CHAPTER 1: THE TIN BOX
The first lie I heard on Pledge Night came from the man who had promised to marry me.
“I will meet you by the old bell after the ceremony,” Colt had said that morning, holding my hands between his. “You know I wouldn't leave you standing alone, Ivy.”
I had believed him because I had spent three years learning how to believe him.
By sunset, the village square was crowded with families dressed in their best clothes. Lanterns hung from the market stalls, and the smell of roasted corn drifted through the air. At the far end of the square, the elders sat beneath the carved wooden sign bearing the crest of Highcrest Valley.
Pledge Night was supposed to be a celebration. Young women declared their intentions for the coming year, and families announced marriages, apprenticeships, and household arrangements. A pledge did not guarantee happiness, but it gave a woman a recognized place in the community.
Without a valid pledge before the new moon, I could lose my Hearth Right. That meant my father's creditors could challenge my place on the Rennick land, and I would have little protection if he decided to send me away.
Colt knew all of this.
I stood beside the old bell with my hands folded over my blue glass bracelet. The bracelet had belonged to my mother, Elinor. Twelve small beads circled my wrist, each one polished smooth by years of wear.
Mother used to tell me that glass was made stronger by fire.
I had never understood why she repeated that sentence until she died. Now I kept it in my mind whenever someone made me feel small.
Across the square, Dahlia stood beside our stepmother. Her golden curls had been pinned away from her face, and the pale green dress she wore made her look as if she belonged on the cover of a storybook. She was laughing at something one of the elders had said.
People always laughed with Dahlia.
When I spoke, they waited for me to finish.
When I sang, they looked away.
I had learned to stop singing years ago. My voice caught whenever I became nervous, and the more people watched me struggle, the worse it became. After one particularly humiliating performance at a harvest gathering, a boy had called me Hollow because, according to him, there was nothing inside me worth hearing.
The name had followed me ever since.
I spotted Colt near the southern edge of the square. Relief warmed my chest. He had come.
Then I noticed that he was not alone.
A man in a dark coat stood with him beside the closed trading shed. I recognized him as Victor Crane, the representative from Greystone Mining. He had visited the valley twice that season, asking questions about property boundaries and the natural springs.
Dahlia slipped away from our stepmother and joined them.
I frowned.
There was nothing unusual about Colt speaking to another man. But when Crane looked over his shoulder, Colt quickly moved something from his hand into the stranger's coat pocket.
Money.
I could not hear what they were saying over the music. I started toward them, telling myself there had to be an explanation.
Then Dahlia laughed and opened a small cloth bag.
A corner of yellowed paper showed beneath the fabric.
My steps stopped.
I knew that paper.
Mother's maps had been kept in a tin box beneath the loose floorboard in her old room. They were marked with strange lines, measurements, and symbols I had never understood. After her death, Father had called them worthless rubbish and forbidden me from asking about them.
He had told me the box was empty.
Yet the paper in Dahlia's hand had the same faded border I remembered from childhood.
Crane took the map and studied it beneath the lantern light.
“Is this all of them?” he asked.
His voice carried clearly when the music paused.
Colt glanced around. “It's enough to start with.”
“And the original?”
“I told you. There are more at the house.”
My heart began to pound.
Dahlia's smile disappeared. “You said the money would be enough.”
“It will be,” Crane replied. “Provided you both keep your mouths shut.”
I stared at Colt, waiting for him to turn and notice me. I wanted him to see my face before I heard another word. I wanted him to look ashamed.
Instead, he reached for Dahlia's hand.
She let him take it.
Something inside me went very still.
“You promised me,” I whispered, though they were too far away to hear.
Colt had promised that he would stand beside me on Pledge Night. He had promised that we would find a way to protect my Hearth Right. He had promised that my stammer did not matter to him, that he loved me exactly as I was.
Perhaps he had meant those things when he said them.
Perhaps that was the cruelest part.
I turned before they could see me and walked away from the square. By the time I reached the narrow lane behind the trading sheds, my eyes were burning.
Rain began to fall.
I should have gone home. I should have confronted Father and demanded to know why my mother's maps were being sold. I should have found Wren and asked her to come with me.
Instead, I kept walking.
The rain thickened until it soaked through my dress. Thunder rolled over the hills, and the wind swept leaves across the road. I reached the river ford just as a pair of headlights appeared on the upper road.
A vehicle came around the bend too quickly.
Its rear end swung wide. The driver tried to correct it, but the tires skidded across the wet gravel. For one terrible second, the headlights pointed straight at me.
I jumped aside.
The vehicle struck the low barrier, smashed through the wooden rail, and plunged into the river.
I stood frozen.
Water swallowed the headlights. A metallic crash sounded beneath the surface, followed by a brief, desperate horn.
Then I heard someone pounding against glass.
“Help!”
The cry was faint, almost lost beneath the storm.
I ran to the bank.
The vehicle had struck a cluster of rocks near the opposite side. Water was already pouring through the broken window. A man inside was struggling to free himself from the driver's seat.
I could barely see his face.
“Can you hear me?” I shouted.
He struck the window again.
I looked toward the road. There was no one coming.
The current was strong enough to pull branches downstream, and the water was rising with every minute. I could wait for help, but I did not know how long the man had.
I pulled off my shoes.
The first step into the river stole my breath. The water was painfully cold, and the current pressed against my legs. I grabbed a branch jutting from the bank and forced myself forward.
By the time I reached the vehicle, my fingers had gone numb.
The man turned toward me. Blood ran from a cut above his eyebrow, and his face had gone pale.
“Don't move,” I shouted.
He gave me a look that suggested he found the instruction ridiculous.
I reached through the broken window, trying to release the belt that held him in place. My fingers slipped twice before I managed to press the buckle.
It clicked.
The man sagged forward.
“Come on,” I said. “You have to help me.”
He tried to move, but pain crossed his face. His left arm hung awkwardly at his side.
The water reached my waist.
I dragged him toward the window. He was heavier than I expected, and when his shoulder caught against the frame, he cried out. I pulled again, ignoring the sharp pain in my own hand.
At last, he came free.
The current caught us immediately.
For several frightening seconds, I could not tell which way the bank was. I held on to his coat with both hands, kicking against the water and searching for something solid beneath my feet.
My shoulder struck a rock.
I nearly lost my grip.
“Hold on!” I screamed.
The man's hand closed around my wrist.
Together, we reached a shallow patch near the bank. I dragged him onto the gravel and collapsed beside him, coughing river water.
Rain struck my face. My whole body shook.
The stranger rolled onto his side and struggled to breathe.
“Stay awake,” I told him.
His eyes opened briefly. They were a strange, pale blue, almost silver in the darkness.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“Ivy.”
He seemed to be trying to remember the name.
“Ivy,” he repeated.
Then his eyes closed.
I pressed my fingers against his neck until I found a pulse. It was weak, but it was there.
I looked toward the road. The storm had swallowed the village lights.
The man needed shelter, and I needed to get him somewhere safe. The old toll shed stood farther along the river, a small stone building abandoned years ago when the road was moved.
I struggled to my feet and pulled him up with me.
As I adjusted my grip, something tugged against the sleeve of my dress. My bracelet had caught on a broken piece of metal. I felt a sharp snap, but I could not stop to examine it.
Two blue beads slipped away into the mud.
I pulled the stranger toward the shed, one step at a time.
Behind us, the river swallowed the last of the vehicle's headlights.
I had lost Colt that night. I had lost whatever future I thought I was going to have.
I did not yet know that the man I was dragging through the rain would change the course of my life.
Nor did I know that someone in Highcrest Valley would soon claim the rescue as her own.
