Slave, Warrior, Queen. Morgan Rice

day it may be allowed for women to fight,” she said. “You know I have practiced.”

      His eyebrows crinkled in worry.

      “No,” he commanded, firmly. “That is not your path.”

      Her heart sank. She felt as if her hopes and dreams of becoming a warrior were dissipating with his words. She knew he wasn’t trying to be cruel – he was never cruel. It was just reality. And for them to stay alive, she would have to sacrifice her part, too.

      She looked into the distance as the sky lit with a jolt of lightning. Three seconds later, thunder rumbled through the heavens.

      Had she not realized how dire their circumstances were? She always assumed they would pull through together as a family, but this changed everything. Now she wouldn’t have Father to hold onto, and there would be no person to stand as a shield between her and Mother.

      One tear after another dropped onto the desolate earth as she remained immovable where she stood. Should she give up her dreams and follow her father’s advice?

      He pulled something out from behind his back, and her eyes widened to see a sword in his hand. He stepped closer, and she could see the details of the weapon.

      It was awe-inspiring. The hilt was of pure gold, engraved with a serpent. The blade was two-edged and looked to be of the finest steel. Though the workmanship was foreign to Ceres, she could immediately tell it was of the finest quality. On the blade itself there was an inscription.

When heart and sword meet, there shall be the victory

      She gasped, staring at it in awe.

      “Did you forge that?” she asked, her eyes glued to the sword.

      He nodded.

      “After the manner of the northerners,” he replied. “I have labored on it for three years. Indeed, this blade alone could feed our family for an entire year.”

      She looked at him.

      “Then why not sell it?”

      He shook his head firmly.

      “It wasn’t made for that purpose.”

      He stepped closer, and to her surprise, he held it out before him.

      “It was made for you.”

      Ceres raised a hand to her mouth and let out a moan.

      “Me?” she asked, stunned.

      He smiled wide.

      “Did you really think I forgot your eighteenth birthday?” he replied.

      She felt tears flood her eyes. She had never been more touched.

      But then she thought about what he had said earlier, about not wanting her to fight, and she felt confused.

      “And yet,” she replied, “you said I must not train.”

      “I don’t want you to die,” he explained. “But I see where your heart is. And that, I cannot control.”

      He reached a hand underneath her chin and lifted her head until their eyes met.

      “I am proud of you for it.”

      He handed her the sword, and when she felt the cool metal against her palm, she became one with it. The weight was perfect for her, and the hilt felt like it had been molded to her hand.

      All the hope that had died earlier now reawakened in her chest.

      “Don’t tell your mother,” he warned. “Hide it where she cannot find it, or she will sell it.”

      Ceres nodded.

      “How long will you be gone?”

      “I will try to be back for a visit before the first snowfall.”

      “That’s months away!” she said, taking a step back.

      “It is what I must do to – ”

      “No. Sell the sword. Stay!”

      He placed a hand on her cheek.

      “Selling this sword might help us for this season. And perhaps next. But then what?” He shook his head. “No. We need a long-term solution.”

      Long term? Suddenly, she realized his new job wasn’t just going to be for a few months. It might be years.

      Her despondency deepened.

      He stepped forward, as if sensing it, and hugged her.

      She felt herself begin to cry in his arms.

      “I will miss you, Ceres,” he said, over her shoulder. “You are different than all the others. Every day I will look up into the heavens and know you are beneath the same stars. Will you do the same?”

      At first she wanted to yell at him, to say: how dare you leave me here alone.

      But she felt it in her heart that he couldn’t stay, and she didn’t want to make it harder on him than it already was.

      A tear rolled down her face. She sniffled and nodded her head.

      “I will stand beneath our tree every night,” she said.

      He kissed her on the forehead and wrapped tender arms around her. The wounds on her back felt like knives, but she gritted her teeth and remained silent.

      “I love you, Ceres.”

      She wanted to respond, and yet she couldn’t get herself to say anything – her words were stuck in her throat.

      He fetched his horse from the stable, and Ceres helped him load it with food, tools, and supplies. He embraced her one last time, and she thought her chest might burst from sadness. Yet still, she couldn’t utter a single word.

      He mounted the horse, and nodded before signaling to the animal to move.

      Ceres waved as he rode away, and she watched with unwavering attention until he vanished behind the distant hill. The only true love she had ever known came from that man. And now he was gone.

      Rain started to descend from the heavens, and it prickled against her face.

      “Father!” she screamed as loudly as she could. “Father, I love you!”

      She fell to her knees and buried her hands in her face, sobbing.

      Life, she knew, would never be the same again.

      CHAPTER THREE

      With aching feet and burning lungs, Ceres climbed the steep hill as swiftly as she could without spilling a drop of water from either bucket by her sides. Normally she would pause for a break, but her mother had threatened no breakfast unless she was back by sunrise – and no breakfast meant she wouldn’t eat until dinner. She didn’t mind the pain, anyway – it, at least, allowed her to take her mind off her father, and the miserable new state of things since he had left.

      The sun was just now cresting the Alva Mountains in the distance, painting the scattered clouds above golden-pink, and soft wind sighed through the tall, yellow grass on either side of the road. Ceres drew the fresh morning air in through her nose and willed herself faster. Her mother wouldn’t find it an acceptable excuse that their regular well had dried up, or that there was a long line at the other one a half a mile away. Indeed, she did not stop until she reached the top of the hill – and once she did, she stopped in her tracks, stunned at the sight before her.

      There, in the distance, was her house – and before it sat a bronze wagon. Her mother stood before it, conversing with a man who was so overweight, Ceres thought she had never seen anyone even half his size. He wore a burgundy linen tunic and a red silk hat, and his long beard was bushy and gray. She squinted, trying to understand. Was he a merchant?

      Her mother was wearing her best dress, a green linen floor-length gown she had purchased years ago with money that was supposed to be used to buy Ceres new shoes. None of this made any sense.

      Hesitantly, Ceres started down the hill. She kept her eyes trained on them, and when she saw the old man hand her mother a heavy leather pouch, saw her mother’s emaciated face light up, she grew even more