Chapter Eleven: Founder’s Eve

“Founder’s Eve holds a lot of significance to the villagers of Felhaven. For the elders, it’s their chance to come together and relive the good old times. For the merchants, it’s a chance to make some coin and show off their wares. For the young ones, it’s the passageway to adulthood and the tinder that sparks the first breath of love.”

—Dagus Adem, The Adventurer’s Guide to the Continent

“Rise and shine, Ein! It’s Founder’s Eve!”

Ein woke to find Evaine standing over him, a lively smile plastered across her face. Her mother’s recovery seemed to have taken a load of worry off her shoulders, placing her in high spirits. Her cheeks were red again, and if it weren’t for the faint shadow beneath her eyes she might have been indistinguishable from the normal Evaine.

“Is it morning already?” he grumbled. He shifted in his bedroll and looked outside the window. Daylight met him full in the face. It was a brilliant morning; as good a day could get without the sun itself coming out from behind the clouds. “Wyd help me, if I have to deal with you waking me up every day…”

“Don’t be mean, Ein,” Cinnamin chirped. She stood by the doorway, already dressed and groomed.

“I’ll only be here for one more night,” Evaine pouted. “Then I’ll be staying at the inn, remember.”

“Right. Good riddance.” Ein rolled over and blearily stood up. He’d spent half the night digesting the conversation at the Sleeping Twinn and the other half in a dreamlike state, neither awake nor asleep. He wasn’t sure if he had the patience to deal with Evaine for an entire day.

“Hurry up and get dressed,” Cinnamin urged. “The stalls have already opened.”

“We’ve got the whole day,” he muttered. “Just go by yourselves.”

“Mother didn’t give me any spending money,” she said, fiddling with the hem of her skirt. “She said I have to go with you.”

Ein sighed. “Fine, then. Give me a moment.”

By the time they set foot into the village square, Founder’s Eve was well underway. The stalls were decorated in bright, vivid colours, yellows and rosy reds of blossoming flowers, the blue of summer skies, the greens and golds of the earth. Founder’s Eve traditionally coincided with the start of spring, and if Ein were to ignore the patches of snow and barren dirt on the ground, he might have almost believed that winter was gone and ended. The villagers roamed in a bustle of excitement, an eclectic jumble of shouts, murmurs, chatter and cheers, their faces lifted towards the sky, the shadows of hardship gone, if only for the day. Today was not a day to brood on the past, nor the future. Today was a present, a day of celebrations.

Ein found himself at the mercy of Evaine and his sister as they dragged him all over the square, flitting from stall to stall as if they were Mistresses on Market Day. They bought some candied fruit and sat down before a trouper as he sang and played The Tragedy of Svalin and Sonata, his fingers dancing a myriad of melodies across his fingerboard. They passed a fortune-telling tent which Ein refused to enter—there was no such thing as clairvoyance, and he refused to waste a single coin on it. They saw jugglers and fire-breathers, sword-swallowers and animal whisperers. Evaine stopped at the stage where the Children of the Wind were performing The Twelve Deeds of Hektor and sat down to watch. Aren played the role of Hektor as naturally as if he’d been born into it, fighting off monsters, laughing, smiling, crying, weeping, singing his parts with a voice like honey. When the play finished with Hektor’s ascension to godhood, Aren found himself drowning in tokens and handkerchiefs and compliments on how handsome and strong he was. The Mistresses apparently still did not know of his true disposition. Evaine wanted to keep watching, but Cinnamin had grown hungry.

They ate lunch next—flatbread rolls with roasted pigeon, a salad made of winter vegetables and Mistress Maisie’s secret sauce, all washed down with chilled apple cider fresh from Koth’s cellar. They found Merrill at the archery contest that had been set up. Evaine goaded Ein into entering.

The number of contenders fell quickly with the older Masters dropping out first, then the more experienced troupers and young Masters, until it was only Ein and Merrill matching each other arrow for arrow. A small crowd had gathered when Ein missed a crucial shot by a matter of inches and bowed his head, defeated. The butcher’s son made no attempt to hide how pleased he was by his victory. Ein shrugged it off to a poor night’s sleep while Merrill was swamped by the female troupers who’d been watching.

“I guess the rumours about them knowing ‘ways to use the blade and bow’ from ‘ancient civilisations’ was nonsense, after all,” Evaine said.

“Maybe we’re just that good,” Merrill grinned, unsure of how to deal with all the attention.

Once Ein had accepted his silver medal and new quiver, Merrill joined them and they found themselves watching Talberon the sorcerer pull hares out of his cap and flowers from his sleeves. Ein scratched his head at some of the tricks he saw; had it been any other day he would have dismissed them as sleight of hand—however, he’d seen Talberon pull out Rhinegold blades and Kingsblade rings the night before. He wouldn’t surprised if the man knew real magic.

“Let’s head over there,” Merrill whispered, pointing to an inconspicuous tent that had been erected a little way off the village square. “Garax said it’s the one place we should check out above all others.”

Ein had no reason to refuse, so he complied. The stolid trouper at the entrance eyed them up and down and extended an open palm.

“That’ll be three silvers,” he grunted.

Ein raised an eyebrow. “Three silvers?”

“Come on,” Merrill urged. “Who knows when we’ll get another chance?”

“That’s a week’s worth of meals, Merrill. What’s even inside, anyway?”

The trouper answered, and Ein’s eyebrows shot up despite himself. He argued half-heartedly with Merrill, and then they both bartered the price down to two silvers. The two boys handed a silver each and were ushered through the flaps with a knowing wink.

When they emerged, both Ein and Merrill were red-faced and sweating despite the cold. The trouper at the entrance grinned.

“Never tell Evaine what we saw in there,” Merrill said. “Or our parents, for that matter. Or anyone at all.”

“Agreed,” Ein swallowed. He didn’t think he could look another woman in the eye for a while.

And just like that, night came, and with it the annual Flower Dance.