Preface

Three times now this letter has come back to me. I hope, at last, it has found the proper hands. And if it has, then I have the honor of addressing Abra Arendel.

It feels wrong to say I am your father. A father is man who stays beside a woman when she confides in him that she carries his child. In those days, I was not man enough to support and cherish your mother and you. I was a coward and betrayed the both of you. I do not know if your mother has ever said anything of me to you. If she has, and the words were kind, then she spoke to save you the embarrassment of a bastard guileless man. If, in all these years, she has said nothing-believe me, it’s for the best.

My name, Abra, is Ackram. I live on the northern side of Lor, split as it is by the Nessun Forest. My family’s wealth has provided me with a comfortable estate and the means to afford others live in comfort on the grounds, for a small annual fee. I confess, that up until now, I have thought little of your mother or you. The years have been filled with the business of running land and managing people. But recently, I took a sabbatical and traveled down to the southern region of Easton for my health, the doctor believing the warm sea air might be beneficial for my persistent cough.

I met your mother on the shores of Easton, while the Mharay Sea swept her hair upwards like a lover. And the smell instantly brought back those months spent with her and grief and guilt found me. I abandoned my tour of the coast and raced home with the specific hope of reaching out to you.

I know Lana will not speak to me or hear of me. I do not blame her.

But, to her daughter, the one who carries my last name, I offer salutations and this hopeful request: You have only to reply to this letter and I will forward funding for you to come here to Nilves in comfort and safety. I will also pay for your return trip to Salla. I wish to simply see you. I have no expectations for a budding friendship. I do not expect to be more than a flicker in your life. But the sight of you will forever remain a flame for me. We need not even speak. I deserve nothing. But I have hope. And, if by the grace of day, you wish to remain for however long your heart desires, in Nilves, my homestead, my fortune, is at your disposal.

Please, consider.

Respectfully, A.A. 

CHAPTER ONE

Summers were hot in Kidule province. On those muggy nights, unable to fall asleep, Abra remembered her mother sitting by the bedside with a damp cloth, brushing her daughter’s forehead and ears, retelling one of the legends about their hometown. She’d never hear the gentle voice again, but she’d never forget how it sounded recounting when giants made the hills of Salla.

For hills here rose and fell like a troubadour’s ballad for a lost love and the aged story offered a poetic explanation.

High and far beyond the blue sky, giants walked. Their laughter shaped and blew the clouds. Their tempers shook down thunder and lightning during rainstorms. And their greatest pastime was watching the Littles below. A puppet-show on a pint-sized scale, the giants made a guessing game of their lives, wagering the stars and sparkling dust left by comets. When Littles suffered, the giants applauded and blessed the rich drama of their own lives.

One day, a giant barely out of his adolescent years watched a female walk to the Mharay Sea’s shoreline. She was alone and sad. Never before had he been so taken by a Little. She was cosmically beautiful, and it pained him to see her lovely face twisted by hurt. So, against every law that ruled the giants’ world, when he saw his beloved stride into the waves with frightening resolve, he stepped down from the sky. 

Brash with fervor, determined to save her, his thoughts on what might happen when his foot stomped into the waters were few. The sea exploded beneath him, sending a seismic wave directly at her, ending her life.

Horrified, he ran through the waters, waves jumping and carving into the landscape, unable to believe what he had done.

Witless, he saw only one solution. Dropping to his knees, he fell, face first, into the sea, a final blast of waves exploding over Salla and ending his life.

There wasn’t a child in Kidule province who listened to the story without wide eyes. And many were the excursions up and down the hills to see if there was a spot in the clouds where one might spy the silhouette of a giant.

The truth of the land’s topography was far less dazzling. A mountain range at one time, erosion and weather diluted the soil, leaving only hills behind.

All the same, this was the last time she’d walk their gentle sloping edges. The last time she’d feel her hair lifted by the swirling air current. And like so many things over the past several hours, Abra felt the gravity of that realization with a poignant hurt.

How long have you had this? he’d asked.

I got it about two weeks ago.

Did you tell—

No. What good would it have done?

I can’t believe you didn’t at least tell me.

I didn’t tell you because—

Because you knew I’d say it was foolish.

Yes.

Because it is!

Snatching the letter from the desk, she had looked again, for the hundredth time, over the elegant scrawling lines and the story they told.

But Dani had continued.

You get a letter from someone you’ve never heard of, claiming to be your father, and begging you visit, and you tell me that you’re going. Abra! Who are you? This isn’t the girl I know.

She’d stood and slid the thick folded paper into her breast pocket.

You’re right. The girl you knew had a mother and a life here. But she left when Mother died, Dani. There’s nothing for me now.

Her skirt brushed and swished through the grass, green despite the arrival of autumn. It’d remain green until a thorough frost robbed it of the verdant color.

Is this the right choice? Who I am to leave what’s been my whole life? They’ll say I’m impulsive and ungrateful.

Maybe they’re right. If Mother had been well when the letter came, I wouldn’t have gone. I wouldn’t have left her. So, does that mean I’m leaving now because she’s dead?

Maybe.

Then so be it. I’m leaving because my one reason to love this town is gone.

No pins tucked the dark brown curls down. Abra let the hands of the wind tousle the strands to its own delight.

Overlooking the town below, the Locklear homestead stood on one of the highest hills in Salla. Behind the house was the workman’s shed, where employees of Locklear Smoked Oil pressed and filtered what was known throughout three provinces to be the best fish oil.

Nearing, she saw employees of the business reclining in the long grass, enjoying one of several generous breaks Mr. Locklear offered throughout the day. Ignoring their waving hands, she wondered if they knew why she came to the house and what they might say when she left.

Don’t Dani.

You could have a life here.

We’ve talked about this.

And you dismissed me then.

So, please don’t make me do it again.

Don’t say it like it hurts you more than it hurts me.

It does hurt! You’ve been my best friend since the day Mother and I came to Salla. Your father made sure we survived here.

Then let me ensure your future!

But neither of those things give you that right.

More than half the town was employed by Dani’s father. Their focus righteously bent to the noble task of skinning and scaling fish, when a woman arrived with a small child, sans a husband, from their work stations, covered in the odd prismatic sheen of scales and oil, they looked down from their lofty positions with contempt. Abra remembered those first few weeks going to sleep hungry. She remembered her mother coming back to the small room they rented, her lovely smile weary and the tone of her voice weighed down.

Dani’s father’s factory was not hiring back then. But Abra’s mother, Lana Arendel, applied nonetheless and more than once. And perhaps if it hadn’t been the owner himself to answer the door that one day, their stay in Salla might have brief before her mother sought alternative means of earning money.

Even as a child, Abra saw the way he looked at her mother, the tender tone his voice assumed when he spoke to her. The family did not need a household cleaner, but Lana was afforded the position anyway.

Despite the way her pride reared, Abra knew their house, the clothes she wore, the medical bills they never received—all of that came from him.

There might be some—nay, there’d be many who’d call her an ungrateful wench for refusing Dani’s proposal. After all...

After everything.

At the door of the house, her skirts catching and rippling in the wind, Dani’s mother, Petrusha, waited.

Lana often joked Salla had no need for a daily paper. The townspeople made their own stories and news each day to rival even the most exciting headlines. When Adam Locklear, born and raised in Kidule province, left for a summer to study the prices of fish oil in Meridionalis, he came back with a bride and made headlines over dinner tables and around sewing circles. Many speculated what Petrusha’s dowry must have been for she, herself, was no prize. Short and squat, she had an unfortunate face, and waddling on thick legs, some joked that her gift might have been herding ducks instead of managing a home. 

I can’t believe you’re doing this, she said, yanking Abra into a tight hug. When Dani came home last night, I thought you’d refused him. I’d have never imagined in all— 

I know.

Clutching Abra’s shoulders, she pulled back and stared.

Are you certain? Is it because he proposed and you, she hesitated. I know his feelings for you were— 

No. It’s not that. I need to do this.

Whatever Mrs. Locklear’s feelings for Abra’s mother had been, whatever her suspicions were about her husband’s relationship with her, Abra had never known a short or ill-tempered word from Dani’s mother. Since their arrival, through her teenage years, the rotund woman the town snickered at treated her son’s dearest friend with tenderness and respect.

Alright then. Go around back; everything’s nearly ready. I’ve got one more thing to add to your rucksack and I’ll bring it down.

Abra caught her plump hand. Thank you, Petrusha.

Thank you, for all these years.

Is Dani...?

He’s in his room passed out. After he told us the news last night, he took a bottle of cinderberry wine upstairs and didn’t come down. Do you want me to tell him anything?

Still holding the plump hand in hers, Abra shrugged. Yes, but I don’t know what. I can’t imagine there’s anything he’d want to hear from me now.

Were you happy being his friend all these years? 

Of course.

Will you miss that friendship?

Yes.

Then that’s what I’ll tell him.

The hug came from Abra now, burying her face in the soft shoulder before Mrs. Locklear straightened the young woman up, wiped tears from her own eyes, and pointed that she should walk back to the stables.

Horses were not a common sight in Salla. Only a few households were well-off enough to afford the care and feed of such an animal. Besides, steam-powered trains had come to most of Easton, though not Kidule province yet. However, speculation rumored that technology was coming, but not until after the signing of the Pax Aqualine Treaty.

Everything, these days, was after the signing of the treaty.

Nearing the stables, she saw Wally saddled and ready to go. Bred for pulling and towing, he was the stoutest horse the Locklear home owned. Old and gentle, he was content to rest his long sandy colored snout next to any hand offering nose scritches.

Despite the years beginning to show, Adam Locklear still boasted of a defined jawline and charming smile. Though the amiable grin was not Abra’s today; instead, the sight of her brought pain to his face.

Quickly strapping down another bag to Wally, he moved and reached for both her hands though words appeared to fail him.

Seeing him struggle, she spoke first.

Thank you. And you must tell Dani I thank him too. For all of this. For everything.

When he told me he’d promised to send you off on this journey—I mean, I’ve never denied Dani anything. And I could never deny you anything. I didn’t expect to lose your mother and then you too, though.

People wanted a scandal between Lana and Adam, but they never found it. He was simply a kind employer. Never was there anything in his words to imply indiscretion. But a tenderness shone in his eyes when he looked at Lana. A tenderness Abra saw nowhere else. Truthfully, not even when he looked at his wife.

And at the mention of her mother now, she saw the same wistful longing. He didn’t hide it from her and if she were completely honest with herself, it made Abra happy to see someone care for her mother in that way-the way between a man and woman. Her mother deserved as much, even if she was gone from the earth.

Yet here I am leaving the man who loved her, and supported our life, to reach out to a man who admits he betrayed her.

But the heavy