Chapter Two — "A Penny Saved"

An exclusive first look at World Beyond the Unknown

Winter in Berkside had a way of wrapping around your bones. No matter how many layers I wore, the cold always found a way in. I pulled my cloak tighter around my shoulders, grateful for the thick wool layers underneath. I wanted nothing more than to wrap myself in a blanket by the fire and finish my book. But there was work to be done, and every coin mattered.

Berkside’s narrow streets were quiet, save for the crunch of my boots on the frostbitten path. Chimneys puffed lazy streams of smoke into the frozen air, the smell of burning wood mingling with the sharp scent of winter. My mind drifted back to the apothecary, to William’s pale face as he lay near the hearth, his life hanging by a thread. The belladonna tincture, thankfully, had helped. But death wasn’t done toying with us. Not by a long shot. Berkside might be quiet today, but the solemnity of the sickness plaguing our kingdom lingered like a shadow over our village, waiting.

I passed by Mrs. Hawke’s cottage, her goat pen huddled against the side of the house. The animals bleated as I approached, their breath misting in the cold air. I knocked, rubbing my numb hands together as I waited.

Mrs. Hawke opened the door, her face flushed from the heat of the hearth inside, sending a welcome wave of warmth against my skin. Behind her, the faint smell of freshly baked bread mixed with the scent of herbs drying above the fire.

"Alora, dear. Right on time, as always."

I returned her smile, stepping inside just long enough to drop off the tonic I had prepared earlier.

"The goats look chilly today," I remarked, glancing back at them as they pawed at the snow. "I can give them a bit more feed if you like."

"Oh, that’d be a great help," she said, her voice grateful. "You know how these knees of mine ache in this weather."

I nodded and headed back out to scatter the grain for the goats. The wind bit at my face, but I worked quickly, checking their water before moving on.

The morning passed in a steady rhythm. I shoveled snow from Mr. Barker’s walkway, swept the hearth for the O’Donnell family, and even helped mind the Halstead children while their mother tended to the chickens. The children’s laughter echoed through the small house, and though I wasn’t much for talking, the sound of their happiness brought me joy. In a village where silence often signaled sickness, laughter became something precious.

I didn’t mind the work. Each task brought me a step closer to having enough savings to get where I needed to be. And in a place like Berkside, everyone helped one another, especially when winter wrapped its icy fingers around us. I found comfort in that routine, even when my thoughts wandered elsewhere.

By midday, I found myself at the bakery. The scent of fresh bread filled the air, cutting through the cold as I pushed open the door. Inside, warmth greeted me like an old friend, the fire in the hearth roaring and casting long shadows over the rows of bread cooling on the shelves.

"Alora, dear! Come in, come in," Mrs. Forrester called, bustling around with a tray of warm rolls in her hands. "You must be freezing."

"I’m all right," I replied, stepping toward the counter and pulling out the bundle of vials I had prepared for her. "Here’s what you asked for."

She set the tray down and took the vials from me, a smile lighting up her face. "Thank you, my dear. I’ve been worried sick ever since what happened with William. Bree told me how you handled it… you saved that boy’s life."

I felt a familiar heat rise to my cheeks. "It was nothing," I murmured, but she waved me off with a laugh.

"Nothing? Saving a life is hardly nothing, dear."

I managed a small smile, but my mind wandered. Saving one boy didn’t change the fact that others were still suffering. Still dying. Mrs. Forrester’s praise, while kind, wasn’t enough to quiet the thoughts that pulled me toward something bigger—toward the capital.

Mrs. Forrester seemed to sense my quietness. "Always so serious," she said with a knowing smile. "You work too hard, Alora. Don’t forget to enjoy life a little."

"I’ll try," I replied with a weak smile, though we both knew my mind drifted elsewhere. The capital and the archives were never far from my thoughts.

She handed me a small loaf of bread wrapped in cloth. "Here, something warm for you to take home. I can’t have you running around in this cold without something to eat."

I accepted the bread with a nod of thanks, tucking it into my satchel alongside the few coins she gave me for the tonics. The gesture served as a reminder of the small acts of kindness that held Berkside together. Despite the cold, despite the sickness, warmth still lingered here.

By the time I made my way back through the village, the sky had darkened, casting long shadows over the snow-covered streets. My breath fogged in front of me as the wind picked up, the day’s work leaving me tired but satisfied. Each step brought me closer to the fire at home and closer to leaving that home behind. At least for a time.

The thought of leaving terrified me, but I knew I had to go. Somewhere beyond Berkside, there had to be a way to stop the sickness that had been stealing our lives, piece by piece. A cure had to exist. It had already taken so much from us. And even though the thought of leaving left my palms sweaty, my heart racing and afraid of what I might find—or fail to—I couldn’t ignore the pull telling me that somehow, I had to be the one to end it.

I didn’t know why I felt that way. Something tugged at me, a weight I couldn’t shake and I couldn’t explain. For as long as I could remember, it had simply been the way I was—the quiet girl who ran errands, tended wounds, and delivered remedies when I could—all the while planning for the day when I would leave home behind, and make my way to the capital where I would find the right people, the right books, the right remedies to put an end to the wretched disease that had killed my parents.

And with every job I did, every coin I earned, I was one step closer to doing just that.

The thought of leaving made my stomach twist. What if I left Berkside behind and came back empty handed? What if all I found there was empty halls and locked doors.

But that was my uncle’s doubt. Not mine. I couldn’t let it be mine.

The cold followed me inside like a stubborn companion as I wrenched open the backdoor of the apothecary shop and stumbled into the kitchen. I shut the door behind me, shaking off the snow that clung to my cloak. The fire in the hearth had already begun to fill the room with its soft, flickering warmth. I hung my cloak on its peg and made my way to the fire, pulling out the coins I’d earned throughout the day.

They jingled faintly in my hand as I counted them. Four coppers and a few brass coins. Not much, but enough to add to the small pile I’d been saving. I knelt beside the hearth, my fingers tracing over the edges of the coins, sorting them into neat piles.

I opened the small wooden box I kept tucked beneath the hearthstone, the one that held my savings. The coins clinked softly as I added them to the pile. A pitiful little pile, really. After years of saving, it still wasn’t enough. Not nearly. The capital might as well have been on another continent. I clenched my jaw, forcing down the frustration. Another day’s work, another handful of coppers. One step closer. Even if it felt like I was moving at a crawl.

I sighed, leaning back on my heels as I stared into the flames, watching them shift and dance. For years, I saved every spare coin, taking on extra work whenever I could. I’d sold herbs, baked bread, and even mended clothes. All of it to get one step closer to the capital. But it still felt impossibly far, as distant as the stars beyond the snow-covered sky.

I reached for the medical book I had bought a few weeks ago. It was heavy in my hands, filled with crisp parchment and intricate ink sketches—diagrams of herbs, anatomy, and remedies I had never seen before. I’d paid too much for the volume, but I’d been unable to part with it. The descriptions offered new insight into the art of healing and I’d hoped they might offer some guidance that would help us figure out a better formula for the tonics we made to help the incurable sickness that plagued every village and city in the whole of Fenngard.

Uncle Jace became a skilled apothecary and had taught me everything he knew. But his education in healing and remedies had both begun and ended on a battlefield many years ago. And while his knowledge had helped so many, and saved countless lives over the years, we still hadn’t been able to figure out how to stop the outbreak.

The book, to my dismay, hadn’t been much help. But I already knew it wasn’t here that I would find the answers I needed. The capital. The archives. The royal academy of healing. That’s where I needed to go. That’s where I needed to be. My fingers hovered over the pages as I imagined myself there, surrounded by knowledge I could only dream of now. If there were a cure for the outbreak, it would be there. It had to be.

I traced the lines of an exceptionally detailed drawing, my mind drifting. For now, all I had was my meager savings and a few medical texts. But I knew one thing for certain—no matter how long it took, I would make it to the capital.

And when I did, I would find the answers I was looking for.

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💛 Up Next: Chapter Three

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