed from national conflicts and the burdens of swelled egos, the flagging rain competed in a dull staccato against the incessant buzz of marsh-loving insects. The rhythm beating against the corrugated metal above me drowned out everything—even my own thoughts.
I frowned at my work boots. I'd spent an hour polishing them this morning; now, they were splattered with the indifferent clay and mud of the orchard road. I slapped my neck, crushing something with too many legs that had decided I was a landing pad.
Looking down the road, Brenda and Kaila—our family ponies—sat resting in the rushes, still harnessed to the cart. Under a heavy canvas lay four crates, the week's pickings from the family orchard. Six-foot-tall razor grass boxed us in, leaving nothing but the muddy wagon-road stretching toward a grey horizon.
I tested the air. The downpour had died to a sprinkle. I stood, my boots squelching as I trudged to the ponies to unhook their leads. My blue summer dress, embroidered with muted yellow flowers, was still—mercifully—clean enough to be presentable.
"I told you we didn't need an umbrella," I muttered, patting Brenda's flank. Two sets of blank eyes stared back at me. The ponies stamped their hooves, sensing my impatience. "Let's get this done before Mom has a conniption."
The trip to the quartermaster's carriage should have been short. Usually, I'd have pushed the ponies through the mud to escape the muggy air. But today was different. Helkin Timmian, the Lord's son, was on an excursion through his father's lands. I refused to appear before a high-born lordling looking like a drowned rat. I checked my hair—an orange mop of infernally curly strands—to make sure it adequately covered my ears. I hated my ears.
"Try and make me wear a poncho," I grumbled as the quartermaster's wagon finally crested the hill.
Damious Gon, the quartermaster, sat beneath his canvas cover, watching two other farmers unload. Lord Timmian's twin chargers stood nearby, their white coats glistening with dew, eyes dull and black. Brenda whinnied a challenge at the stallions; Kaila just snapped her teeth at the air.
"Sir," I called out.
Damious, an elf of many years, climbed down with ponderous, elegant steps. His knee popped as he landed in mud that swallowed an inch of his beautiful firefang leather boots. I winced at the waste. He bowed—that effortless, fluid motion only elves and celenials can pull off—and offered me a hand.
"Ms. Devardem," he said.
"Thank you?" I asked, my voice betraying my surprise. He'd always called me Charlene. Being respected was a suit of clothes I hadn't quite grown into yet.
"You are quite welcome," he said, leading me to my cargo. "Believe it or not, this past week was the first time I actually tasted one of your family's pears."
"You've never tried them?" I asked, pausing as I untied the canvas.
"What I procure belongs to the Lord's household. I am a strict adherent to my role," he explained, miming the act of eating. "But Lord Timmian offered me one. Pure bliss. Perfectly textured, light, and sweet. I see why he's kept your family on contract for so long."
I whipped the cover aside, revealing the haul: blue Jamerix, pink Softpears, and green Sweetkiss. I went to jump up to help, but Damious stopped me with a gentle hand.
"I'll have my man do the unloading, Ms. Devardem." He gestured to Ruthas, a grizzled man I'd known since I was thirteen. Ruthas sighed, pocketed his snuff, and began the heavy lifting.
"I heard Lord Helkin would be with you," I said, trying to sound casual while scanning the area for a handsome lordling.
"You missed him by half an hour," Damious replied smoothly. "The young Lord has taken quite an interest in the lives of the 'little people' lately. Admirable, truly."
It was surreal. A week ago, I was the little people. Now, this ennobled elf was treating me like an equal. He was likely lying about the pears, but the "greedy happiness" rising in my chest didn't care.
"Lord Timmian wished to convey his congratulations," Damious continued, leaning in. "On your brother hitting the Fifth Ranking."
My heart skipped. "He's heard, then?"
"Of course. I always saw greatness in Corinth. Lord Timmian is honored to have a Fifth Ranker rise from his lands. I doubt any future petitions for roaming rights will ever be denied to your family."
He began to pry. Had Corinth sent packages? Had my other brother, Halford, integrated any essentia? Did I plan on adventuring?
"I... I don't know. I'm still without anything," I admitted. "The ritualist said I was old enough, but I get scared thinking about the monsters and—"
Damious's mood shifted the moment I mentioned fear. The polite mask didn't slip, but the interest dimmed. He handed me a pouch of coins. I opened it and nearly choked.
"This is too much, Mr. Gon."
"The Lord insisted on a celebratory twenty bronze coins for your brother's achievements."
The rain returned as I reached our orchard. I slipped getting off the cart, staining my knee with gravel and mud. I kicked the cart in frustration, turned the ponies loose, and marched past the new, shiny five-cooker grill my father bought just for bragging rights.
I kicked my boots off on the porch and pushed open the freshly painted blue door.
"No chance of rain, you said?" a melodic voice teased.
I turned to see my mother. It was still hard to look at her. Since she'd absorbed the essentia Corinth sent, she looked less like a farmwife and more like a painting. Her wrinkles were gone, her skin was a blemish-free tan, and her wild orange hair had settled into a deep, silky red bounce.
"So, I was wrong," I sighed.
With a flick of her hand, a wave of power washed over me. Every drop of water on my clothes and hair vanished, falling into a puddle outside the door.
"Showing off," I muttered, trying to flatten my orange curls.
"A package arrived for you from Corinth," she said, her eyes dancing. She reached into the air and seemingly plucked a palm-sized golden pyramid out of nothing.
"A Gold Essentia," she whispered, holding it out of reach as I lunged for it. "Corinth said it's rare. No idea what you'll do with it—dig up minerals, maybe?"
I finally snatched it. It buzzed in my palm, a warm, metallic vibration. Maybe it would turn my hair golden. Maybe it would make me look like the elves.
"What else? Did he send an Air Essentia? A Power one?"
"Nothing else," Mom shrugged. "He said he has a specific set in mind for you. It's a secret."
My excitement flickered. The rest of my family had four essentia each. They were First Rankers. They had the silky hair and the magic. I looked at my mother—vibrant, powerful, and young—and felt a pang of envy so sharp it hurt.
"Sweetpea," she said, hugging me. "Don't rush. You've been picking pears just fine without powers."
Her words felt wrong. The respect from Damious Gon, the fear in the townspeople's eyes, the way Halford looked when he shouldered his gear... it wasn't about the pears anymore.
"There has to be a safe position on an adventuring team," I whispered into her apron, my fingers tightening around the cold, golden pyramid.