That rider we heard running along the road—it must’ve been Winter’s messenger. Who else could it have been? The season wasn’t right for travelers; the only time we had much travel between the village and the ones surrounding us was in the thick of summer, when you didn’t have to worry about the weather acting up. Days like this? Days like this might start out nice and breezy, if a little chilly, but sometimes the afternoons turned dark and stormy.
Pa took on a stern tone, “Get changed, girls.”
I hooked my arm through Ember’s, dragging her down the hall even though I could tell she didn’t want to go. I pushed her into our shared room, giving her a look. The space we were forced to share wasn’t huge; we had two single beds on opposite walls, along with a wooden dresser for each of us. Her bed was closer to the window, which always helped her sneak out, though I’d pretended not to notice.
“I don’t want to go,” Ember said, folding her arms across her chest. “I won’t.”
“I don’t want to go, either,” I admitted, “but we have to. The mayor knows us. He knows we aren’t wed.” My voice lowered to a bare whisper, and after a glimpse over my shoulder to make sure our parents hadn’t followed us, I added, “And we are maidens, are we not?”
Ember’s cheeks flared, while I tried my best to look innocent. I’d never told her about the boy three years ago, about how I’d crushed hard on him. Daniel, his name was. He’d come to town with his father during the summer, and I’d thought they were going to stay around longer. Alas, they hadn’t, and I was left with an aching heart after giving myself to the boy with pretty green eyes and dimples on his cheeks.
Yes, best for everyone not to know all of the details of that.
Don’t get me wrong, I was glad to have done it with a boy from a traveling merchant and not one of the locals. If I would’ve spread my legs for one of them, there wasn’t a doubt in my mind I would’ve been stuck to their side with a ring on my finger by now, and maybe even a baby or two in my belly.
It took my little sister entirely too long to say, “Of course. Yes, yes we are. Pure maidens, through and through.” The more she rambled, the more I didn’t believe her—though I don’t know who would believe her after hearing that she and Sorsha were found together in a field, indecent.
I helped my sister choose her dress first. Her nicest garment was a warm, orange dress, whose fabric Ma bought off a traveling merchant two years ago. The color of summer. It went well with her pale skin and her yellow locks.
Me? My best dress was, ironically, an ivory white thing Ma would die if she saw me wear—and that’s exactly why I decided to wear it. Being nineteen and all, I was past the usual age for marriage. The white gown was my wedding dress, whenever the heck that would be.
If I had a say? Never. Whenever would be never.
It made sense if you didn’t think too hard about it.
The white dress was simple enough, and as I shed my current clothes and pulled it on, Ember watched me, her arms folded over her chest, her lips tugged in a frown. “Are you sure you should wear that? Ma made it for your wedding day.”
I shot her an unimpressed look. “This is the finest thing I own, Ember.”
“Yeah, but—” When it became clear I didn’t care, Ember shut her mouth.
We met our parents down the hall, and Ma’s reaction to me wearing the white dress was spectacular. She was furious and terribly annoyed; it made for a good walk to the center of town, let me just say.
We weren’t the first ones there, nor were we the last. The mayor and the messenger were nowhere to be seen yet, so all we could do was stand around and twiddle our thumbs as if we had nothing else to do. This was a tiny farm village; there was always something more that could be done.
As I stood with my family, I gazed around at everyone else. Huddled together in the center of town, where the market was, we were a hodgepodge of faces. Though we were a small town, I was shocked to see there weren’t many families with daughters of age here.
Indeed: why would Winter’s messenger come here for a bride? We were no one, not a famous people. We were just a tiny farming village with hardly anyone to spare. There were maybe two dozen or so girls near my age here that hadn’t been married off yet.
I probably had the same thoughts the others did. The messenger wouldn’t choose me. He would choose someone else to bring back to his master, to Winter. This afternoon would simply become a legend around here, for who knew the next time Winter’s messenger would ever make an appearance in this small village. He only came every twenty-five years, so the story said, and there were countless of villages scattered around the kingdom, many much larger than ours.
Clouds covered the sun, thick, grey things, an omen of what was to come: winter’s chill. The cold and the snow, the constant fires in your hearths. There were days when it felt like, regardless of how many layers of clothes you had on, you couldn’t get warm enough.
Indeed, it was an omen, for after a while, the mayor, an elderly gentleman who kept things running around here, strolled to the platform resting in the middle of the marketplace, where he often gave announcements to us all, let us know how the other villages around us were faring when he got word.
Everyone quieted, those who shuffled their feet and fidgeted their fingers stopped; the mayor was not alone on the platform.
Another man stood beside him. Wearing silver armor, a long cloak fixed to his shoulder plates, you could only tell he was a man based on the way he walked and how he stood. His head was completely covered with a silver helmet, nothing but shadows where his eyes gazed out at us, judging, mentally choosing which one he would drag back with him to the castle that was nothing more than a spiky mirage in the distance from here.
The mayor appeared uncomfortable, and he ran a hand along his beard, clearing his throat before he spoke, and even though we should all listen to what he was saying, I was fairly certain every single set of eyes rested on the messenger. The stranger was almost ethereal, and I couldn’t help but wonder if Winter himself was like that, too.
I supposed he would be, since he was, you know, Winter.
“Thank you all for coming in a timely manner,” the mayor spoke, taking a moment to glance at the man standing beside him. Though he was just a man in a shiny steel suit, he put all of us to shame. “Winter’s messenger has chosen our fine and fair village to choose a bride for Winter. I understand this might shock some of you, for even I never anticipated being witness to a tradition as ancient as this.” He smiled beneath his beard, but his jubilance was fake. It was all fake. He just wanted the messenger out of here; we all did.
But, in order for that to happen, he would have to choose someone to take with him. One of us.
“Now,” the mayor went on, “would all the young maidens please step forward from their families?”
No one wanted to, but we had no choice. One by one, every girl stepped out from the shrouds of their families. The other town members, the ones who had nothing to lose in this little choosing ceremony, had gathered on the outskirts of the marketplace, watching in silence, waiting to see which one of us would be chosen to leave this village behind and be given a new life.
At least for twenty-five years. We must age too much for Winter, who must be immortal, so after twenty-five years he tosses us aside in favor of youth. I guess I couldn’t blame Winter for that; if I was an immortal, why would I wish to stare at an old, wrinkling face?