Part 3A Serpent's Mercy

In my dream, I was back in the Northern March.

The winters there were brutal. When I first found Drake, my own pot was empty. The villagers urged me to leave him. “Edith, you’re about to starve yourself. What are you doing with him?”

I was stubborn as an ox. “This is how my father found me. It’s a life. I can’t just leave it.”

In the end, Old Matty, my neighbor, couldn’t bear to watch and gave me a bowl of thin rice porridge. I drank half and poured the rest down the throat of the blue-lipped Drake.

He survived. But when he woke, he knew nothing but his name.

The snows had blocked the mountain passes, and we couldn’t hunt. We were freezing and starving in my little cabin. Drake snuck out and returned in the middle of the night with a pouch of shriveled grain.

I asked him where he got it. He grinned proudly. “I climbed two mountains and raided a field mouse’s burrow. Impressive, right?”

His fingers were red and raw. The next day, they were covered in chilblains, itching terribly by the fire. I worried he would scratch them open, so I wrapped them carefully in strips of cloth.

We survived the winter. I took him hunting in the mountains. Drake was a natural, learning everything instantly. The mountains were full of wild beasts. One day, we were carrying a rabbit back when we were cornered by a pack of feral dogs, their eyes red with hunger.

I told Drake to drop the rabbit, but he stubbornly protected it. “No. This rabbit will feed us for two days.”

We ran for miles before we finally shook off the pack. We stood there, covered in blood, clutching our hunting knives, and shared a weary smile.

I cooked the rabbit that night, the tender meat mixed with hot peppers. The spice made Drake’s eyes water, but he didn’t leave a single drop of the broth.

On the day of the Midwinter Festival, he shyly handed me a small sachet made of rough cloth, the stitching clumsy. “Edith, will you marry me?”

I pretended to be calm and nodded. “Alright.”

But I couldn’t suppress the smile that spread across my face. Soon, even Old Yeller, the dog at the village entrance, knew that Edith the foundling was getting married. Edith was going to have a family again.

It was a tradition in the North that before a wedding, the couple would present a pair of carved wooden dolls to the spirits to bless their union with peace and happiness. I secretly learned how to carve from the villagers, getting several blisters on my hands, wanting to surprise Drake.

But before the wedding, Drake disappeared.

I thought a tiger had gotten him. I searched the entire mountain, weeping, and in my distress, I fell into a boar trap. An old hunter rescued me, but I was left with a deep scar on my shoulder.

The next time I saw him, he was being escorted back to the capital by the Border Legion. The Crown Prince had returned.

“Drake, will you come back to see me?” I clutched the cloth sachet, a sudden sadness gripping my heart.

Drake sat on his horse, his silk robes finer than anything I had ever seen. They clashed terribly with the shabby sachet. The wooden doll hidden in my sleeve suddenly felt too crude to give him.

He reached out a hand to me, his eyes gentle. “Edith, come with me.”

“The capital is vast. There is so much good food and so many fun things to do. I can give you anything you want.”

As if possessed, I took a step back and shook my head firmly. “No, Drake. This time, I won’t go with you.”