Nirel, p.1
Nirel, page 1
Nirel
Copyright © 2023 by Sarah Emmer
Previously published as Sarah Rajah
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission from the author.
Cover Designer: MiblArt
Editor: R. A. Wright Editing
Proofreader: Erynn Snel
ISBN: 979-8-9875702-1-0 (E-book)
ISBN: 979-8-9875702-2-7 (Paperback)
Dedication
To my family – you inspired my world.
And
For anyone who’s ever wished they had healing magic.
Content Warnings
This book is intended for adults (18+).
If you would like a more detailed list of content / trigger warnings, please go to the last page of this book. Some people prefer to not know, while others do, so I hope this creates a happy middle ground.
Contents
1. The Healer
2. Found
3. Captive
4. Safe
5. The Journey Begins
6. The Inn
7. Run
8. The Shadow
9. Disguised
10. The Seer
11. The Encounter
12. Southward
13. The Capital
14. New Duties
15. Rewards
16. Interference
17. Prince Anthony
18. Progress
19. Check-In
20. Suitors
21. Mending Time
22. Plans
23. Lights and Shadows
24. Colonel
25. Shame
26. Bloodline
27. The Arrangement
28. Not a Pawn
29. The Incident
30. Mercy
31. The Punishment
32. The Healing
33. The Letter
34. The Vortex
35. The Child
36. Timekeeper
37. Trestainian Fire
38. The Seer & The Healer
39. Assassin
40. The Assembly
41. The Villa
42. The Traitor
43. Doubt
44. Fire
45. Vanadium
46. Dimension
To Be Continued...
Acknowledgments
About Author
Content/Trigger Warnings
Bonus: Map of Nirel's Village
Bonus: A Confession
1
The Healer
Nirel
‘ Nirel .’
The voices called my name.
I shook my head. I’d never get all these calendula flowers strained if I didn’t focus.
‘Nirel,’ the voices called again.
I refused to acknowledge them. They weren’t real.
They emerged along with my healing gift when I was twelve and, as Father explained, hearing whispers meant my abilities were growing.
“Are you ready?” Warren asked, breaking me away from my thoughts.
“Almost.”
I lifted the last few golden petals in my slotted spoon—the color nearly matched my waist-length blonde hair—then carried the glass bowl of calendula-infused jojoba oil over to my brother. He stirred melted beeswax over the wood-burning stove while I carefully poured in the musky floral concoction.
“Perfect,” he murmured as the oil and wax blended, filling the apothecary with a sweet, earthy fragrance.
Calendula balm was a simple recipe, but this tawny salve would heal everything from scrapes to deep wounds. Once stirred, I ladled the hot mixture into small brown glass jars.
“Have you thought about courting Francis?” Warren asked as he wiped excess oil from the jars with a dry cloth.
I pursed my lips as I continued my work. “I don’t like Francis that way.” He was a flax farmer who had just turned twenty-one and was intent on finding a wife. He also didn’t bathe often enough.
“I know. I’m trying to think of ways to keep Robert away from you.” Warren frowned as he twisted wooden lids onto the jars.
I turned from my brother and put the empty pot by the washbasin. The fading bruises under my sleeves still hurt when I rubbed them. If Warren hadn’t walked in on our last confrontation, Robert would have done more than bruise me.
“Marrying a man I don’t love is a bad way to go about it,” I murmured.
Warren stopped winding the lids and looked at the floor with a faraway gaze. “I know.”
We were supposed to take over the apothecary for Mom, and I needed to marry a man who understood how important healing work was to me. I crossed my arms. “I don’t know what to do.”
The bell at the front entrance dinged. Warren nearly overturned the table in his rush to greet our customer, but it was Mom who pushed the heavy front door open and set down a bucket of dirt. Her wide eyes glanced over the shelves before landing on Warren, then me. Flushed face, labored breaths—she’d been running.
Unease clutched my stomach as Warren rushed over to her. “What happened?”
Mom grasped his shoulder and deep creases wrinkled her forehead. “We must flee.”
“What?” My heart skipped a beat.
Mom shook her head with a quick inhale. “There is no time. Royal soldiers are here. Get your things, quickly.”
She grabbed the bucket of dirt, hurried to the stove, and dumped the contents over the burning wood, smothering the fire.
My breath caught in my throat as I ducked under the drying lavender, rosemary, and lemon balm by the hallway. I would not let my gaze linger on the fragrant herbs, the unfinished work, the home I grew up in. There was no time to say goodbye. We needed to leave before the soldiers found us.
A high-pitched scream filtered through the walls as I entered my room, and I shuddered. It didn’t sound like Abigail, but even if it was, what was I supposed to do? Run after the soldiers with my herb shears?
I grabbed the traveling pack I normally used the couple of times a year we visited my grandparents and stuffed it with clothes. Several plain shifts, my green apron dress, socks, the shawl I knitted last year… What else did I need? My apothecary satchel! Leaving my satchel behind would have been a tragedy.
Another shriek from outside sent a chill down my spine. Shaking, I pulled my small herb scissors from my satchel and tucked them into the front pocket of my dress. I stroked the seven-pointed star necklace around my neck and silently wished Father was here.
Mom rushed into my room, grabbed my hand, and wrapped Father’s silver marriage bracelet around my wrist. My eyes widened.
“Don’t you want to keep it?”
Mom shook her head, but a tear slipped down her cheek. “I still have mine. He’d want you to have it.”
My lips quivered, and I pressed my wrist to my chest. Now I had two pieces of my late father: the star necklace he’d given me, and his bracelet. A wave of grief washed over me, but I pushed it down. There was no time. I threw my arms around her neck anyway.
“I love you, Mom.”
“I love you, too.” She pulled me away from our embrace and handed me a small linen bag. “Put this in your pack.”
Before I could respond, she hurried to Warren’s room. I peeked into the sack. Assero root. It prevented pregnancy. My fingers tightened around the pouch. There was no reason for an unmarried, inexperienced woman to take these, unless…
I stuffed the herbs into my pack and whispered a silent prayer I would never, ever need these. However, if we couldn’t escape and the soldiers were anything like Robert, I would. I shuddered.
No. I wouldn’t let myself even think like that.
Food. I assumed we’d run north to Tressia, but if the gates were closed we’d have to flee farther north, and we’d need enough sustenance to get there. I hurried to the kitchen and grabbed bags of the lightest, yet most nutritious items: walnuts, various dried berries, trout jerky, and lots of pumpkin seeds. All the jams, pickles, and heavier grains, legumes, and meat would have to stay behind until we returned.
Mom and Warren joined me in the living quarters as I exited the kitchen. Red splotches rimmed Warren’s green eyes, and he now wore Father’s ring on his index finger. I couldn’t fault Mom for giving us Father’s things, but it did nothing to assuage the churning in my gut. We threw on our cloaks.
“Come.” Mom pulled the back door open, then promptly shut it. She turned to us, face white.
Warren glanced wide-eyed at me. “Soldiers,” he whispered.
I dashed to the front window, crouched under the sill, and pushed the curtain aside just enough to peek into the street.
Royal soldiers in blue uniforms swarmed the village road shouting orders and brandishing weapons. My friends and neighbors scrambled out of the way. A baby wailed somewhere close by.
Darin, the sheep farmer, ran down the cobbled street, but two soldiers apprehended him. He kicked and struggled until one invader knocked him unconscious with the butt of a spear.
I covered my mouth and tried to slow my agitated breaths. Warren crouched beside me and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. His presence helped calm my heart, but we still couldn’t escape without being caught.
A flash of red drew my attention. Abigail.
Her curly hair made a crimson halo around her frightened face. She stood in front of the inn with her parents and siblings. Warren must have noticed her too, because his fingers tightened their grip on my shoulder. I wished I could comfort him and tell him his future wife would be alright.
Soldiers barked orders in Laevini, the official language of the kingdom and one that everyone understood. “Citizens, step out of your homes! Those loyal to King Leonardin are safe. Do not be afraid.”
Warren and I abandoned the window to stand next to Mom in the middle of the dimmed apothecary. My breath came in shaky gulps as the soldiers banged on doors and made people come outside. A heavy knock rattled our front door.
“Subjects of King Leonardin, exit your home and stand before your door!”
Mom’s hand trembled, but she obeyed the order and opened the door. They would find us if we disobeyed, and it was better to not face the wrath of enemy soldiers. The three of us stepped outside as a cold breeze tried to blow us back. I pulled the sides of my cloak closer, shivering at the sudden temperature drop. Winter had come early this year.
The soldier assessed us, curtly nodded, then turned to the next house. I glanced across the street at Abigail, and our eyes met briefly. Her petite frame made her appear even more terrified.
Despite my fear, I mouthed, “Be strong.”
She nodded and mouthed, “You too.”
After what felt like hours in the cold autumn wind, but was probably a few minutes, a tall soldier in an officer’s uniform strode into the middle of the village road.
His thick jacket didn’t hide his broad shoulders or the powerful way he carried himself. The darkness of his complexion surprised me. He must have come from one of the southern provinces: Kerulen or Erisundu.
The officer surveyed us and looked up at the apothecary symbol, a mortar and pestle, hanging above our doorway. Warren pressed himself next to me so our shoulders touched. His way of making sure no one could get to me. No one would touch him either. Warren and Mom were my everything; I’d do anything to keep them safe.
The officer strode toward us. “Are any of you apothecaries or physicians?” He spoke in Laevini, but he had an unfamiliar accent where he barely pronounced the r sound.
There was no use hiding the truth. The sign on our home gave that away already.
“Yes,” Mom answered, “I am an apothecary. The village physician died last year, but I handle everything myself.”
The village physician, Waylen. My father. It sounded so odd when she said it like they were business partners instead of spouses, but the enemy didn’t need to know details.
The officer looked us over. His gaze lingered on Mom, and she clenched her fists by her sides. The officer looked over at Warren, then his stare stopped on me. My lungs froze as my heart pounded out the seconds.
He tilted his head. Something flickered behind his intense gaze, like he could see right into my soul. I lowered my head and stared at the ground, unease surging through my veins. Why would he look at me like that?
“Are all of you apothecaries? Or just you?” the officer asked as he dragged his attention back to Mom.
“Just me,” she said, stepping forward and shielding us.
My eyes widened. This man was obviously looking to draft apothecaries into his army, and he could take anyone eighteen and over. Her lie meant they would only take her.
The officer frowned and looked down. Another soldier whispered in his ear. He nodded, then cleared his throat and addressed Mom again.
“Your service is required in the king’s army, apothecary. Please come with us. We will provide food, shelter, and compensation for your expertise.”
No.
“And if I refuse?” Mom asked, glancing back at us.
The officer paused, apparently surprised by her question.
“You cannot refuse unless you wish to be declared a traitor to your king.” His gentle tone barely camouflaged the threat behind his words.
Traitor? That meant execution. Mom’s face paled, but she stepped toward the officer. I moved to grab her, but Warren threw his arm around my waist and held me with him. The words left my mouth before I could think.
“Please, don’t take her!”
The officer grimaced. “My apologies, miss. I wouldn’t if we didn’t need to.”
I bit my lower lip to hold back tears.
“What can we do?” I whispered to Warren in Trestainian.
“There is nothing we can do.” He still hadn’t let me go, perhaps as much to keep me with him as to protect me.
“Mom!” I reached out for her.
She looked back with a sad smile. It didn’t hide her grief. I knew she was barely holding herself together.
“It’s alright, Nirel,” she said. “You and Warren take care of each other, okay?”
No, this can’t happen!
A strangled sound left my throat and my heart raced, but Warren was right. There was nothing we could do. She was protecting us, and we had to let her. I forced myself to nod.
“Be safe, Mom,” Warren said, his voice breaking.
“No harm will befall her so long as she fulfills her duty,” the officer said as he turned and led her away.
I stood still next to my brother, fighting the urge to run after the only parent I had left. He let my waist go but clasped my hand. His green eyes gazed into mine, and he gently squeezed my fingers, anchoring me.
“We stay together,” he whispered in Trestainian.
I squeezed back, grateful I had him, even if our world was falling apart. It was easy to forget Warren was the younger sibling by two and a half years. Since Father passed, he seemed to mature five years’ worth in one, and he protected me like our father would have, to the best of his ability. Warren was the only reason Robert hadn’t destroyed me. I loved my brother more than anyone or anything.
A different soldier approached. There were no silver stripes on his sleeves, implying a low rank. My stomach clenched as he scowled at us. “If your mother is the apothecary, what do you do?”
I opened my mouth but couldn’t think of a plausible falsehood.
“We’re apprentices,” Warren lied.
Technically, he still was, but Mom made me an official apothecary over a year ago. I hoped the brute believed my brother.
He sucked his teeth. “This your sister?”
I didn’t like the venom in his tone, nor the way he eyed me up and down, so much like Robert. My fingers clenched my dress, and I remembered the scissors in my pocket. Not that I’d win against a man armed with a spear and sword.
“Yes,” I piped up, narrowing my eyes.
He scowled as he took a big step toward me. “I thought northern girls were demure. You, though…” He cracked his fingers. “There’s no way you’re under eighteen.”
“Don’t talk to her like that.” Warren let go of my hand and stepped in front of me, partially blocking my vision.
“Don’t get smart with me.” The soldier took another threatening step toward us.
Warren glanced at me and muttered in Trestainian, “Saint’s curses, I can’t say anything to these bastards.”
The soldier lunged forward, grabbing Warren by his collar. “What was that, boy?”
“Nothing,” Warren said in Laevini, raising his hands in surrender.
The soldier’s face twisted as he shook Warren, and I held my breath.
“You northern arseholes think you can disrespect royal soldiers?”
“I meant no disrespect,” Warren said.
The soldier spat in his face.
I reacted without thinking, reaching around my brother to dig my fingers into the enemy’s arm. “Let him go!”
He recoiled from my sharp nails and released Warren. His eyes lit with rage. The soldier backhanded my face so hard I fell against the house. Stars covered my vision, and my cheek and rear throbbed from the impact.
Warren punched the soldier across his jaw, sending a spattering of blood onto the ground.
“Don’t touch my sister!” he roared.
I gasped. “Warren!”
Striking a soldier… They could have him beaten, or worse, despite the brute being the one who started it.
The soldier shook off the blow with a grimace and wiped the blood from his lips. He pulled a dagger from his belt and plunged it deep into my brother’s abdomen. Time stood still as ringing filled my ears. Cold rushed over my skin, stealing my breath. My only sibling. The one person I loved most.
