Dawn of Mist

by Helen Scheuerer

  ‘Father —’

  ‘No.’ The word cleaved through Swinton’s chest. ‘I forbid it, Dimitri. I do not want to discuss this again.’

  Swinton was still standing there, open-mouthed, when his father left, closing the door behind him with a deafening click.

  Swinton skipped breakfast and instead, wandered the grounds. He couldn’t believe his father. Couldn’t believe how he’d treated the Carlingtons, couldn’t believe how he’d spoken to his own son. But what could Swinton do? He was trapped, hands tied. It wasn’t fair, any of it. As anger churned in his gut, a voice stirred at the back of his mind. Eliza’s voice. Her words from the day before …

  My choices are my own.

  Swinton lifted his chin and started across the paddock he’d ended up in. His choices would be his own as well.

  He found her in the stables, readying the horses for her and Emmett’s departure. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said from the stall gate.

  Eliza looked up in surprise. ‘Sorry? For what?’

  He swallowed the lump in his throat. ‘I’m sorry you were made to eat in the kitchens. It’s not fair.’

  She busied herself adjusting a stirrup. ‘No, it’s not. But I’ve made my peace with who I am and my place in the world.’

  ‘Your place in the world?’

  She nodded. ‘Someday, you’ll make peace with your place, too.’

  Swinton closed the gap between them. ‘The only thing I know about my place in the world,’ he said, taking a deep breath, ‘is that it’s near you.’

  His hands were at her waist, her warm eyes gazing up at him. This time, he didn’t hesitate.

  This time, he kissed her.

  A Current So Strong

  The seaside village of Angove was bustling with excited townsfolk. People chattered in the streets and flitted from shop to shop in a manner that was rarely seen. It was all due to the Eery Brothers. The famous fiddler duo was touring the taverns of Ellest, and the brothers were due to play at the annual Angove dance later that evening.

  Bleak couldn’t have cared less.

  The hot coastal sun blazed down on the back of her neck as she hammered another nail into the scaffolding. Up on the cliffs in the centre of town, there was no shade, no shelter, no relief from the rays. She longed to be where she belonged out on the water, where the briny breeze eased the grip of the sun. Wiping the sweat from her brow with a sigh, she hammered another nail in.

  She, Senior and Bren had taken on the extra work of setting up the marquee for the evening’s festivities with a handful of the townsmen. Though it should be high trout season, the schools of fish had been few and far between, so much so that Bleak could have sworn she saw fresh wrinkles line Senior’s face each morning.

  ‘Alright there, Half-Pint?’ he called out to her now.

  ‘Fine, fine,’ she muttered, waving him away. The less attention she drew, the better. While she was generally accepted amongst Senior’s crews out on the water, working amidst the townsmen was another matter entirely. Their thoughts battered into her mind every time they glanced in her direction.

  What’s he got a scrawny girl working here for? She should be in the scullery or the damned kitchen —

  That little bitch is doing half the work and taking the same cut as the rest of us —

  The old man’s gone mad, bringing his feral stray here —

  Each insight was more unpleasant than the last, and knowing it was not yet noon didn’t help Bleak’s growing rage. Bren and Senior, however, were naturally oblivious. There they stood, holding beams of timber in place and erecting the framework needed for the giant marquee. Supposedly the whole town, and even people from neighbouring farmlands, were coming to see the Eery Brothers.

  Bleak went to fetch more nails. All she knew was that she’d steer well clear of the village square come nightfall. What did she know about dances, anyway?

  With her supply of nails replenished, she headed back to her workstation – and went sprawling. Her bag of nails scattered across the ground and her palms stung against the dirt. She looked around quickly enough to see one of the tradesmen tuck his foot away.

  ‘Oi, Senior,’ he called out. ‘This is what happens when you bring a girl to a work site.’ He gestured to the nails.

  Bleak rounded on him. She was just as damned skilled as any boy here. Better than most, thanks to working with Senior so long. She rounded on the bastard. ‘You bloody well —’

  But Senior was already by her side, tanned arms folded over his chest and a stern look on his weathered face.

  The pounding of hammers and the scrape of saws ceased.

  ‘Ya take me for some kind of lug, Braxley?’ Senior scoffed. ‘I don’t miss a damn beat, not on the seas. Not here with you lot.’ He turned to the group. ‘If anyone else has a problem with Bleak earning her keep here, ya come and ya take it up with me.’

  No one spoke. Senior simply shook his head and returned to Bren, who was waiting, axe in hand.

  Bleak flushed but didn’t turn her glare away from Braxley. Her fury sparked the magic in her veins and set her teeth on edge, but she ignored it. Instead, she forced herself to crouch, starting the tedious task of picking up dozens of nails in the dust.

  Knees creaked beside her. ‘Just be grateful for Senior and be done with it,’ said Bren, combing through the dirt.

  Bleak’s brows shot up. ‘What?’

  ‘I’m just saying —’

  ‘Just be grateful and be done with it?’ Bleak’s fury was bubbling close to the surface. ‘Spoken like a man who’s never had to justify his presence anywhere.’ The words had more venom than she intended, and were directed at the wrong person —

  ‘Yer right,’ Bren said with a shrug.

  Bleak hid her surprise. ‘I know.’

  ‘Ya need help with the frame?’ Bren waved towards the structure lying horizontal on the ground.

  ‘Yeah. You hold it upright. I’ll hammer.’

  Bren nodded, picking up the now-full bag of nails.

  But Bleak paused, seeing someone familiar talking to Senior: Willem, Bren’s older brother.

  ‘What’s he doing here?’ Bleak pointed.

  ‘Dunno,’ Bren replied, already heading over to the scaffolding she’d been working on.

  ‘Don’t you care?’

  ‘Not really?’

  Bleak frowned. ‘I’ll be back.’ Willem gave her a wave and made towards the path down the cliffs as she approached. ‘What was that about?’ she asked Senior.

  ‘Can’t help yerself, can ya, Half-Pint?’

  ‘No.’

  Senior sighed. ‘Willem reckons he and Tobias saw a school of rainbow trout just off the coast of Felder’s Bay. Reckons if we’re quick and follow the tides, we can net ’em and make some coin at the markets tomorrow.’

  ‘Since when does Willem know so much about fishing?’

  Senior laughed. ‘Since we spoke about market prices at the tavern last night. He’s found a girl he wants to impress, so having some extra coin would do well for him.’

  Bleak scoffed. She was fairly certain none of the Clayton brothers needed extra coin to impress the ladies of Angove. The broad-shouldered, fair-haired lot barely went anywhere without someone batting lashes in their direction.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Well … if you and Butter Fingers are alright here, I’ll take the boys out in an hour or so.’

  ‘Why can’t I come? I’d rather —’

  ‘Yer’ve been paid to work here. Here’s where you’ll work.’

  ‘But —’

  ‘No buts. I’ve stuck me neck out for ya, now you need to stick the work out, eh?’

  Bleak rolled her eyes. ‘Fine.’

  ‘And Bleak?’

  ‘What?’ She followed Senior’s gaze to Bren. ‘What?’

  ‘Just … be careful there, eh?’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘I mean, ya know Butter Fingers over there fancies ya. And I’d hate to see him hurt,
hmm? Just don’t go leading him where ya don’t want him —’

  Bleak’s face was burning, and her magic crackled. ‘What in the realm gives you the right —’

  ‘Now, calm down, Half-Pint. I only —’

  ‘You only what? You don’t get to tell me what to do. How to act —’

  ‘Bleak … It’s my responsibility to help ya through —’

  Bleak saw red. ‘You’re not my father.’

  The words had left her mouth in a vicious rage, but now, as they hung between her and Senior, she felt their poison linger. She couldn’t take them back.

  Senior’s eyes were glassy. ‘Have I ever pretended to be?’ he said quietly.

  Bleak’s fists were clenched at her sides, and despite the shame that rushed through her, she didn’t avert her hard gaze.

  Senior stared at her a moment longer, before he shook his head and left.

  ‘What was that about?’ Bren’s voice sounded at her side.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘Let’s get back to work.’

  They worked well into the afternoon. Bleak refused to take a break for lunch, knowing the men would only use it as ammunition against her. Instead, she lifted frame after frame, hammered nail after nail, and ignored the splinters in her calloused fingers.

  As the afternoon wore on, the stage and the marquee structure began to take shape. Bleak found herself stepping back to look at what they’d achieved. It was a nice feeling: being able to create something from the ground up with a few pairs of bare hands. She glanced at Bren. His hair had fallen across his furrowed brow as he helped one of the others carry the steps they’d made to their place.

  Just don’t go leading him where ya don’t want him … A wave of anger washed over her again. She didn’t know how she felt about Bren yet. They’d been friends since forever, but hadn’t had a chance to be anything more. How could she possibly know what she wanted? Especially if people didn’t give her the space to find out? She gave a frustrated sigh as she packed away Senior’s tools. She felt as though everyone wanted a say in her life, but none of them understood what it was like. Her growing magic, the past she could barely remember …

  She spotted a group of young women across the square, their heads bent close together, an air of secrecy about them. Hit with a sudden pang of envy, she watched them. The women were at complete ease with each other; it was clear they’d known one another for years – since childhood, probably. Even from a distance, Bleak could feel the relief in their minds as they conversed, a bond in place that Bleak had never experienced: sisterhood.

  With a start, she realised she had no female friends. None whatsoever. Her main companions were Senior and Bren and Bren’s brothers.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a decorated carriage pulling up abruptly by the nearby tavern. A small crowd stood behind it, eagerly trying to peer inside. The driver hopped down from his perch and opened the door, where two men emerged. The Eery Brothers. They greeted the gathering crowd with bright smiles and easy conversation before heading into the tavern with their fiddle cases.

  ‘So that was them, eh?’ Bren said, dusting his hands on his thighs.

  ‘That was them.’

  ‘Lot of fuss about nothin’, in my opinion.’

  ‘How would you know? You’ve never heard them play.’

  Bren frowned. ‘Suppose yer right —’

  ‘Oi. You two!’ It was the head builder, stomping towards them.

  What now? Bleak steeled herself.

  ‘We’re done for the day,’ the man said gruffly. ‘Here’s ya pay. And Senior’s. Tell him apologies for the trouble. We’d have you help us again. Tell him that, alright?’

  Bleak’s hand closed around the pouch of coin. ‘Alright.’

  Bleak and Bren ate an early supper sitting atop the white cliffs, overlooking the sapphire water. The freshly baked bread was still steaming as Bleak pulled it apart in her hands and dipped it into the jar of strawberry jam.

  Bren eyed her jam-covered fingers. ‘Ya didn’t think to use a knife?’

  Bleak shrugged. ‘No.’

  Bren huffed a laugh and followed her example. ‘Senior went with Willem and Tobias?’

  ‘Uh-huh. Said they’d spotted some trout off the coast of Felder’s.’

  ‘Hmm …’ Bren was fidgeting. ‘So,’ he said, turning to her.

  ‘So, what?’

  ‘I meant to ask … Have you ever seen the Eery Brothers play?’

  Bleak laughed. ‘No. When would I have done that? In between scrubbing the decks on The Daybreaker and gutting fish at the docks?’

  ‘Well, do you want to?’

  ‘Want to what?’

  ‘See them play?’

  Bleak frowned. She had no idea what Bren was getting at here. She ripped off another piece of bread.

  Bren stilled her hand with his. ‘Come to the dance with me.’

  Bleak nearly choked. ‘What?’

  ‘Come to the dance with me. It’ll be fun. We can see if these fiddlers are any good.’

  ‘I …’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘I … I don’t have anything to wear,’ Bleak managed. ‘I don’t even own a dress.’

  Bren shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter. Just wear what yer wearing now.’

  Bleak might never have been to a dance before, but she was savvy enough to know that young girls didn’t wear sawdust-covered breeches. ‘I don’t think so.’

  Bren clicked his tongue in frustration. ‘Well, I’m going.’

  ‘Fine. Go, then.’

  ‘Fine.’

  Bren got to his feet and left her sitting on the grass alone.

  Back at the cottage, Bleak didn’t know what to do with herself. She paced the tiny kitchen, back and forth, back and forth, until she felt dizzy. She didn’t know why she was the way she was. Why she was always so difficult. Senior and Bren had only ever shown her kindness, and yet she felt the need to push back. She knew it made no sense, but more often than not, she just couldn’t help herself.

  She pictured Bren at the dance and longing squeezed her insides. Of course she wanted to go. He was her best friend. But … to show up to that marquee in the Clayton boys’ dusty old hand-me-downs … She couldn’t do that. Not this time.

  Throwing on Senior’s waxed coat, she found herself closing the cottage door behind her, and heading up the hill.

  ‘And what can I do for you, Bleaker Junior?’ Mrs Clayton asked, pulling her inside out of the wind and planting a kiss on her cheek.

  Bleak shifted from foot to foot. ‘Uh … I came … I came because …’

  ‘Well, spit it out, lass, I’ve got stew on the fire.’

  Bleak wrung her hands. ‘Bren’s going to the dance.’

  ‘Aye, I know. He’s already up there. Said you didn’t want to go.’

  ‘Well …’

  ‘You changed your mind?’ Mrs Clayton asked, leading her to the hearth and fetching a large wooden spoon.

  ‘No!’ Bleak blurted.

  Mrs Clayton raised a brow.

  ‘It’s not that. I always wanted to go.’

  Mrs Clayton began stirring the stew. ‘Then why’d you say no?’

  ‘I …’ Bleak gestured to her dusty trousers.

  ‘Ah.’

  Bleak sighed. ‘I’m not good at this.’

  ‘No one became any good at anything by not trying, eh?’ Mrs Clayton looked her up and down. ‘I might have something for you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Wait here. Stir the stew, will you?’

  Bleak took the spoon and did as she was told. It smelled delicious – it always did in the Clayton household.

  Mrs Clayton reemerged from her bedroom with a handful of blue fabric. ‘This was my sister’s,’ she said, holding out a dress. ‘Now, you’re quite a bit smaller than her, but I reckon we can bring it in with a sash of some sort.’

  Bleak didn’t know what to say.

  ‘Well, don’t just stand there. I’m heating some water for you, you
’ll need to bathe before you head out. You’re a mess. But don’t worry, there’s plenty of time. The Eery Brothers won’t be playing until later.’

  As Mrs Clayton ushered her into the bathing chamber, Bleak stopped her and looked her in the eye. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  Mrs Clayton merely waved her towards the bath.

  The melodic notes of the Eery Brothers’ fiddles travelled to the very outskirts of town, as did the rhythmic stomping of the crowd on the floorboards Bleak had hammered into place earlier that day. Clutching Mrs Clayton’s cloak around her against the night’s chilled air, Bleak made her way to the illuminated marquee at the village centre. She had never heard such merriment.

  Standing at the entrance, she peered inside. The townsfolk were laughing and clapping along to the tune. The handsome duo was centre stage, their fiddles tucked neatly under their chins and their boots tapping to keep time. Spotting the makeshift bar, Bleak found her purpose. She managed to slip a full glass from the table easily and retreated to the shadows to drink the sweet wine and watch the revelry unfold. She looked for Bren, but instead found the gaze of Maz, the blacksmith’s son, on her. He strode over.

  ‘You scrub up alright, little Bleak.’

  She flushed, feeling the eyes of the other girls on her as the popular apprentice ran his gaze over her dress.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘You too,’ she added awkwardly. That was the polite thing to say, wasn’t it?

  ‘Do I?’ he asked with a wink.

  Bleak frowned. ‘Sure …’

  She could have sworn she saw a flicker of frustration cross Maz’s face, but on the other side of the marquee, a bobbing head of fair hair caught her attention.

  Bren. He was guiding one of the baker’s daughters through a clumsy waltz. A sour taste filled Bleak’s mouth as she watched them, Maz forgotten. She backed further into the shadows with her drink.

  What should I do? Go home? She felt stupid. Stupid for dressing up. Stupid for wanting to come to this damn event in the first place. But her feet wouldn’t move. And she realised with a start that the fury roiling around inside her wasn’t for Bren, or Senior, or even those cursed builders today. She was furious with herself. For always sabotaging her own happiness.