“Out!” The fur-covered foot caught me in the ribs, knocking me headlong into the powdery snow. 

Brushing dirt-covered snow off my threadbare cloak, I picked myself off the ground and wiped the scowl off my face, keeping my gaze on Mabb’s ermine-lined boots. 

A chill crept through my thin clothing as a gust of wind rustled the evergreen trees. Regretfully, I eyed the warm comfort of the carriage, even though the company was severely lacking. 

“Don’t forget, you have thirty days,” Mabb barked, snapping her fingers. “In three days, use the seeking stone to update me on your progress. If you don’t, someone else will pay for your transgressions. Thirty days.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. 

“Remember, if you succeed, your debt will be paid, and you and your parents will walk free. Failure means eternal servitude. You won’t have another chance.” 

“In three days, I will contact you,” I responded mechanically. 

“Good.” Mabb waved her black-tipped fingers, the color seeping into her skin because she’d used so much dark magic. “Now, be sure to take your time going through the village. You don’t want to reach the hermit’s hut until closer to sunset, giving you an excuse to stay and search. If you’re lucky, it will snow, trapping you there.”

My stomach twisted into a knot. “I’ve memorized your instructions.” 

Mabb harrumphed and slammed the carriage door shut. “Drive us home, Magnus!” she ordered. “I feel like doing a bit of whipping.” 

She’d hollered those last words for my benefit, a warning of what would happen if I failed. But I had no intention of failing. Wrapping my threadbare cloak tightly around my shoulders, I walked fast, both to warm my body up and to hasten my journey. 

Despite Mabb’s instructions, I did not relish the idea of being trapped inside a house with a grumpy old hermit. 

The carriage had left me on the side of the road, sheltered by great balsam trees. The earthly scent of wood and spice filled my nose. I put one foot in front of the other until the noise of the sleigh faded away and I was alone. 

But not quite alone. 

A white stag lifted its head, eyeing me as I passed at a distance. Magnificent antlers jutted proudly from his white head, and I froze in awe, as though I were entering the presence of the king of the wood. A sharp bark came, and the stag dashed away, leaving a cloud of snow in its wake that resettled on the forest floor like powdered sugar on a donut. 

I licked my lips, a knot of hunger sitting low in my belly. I’d had nothing to eat yet today, and everything looked vaguely edible. 

The sharp bark came again, and a bright orange fox trotted out from under a tree. Pointed ears twitched, assessing whether I’d be a threat. Then it trotted onto the path ahead of me, bushy tail swishing back and forth like a street sweeper.

I followed at a safe distance, but the fox continued down the road as though it were my spirit animal, guiding me on my dangerous quest. It was only when the trees scattered that it glanced at me with dark eyes and trotted back into the wood. 

Alone again, I stepped out of the forest and caught my breath, taking in the valley where the village of Floeberg perched on the edge of a lake. 

Pine-covered mountains rose on either side of the shimmering waters, which disappeared around a bend in the lake. It wasn’t frozen yet, but it likely would be when winter set in. It was only November, with an early dusting of snow on the ground, and while there was a chill in the air, it wasn’t the bitter cold of a full winter.

The dirt road turned to cobblestone as I approached. Domed buildings with intricate architectural designs rose four or five stories high, a bell tower lording over all of them. Marble statues of creatures crowned some buildings, and my fingers itched at the idea of sculpting an iconic monument others would pass by daily. 

I stayed on the main path, but a crisscross of roads forked in all directions, and the volume of sound rose to a crescendo. The clop of hooves on cobblestones, the deep tones of men shouting, and the lighter voices of women talking. The giggle of children as they chased each other down the road, the groans of workers unloading laden wagons, and the tingling of shop bells as doors opened and closed. 

A blend of sweet cinnamon and yeasty bread filled my nose as I reached a row of shops, each with a sign hanging over the door with a symbol of what was sold inside. I hugged my cloak tighter around me, chest tight with nostalgia. 

Floeberg reminded me of home, a town much further south where my family had once owned a shop. Hard times had fallen upon the town, and my parents, eager to keep the shop and the prestige of the family business, had unknowingly made a deal with a powerful witch: Mabb. 

Forcing away the morose thoughts, I peered into each shop window as I passed. A general store with scarves and gloves in the window left me envious of how cozy and warm they appeared. 

Children rushed out of a candy shop, licking lollipops and shouting as they dashed around a corner. A mother shouted after them to slow down and mind their steps. 

A rocking horse danced back and forth in the window of a woodcarver’s shop, but I came to a dead stop in front of the bakery. 

It wasn’t the scent of hot buns which made my malnourished belly growl. A young woman with long black hair spun around the shop, singing to her babe, who laughed on her hip, fat fingers reaching out to catch her long hair. Suddenly, a man strode out from behind the counter. He caught her in his arms and planted a long kiss on her lips, then affectionately slapped her bottom. She gave a giddy laugh as he took the fat baby and tossed him high.

A lump swelled in my throat. Head down, I walked fast, impatiently brushing tears from my eyes. I wished a man would look at me with his soul in his eyes, kissing me with adoration that left me breathless and giddy and content. I’d even take a fat, laughing baby to bounce on my hip. And if it wasn’t too much to wish for, I also wanted to reopen my family’s shop. Except I’d be smart and never borrow a cent from anyone.

Eventually, the row of shops ended, and the road split into a few directions, one path heading up the steep mountainside, the others winding toward more homes. Craning my neck, I caught a glimmer of light above me. Was it the hermit’s cottage? But I was too far away to tell. 

“Where ye goin’ dearie?” 

I jumped. 

An old woman perched on top of a barrel, white hair sticking out from under her scarf. She grinned at me, displaying a pink-gummed mouth empty of teeth. “A little thing like you should be headed home. It’s gettin’ near dark, and mark my words, it will snow tonight.” 

I pointed at the road. “I’m going to see the hermit.” 

She squinted up the hill. “I’m not sure why you’re going up there or what you want from him, but don’t take him at face value. All is not what it seems.” 

“What do you mean?” I asked, wondering what she knew about his hidden magic. 

“Tell you what, dearie, help me take my barrel home, and I’ll give you a warm meal before you make the ascent. You look like you could use a full belly.”

The barrel was half the size of me, but it sat on a sled the old woman must have been dragging. Anyone sensible would have used a horse, but perhaps she was alone in the world with no one to assist her. A bit of kindness in exchange for a warm meal sounded tempting. Mabb wasn’t fond of feeding her slaves, and after every scant meal, the constant gnaw of hunger sat low in my belly. 

Taking the handle to her sled, I nodded. “I’ll follow.” 

The woman pumped her fist in the air and sprang off the barrel with a spry quickness that was surprising for a woman her age. Standing, she was a head shorter than me, with her shoulders bent over like a hunchback. Her clothing was simple, but much warmer than mine. The woman fell in step with me, eyeing me with her deep blues. 

“I’m Bess, the oldest woman in the village. I used to be a midwife, used to run the apothecary, used to know the best recipe for fish, but now I roam the village and make mischief at the tavern. Hence the barrel.” 

“What’s in the barrel?” I asked, sure I already knew the answer, for the sled was heavy. How had she pulled it so far by herself?

“Mead.” She cackled. “Nothing like a drink to keep the spirits warm. And this will last me all winter.” 

“All winter?” I repeated, my eyes going big. 

Bess snorted. “It’s a joke. This will only last me a few months. I get a bit carried away. But enough about me. I haven’t seen your face before, which means you’re new to town. What brings you here?” 

What indeed? I tossed words around and landed on the truest one. “Hope.” 

“Hope from the hermit, aye? Very curious. Well, this is me, right on the rise.” 

Bess pointed to the fork in the path, where a little cottage set back from the road. The outside of the house was painted bright blue with red around the edges. It was oddly enchanting, and I liked it right away. 

“Leave the barrel out there. I’ll bring it in later,” Bess instructed. 

Usually, being told what to do stoked a bitter anger within, but Bess’s friendly attitude eliminated all tension. As the door swung open, warmth radiated from the inside of the cottage.

Bright, colorful rugs covered the floors and walls. Embers glowed in the fireplace while a pot hung over it, and a big shaggy dog slept in front of the fire. It peeked an eye open when we walked in, then closed it again, unbothered by our presence.

“That’s ole Benny. He’s almost as old as me,” Bess declared as she picked up a ladle and two bowls. “His legs hurt, so he wants to sleep all the time. I don’t blame him. I have a lamb stew simmering. It will probably last me a week, and I tire of eating the same thing over and over again, so have a hearty dose. Oh, don’t worry about your shoes. Rugs can be cleaned.” 

I tiptoed into the house, staring at the bundles of dried plants hanging from the ceiling and the knots of meats and vegetables tied above her table. The place was what some might call cluttered, but it was warm and homey, a far cry from Mabb’s cold compound.

Bess set two bowls at the table and waved me over. “Tuck in. I know you have a steep climb ahead of you.” 

“It is all that steep?” I asked. 

“If you’re in good shape, you’ll reach the hut in a couple of hours. It’s all uphill, so take your time. The view alone is worth the climb, especially at sunset.” 

I spooned the savory lamb stew into my mouth, and a contented sigh left my body. “Thank you, Bess, you are most kind.” 

She winked. “I know a hungry soul when I see one.” 

“I’m Neva, but I’m just passing through.” 

“That is a beautiful name. I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.” 

“Me too,” I said wistfully. 

The food was gone all too quickly, and aware of the lengthening shadows of the afternoon, I stood. “Do you need help with the barrel?” 

“No, dearie, I’ve got it. Ole Benny and I will enjoy a spot of mead this evening,” she said, walking me to the door. 

As I stepped out, the air didn’t seem so cold anymore, nor did I feel so desperately miserable and alone. Funny how a full belly and a kind word will change one’s perspective. 

“If you ever need anything, Neva, come see me,” Bess called. 

“I will,” I promised as I waved. 

When I reached the road, I glanced back and caught Bess carrying the barrel on her shoulder as if she didn’t need my help after all. I smiled, unsure which of us had benefited more from the act of kindness. 

An hour later, my thighs were burning from the climb, and I paused beside a boulder to rest, wishing I had a water skin. The path was narrow, and the sloping sides of the mountain dropped into gaping ravines that made me feel woozy. The snow was thicker but crisscrossed with animal hooves. Little rams, I guessed, who enjoyed running up and down the mountainside without fear. 

Soft hues of lavender and blush adorned the evening sky, merging into shades of blue where the horizon met land. The tranquil lake below mirrored the sky, and brown boats bobbed on it, heading toward the shore. The peacefulness of the place was palpable, and I took a deep breath of fresh pine air, certain I’d reached an idyllic haven where nothing could go wrong. 

Determination surged through me as I continued, and eventually, the chalet appeared. A barn sat behind it, and a circle of thick evergreens rose on one side. The chalet overlooked the lake. Depending on where one stood, they might be able to see the village. 

The pathway to the door was clear, snow banked on either side, and the porch was swept clean. The hermit clearly took pride in the outside of his home. 

I squared my shoulders and reached for the threads of my rehearsed speech. Here went everything. 

Making a fist, I knocked on the door. 

Worries swirled around my mind. Would he look like Bess with wiry white hair and clouded eyes that had seen better days? Would he be kind and understanding of my plight?

The door opened cautiously at first, and then the gap grew wider. A white-haired man appeared, just as I had expected, with bright amber eyes and…oh no.

I stepped back, but my eyes didn’t deceive me.

He wasn’t old at all—but young with a clean-shaven face and chiseled features, a long nose, high cheekbones, and shockingly pointed ears. Untrimmed, a wavy strand of hair curled around his neck, and it was as white as my own. 

As I stood there, mouth agape, my gaze lingered on the curve of his lips. The way his rolled-up sleeves accented his forearms and his open shirt revealed the hairs on his chest. Shivers went down my spine, and I swore I could smell his clean, masculine scent. 

The lie I was supposed to tell him hovered unsaid on my lips. A beat passed as we stared at each other, both stunned into speechlessness, but he spoke before I could gather my scattered thoughts. “What do you want?”