Heir of Stardust and Secrets (Mythic Spark #1)

2. Unlikely Bargains

Chapter 2

Unlikely Bargains

I n the beginning, training with Eithan was slow—almost laughably so in retrospect. Knots and letters were our currency, a simple trade of skills that anchored our tenuous relationship in mutual benefit. I’d never imagined the bargain we’d struck the day we met could serve as the kindling that would forge the deep and loving bond we shared.

At fifteen, I fled the cabin toward the timberline, seeking refuge in the shadowed forest. I’d never forget the ringing in my ears that’d replaced the sound of my mother’s hand connecting with the side of my face.

Time lost all meaning in my mindless escape as I followed a pull, as if the ancient trees themselves were beckoning me onward. It wasn’t until my feet started aching more than my heart that I stopped and allowed my daemons to catch me.

I found respite for my throbbing feet atop a fallen tree, and within heartbeats, my anger yielded to hurt in gulping, unhinged breaths.

Those stomach-clenching sobs subsided over time, leaving a hollow silence in their wake. There, enveloped in the stillness, with only the sentinel trees to comfort me, I grappled with the remnants of my shattered illusions. Something within me had cracked, and the axis of my world had irrevocably shifted.

Broken and desperate, I prayed to the forgotten gods of old, the ones I’d been taught to curse. It wasn’t a prayer of words per se, but one of intention—one I’m not sure I could ever articulate.

Sitting upon the ancient log, its width allowed my legs to swing freely above the mossy carpet below, creating a soft, rhythmic thumping sound that served as a soothing metronome for my heart. The bark had long since fallen away from the trunk, and its velvety smoothness offered a welcome sensation under my palms.

Eventually, the sky turned shades of light orange and pink as Lumnara’s three moons readied to chase the sun below the horizon, and it was only the fear of being in the forest after nightfall that drove me into motion.

Hopping down, I began moving forward, then paused. Looking around, I realized that my thoughts had fully consumed my wits as I’d stalked through the forest—I had no idea where I was.

Choosing a direction at random, I started off with the fallen tree at my back.

A short while later, as I cursed myself for getting lost, something cracked beneath me, and my scream echoed through the forest as I was wrenched into the air.

Dangling by an ankle, an unnatural calmness washed over me, and my heart thumped slowly against the confines of my chest as I gained my bearings. The swaying unsettled my stomach, and I forced in slow breaths. I had to get out of the contraption.

As I ran through my options, a low snicker sounded. I whipped my head toward it and found a stranger leaning against an adjacent tree.

He looked older than me—not by much, but still. The stranger crossed his arms and stared up at me with a bemused look on his lightly freckled face. Somehow, in that moment, he exuded more smugness than anyone should be able to muster .

Trying, and failing, to wriggle out, my adrenaline shifted to anger as the stranger chortled at my feeble attempt to escape.

“This isn’t funny,” I gritted out.

He pushed off the tree with a nonchalance that seemed baked into who he was, and his tousled hair flickered in hues of red as he circled me with slow, deliberate steps, assessing. “I don’t know,” he said. “From my vantage point, it’s actually quite hilarious.”

I abandoned all escape plans and shot out my hand, fingers curling as if they could reach through the space between us and throttle him.

In a flash, he pulled out a knife and cut me from the snare.

A sickening, muffled thud sounded as I hit the ground, followed by a gasp of rushing air. I was both grateful that moss broke my landing, and pissed he’d just let me drop like a sack of rocks.

I rose with as much dignity as my protesting body would allow, dusted myself off, and gave him a vulgar gesture.

His light eyebrows shot up. “That’s how you thank the man who saved you?” he asked, words dripping with mockery.

I hadn’t realized how tall he was until then—more than a full head above me and only a few years my senior. While still young, his frame had already begun to fill out; likely he’d be larger than the men who’d worked the mill before it was decommissioned.

I didn’t allow his stature to abate my fury. “First of all, you are no man. Second, it isn’t saving if you’re the one who trapped me in the first place.”

“It’s a good thing I did. The village is in the opposite direction”—he thumbed behind himself, smirking—“so, really, I’ve saved you twice now.”

I rolled my eyes and turned on my heels.

Despite my long, purposeful strides, I could hear him trailing me. I whirled around to confront him, stopping short. He was close enough that it was an effort not to step back.

I crossed my arms. “Why are you following me?”

“I’m not. Dusk isn’t far off, and we’re headed the same way. Now, if you want to take a different path, I’d be sure not to follow you. But it’s prudent to note that without supplies, weapons, or a sense of direction, being near me is to your benefit, not mine,” he said, flashing a grin.

Argh. How had I gone from seeking solitude to being stuck with him ?

“Fine,” I said, sketching him a mock bow. “And how may I repay your most gracious and gallant offer, kind sir?” Two could play this game.

His eyes danced with mischief, and he looked at me like I’d just become a new form of quarry. As if deciding something, he widened his stance and crossed his arms. All trace of mockery gone, he said, “What could you possibly offer me ? Your garments could pass as rags, and you clearly don’t know what the hell you’re doing out here.”

His words stripped me bare, but they also sparked an idea. He was wrong, I actually had skills that very few in Leighmullan possessed.

Years ago, I was at the market. Not to buy anything, but simply to observe. I loved running the different fabrics through my fingers, marveling at the rich colors on display, and breathing in the heady aromas of herbs and spices that wafted through the street.

A petite woman, roughly sixty-five, struggled under the weight of a successful haul. I recognized her. Her husband, Mr. Erikson, was well known in our village and had passed away unexpectedly only a few months prior.

Head down, a balding, middle-aged villager almost twice her size stumbled through Mrs. Erikson, causing the elderly woman to abandon her bags to the muck, saving herself from a similar fate. Unfortunately, the assortment of colorful market delights wasn’t as lucky, and they scattered across the muddy path.

Likely inebriated, the man sauntered off as he uttered steaming curses over his shoulder as if he were the wronged party. Mrs. Erikson scowled after him for a moment before turning to survey the damage .

Feeling bad for her, I made my way over and plucked the items from the sodden ground, wiping them carefully with a cloth from my pocket before returning them to their respective carriers.

Once done, Mrs. Erikson thanked me, and politely objected when I offered to walk her home, only relenting when I insisted.

Bags in tow, we endured the tentative exchange of strangers as we walked.

My jaw slackened when we reached our destination. Her so-called home revealed itself as a stately manor.

As a thank you, she invited me in for tea, which I tried to decline, making it her turn to insist. Like her, I relented. Gaping, I followed her down the corridor toward a kitchen nestled in the back of her tastefully decorated residence, where we visited for hours.

That one occasion turned into another, and soon it became a regular occurrence.

I started doing chores during my visits, and after a time, Mrs. Erikson proposed a mutual arrangement. With her wealth of experience as a governess to the upper class, she offered to tutor me in exchange for helping with the estate—affording me a proper education. I took her up on the offer without hesitation and poured myself into the lessons.

Shaking away the memory, I studied the tall stranger for a moment, weighing my next words carefully. It was curious, his diction didn’t suggest he was uneducated, but very few families in our town had the means for an education, at least not anymore.

It was a gamble, but perhaps there was a bargain to be struck, similar to the arrangement I’d made with the governess. He was clearly adept in the wilderness, evident from his attire, the bow slung across his shoulder, the expertly set snare, and his swift handling of the knife he’d cut me down with. Additionally, he had a superior sense of direction to mine—though that wasn’t saying much.

By mastering his skills, I could become self-sufficient and break free from my parents’ grasp.

With a plan in mind, I squared my shoulders. “I’m literate,” I said.

A glimmer of astonishment danced across his features.

Good, not so smug now.

“Here’s my deal. You get me back, unscathed,” I added, “and starting tomorrow, you teach me the way of weapons and the woods. In exchange, I’ll tutor you.”

He took my measure again, the scrutiny different from before. “Why do you want to learn about these things?” he asked.

“Why do you want to learn to read and write?” I said, noticing he hadn’t outright refused my proposal. I forged on, not letting him answer. “My reasons are my own. Deal or not?” I said, my hand now outstretched between the two of us.

He narrowed his eyes, as if unsure, but to my surprise, his firm grip slowly wrapped around mine. “Deal,” he said, and we shook on it.

Six years had passed since then, and our relationship had stopped being about that bargain long ago.