Chapter 2: ACT I, SCENE 1

ACT I, SCENE 1Day 130 Minutes Until the Ash FallsMidsummer Festival — MarketFrom his perch on the ledge at the edge of the town square, Vespar has the perfect view.The smell of roasted boar, sweet summer ale, and cheap perfume drifts through the square. Vespar sees a boy laugh when his friend misses a throw. Somewhere, a bell rings. A woman catches a flower tossed into the crowd, raising it overhead as strangers cheer. They belong. Children chase one another through the stalls. Crowds drift between stalls, hiding from the sun’s intense heat. Prize bells from the game booths ring near a fountain in the centre of the square. Vespar used to love the archery booth, until his father sat him down and talked about the meaning of nocking and loosing an arrow.At the edge of the Midsummer Festival celebrations, Vespar overlooks the city he truly loves, watching people pass below him and move through their lives.Nobody looks up. Which is fine, Vespar thinks, as he touches the old hunting wound he received while accompanying his father on a Royal hunt for the king. No one looked for him then either. He was brought along to help track and even bested his father at finding the prey, but then...Vespar and his family were useful.So Vespar learned early that it was easier to stand at the edge of things, observing and paying attention to the world. People wanted one of two things from him: an introduction to someone higher, or a service offered to someone higher than himself.He turns his attention from the festival to trace the rooftops. His eyes follow the alleys, including one beside the noticeboard. The alley leads to the general goods shop before connecting with a drainage sewer that snakes back across to the other end of the square.* * *Then nostalgia hits in the form of fresh bread. Instinctively, before he even realizes his gaze has drifted, he focuses on the source—Ansel’s stall.For years, the fresh scent of baked goods would waft directly into his childhood window. When he was a young boy, Vespar made the trip with his mother to Ansel’s stall. They would spend the day around the Market Square, and by the time the sun started to descend, Vespar would be exhausted and his mother would have to carry him home. She would scoop him up and cradle him close. He could hear her heart beating, and the warmth of his face pressed to her chest would flow into his dreams before they had even made it home.While on their market adventures, Ansel would greet them with his freshest pastry every time they showed up. He never spoke to Vespar as though he were only the Huntsman’s son. Vespar would climb onto the stool overlooking the street out front of the shop, fresh berry jam spilling from the pastry and onto his fingers. The heat from the summer sun softened the jam. Every time he touched the counter, he left another fingerprint—small, sticky reminders that he had been there. As he grew older, Vespar found more excuses than he cared to admit to walk that same route—and not only because Ansel made the best festival pastries in the city.Kendra stands beside her father beneath the painted awning over their stall. She waves at passing customers, smiles at each one, and laughs and cheers whenever someone wins a prize at the festival booth across the square. Vespar remembers the girl who would come by while he ate his berry pastry, poke him in the side, and wipe those prints from the counter while laughing—the same way she just did. Even though Vespar could barely get a word out to her, however hard he tried, she responded as if he had. Every time.As Vespar wonders how he might get even a couple of words out of his exploding chest this time, sunlight catches her hair, and he suddenly forces himself to become interested in the rooftops surrounding her stall.Same as always.Watch, care, wish.Say nothing.Then—the sun curdles.