Chapter 13: First Day at The Village School

Evelyn pov

The morning sun was barely a sliver over the horizon when the cold air of the village schoolhouse bit through my worn cotton dress. My hands were stiff, the skin around my knuckles raw and red from the sharp chill that always seemed to linger in the valleys. Sitting on the low wooden bench, my knees pressed against the rough, splintered grain of the desk, I could feel the heavy, suffocating weight of twenty pairs of eyes fixed on the back of my neck.

I didn't need to look up to know what they were thinking. To the children of this village, I was an outsider, a ghost of a girl dropped into their quiet, insular world without an explanation. Their whispers flew across the small room like dry leaves in a gust of wind—sharp, dry, and meant to cut.

"Look at her," a voice sneered from the row behind me. It belonged to Mara, the village magistrate’s eldest daughter, whose broad shoulders and tall frame dominated the classroom. "Can she even hold a slate properly? She looks like a stray cat."

My fingers tightened around the charcoal stick in my hand. The dark stone crumbled slightly under the pressure, leaving a black smudge across my thumb. Don't look back, I told myself. Don't give them the satisfaction.

The pain inside my chest was a dull, constant ache—the quiet, lingering grief of everything I had lost before ending up in this place. Every breath felt heavy, every heartbeat a reminder that I was alone in a world that didn't care whether I survived or starved. But beneath that grief, buried deep under the quiet exterior I forced myself to maintain, was a small, stubborn flame. They thought I was weak because I was quiet. They thought I was broken because I was small.

At the front of the room, Master Vance cleared his throat, a sharp, raspy sound that instantly silenced the room. He was a stern man with severe eyes and deep furrows carved into his forehead, a teacher who took no pleasure in his work and tolerated no slowness from his pupils.

"Silence," he commanded, his gaze sweeping over the long benches. "Today we begin the recitation of the grand trade lineage and the registry of the eastern province. This is advanced material. Only the older students are expected to retain the full sequence, but all of you will listen."

He unrolled a heavy, yellowed parchment, its edges frayed from years of use. For the next twenty minutes, his voice filled the room—a dry, monotonous rhythm listing dates, names, family houses, and intricate trade taxes spanning over three decades. It was a tedious, grueling test of memory, designed to break the concentration of anyone who wasn't paying absolute attention.

Around me, the other children began to fidget. Mara leaned back, resting her chin on her hand with a bored sigh, while the boys near the stove whispered back and forth, completely lost in the maze of numbers and archaic names.

I didn't move. I didn't even blink.

As Master Vance spoke, the words didn't just drift through the room; they settled into my mind with frightening clarity. It was like watching ink soak into dry paper. The dates framed themselves in my mind; the names aligned like soldiers on a battlefield. I could see the connections, the hidden patterns in the trade numbers, the subtle discrepancies between what was recorded ten years ago and what was written five years later. My heart began to beat faster, not from fear, but from the sudden, surging realization of my own mind.

Master Vance rolled the parchment shut with a loud snap that made half the class jump.

"Right," he said, turning to face the benches. "Mara. Step forward and recite the lineage of the third trade house, including the tax adjustments made under the third reign."

Mara stood up slowly, her cheeks flushing a dull red. She stepped into the central aisle, clearing her throat. "The... the third trade house was established under Lord Julian," she began, her voice hesitating. "And the tax was... it was raised by ten percent in the fifth year."

"Incorrect," Master Vance snapped, his brow furrowing deeper. "The tax was lowered, not raised, and it was in the fourth year. Sit down. A terrible performance."

Mara flushed red with embarrassment, her hands clenching into tight fists as she slunk back to her seat. Her eyes darted to me, filled with venom, as if my silence were somehow to blame for her failure.

Master Vance scanned the room, his eyes dark with irritation. "Is there anyone here who actually listened? Anyone who possesses a mind capable of holding basic facts?"

No one moved. The room was deathly quiet.

"Evelyn," Master Vance’s voice cut through the silence like a blade.

My breath hitched. I slowly raised my eyes to meet his.

"You," he said, pointing a thin, chalk-stained finger at me. "The new girl. Recite the full third lineage from the beginning. Include the founder, the three branch families, and every tax modification recorded between the tenth and twentieth year."

A quiet ripple of laughter passed through the back rows. It was an unfair task, a question meant to humiliate me, to put the new girl in her place before the entire village. Mara leaned forward, a triumphant smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

I stood up slowly. The floorboards creaked beneath my shoes. My heart was pounding against my ribs like a trapped bird, but as I opened my mouth, the fear began to melt away, replaced by an icy, unwavering focus.

"The third trade house was founded by Master Vane in the year of the High Frost," I began, my voice clear and steady, echoing off the bare wooden walls. "The three branch families were the House of Corvus, the House of Thorne, and the House of Vale. In the tenth year, the tax was fixed at four silver pieces per cargo carriage."

The laughter in the room died instantly.

I didn't stop. I couldn't stop. The words flowed out of me with effortless precision. "In the fourteenth year, following the drought, the tax was reduced to two silver pieces for agricultural goods, but doubled for textiles. In the seventeenth year, after the death of Lord Julian, the tax was restructured entirely, establishing a five percent tariff on all incoming river trade—a decision that was repealed three years later by the council."

I finished, standing perfectly still in the middle of the room.

The classroom was completely silent. You could hear the crackle of the wood in the iron stove and the heavy, uneven breathing of the students around me. Master Vance stared at me, his mouth slightly open, his eyes wide with an expression that bordered on shock.

Mara was staring at me, her face pale, her lips parted in disbelief. Beside her, the older boys who had spent the morning mocking me looked down at their desks, suddenly unable to meet my eyes.

Master Vance slowly stepped down from his podium, his heavy boots sounding like thunder on the floorboards. He walked until he was standing directly in front of my desk, staring down at me as if he were seeing a ghost.

"Where did you learn to do that?" he asked, his voice low, almost a whisper. "Who taught you to hold information like that?"

"No one, sir," I said softly, keeping my gaze fixed on his. "I just listened."

He stared at me for a long moment, the air between us thick with an unsaid question. But before he could speak another word, the heavy wooden door at the back of the schoolhouse burst open with a deafening crash.

A cold wind swept into the room, blowing dust and dry leaves across the floor. A man stood in the doorway, panting heavily, his face pale with terror and his clothes covered in mud.

"Master Vance!" the man gasped, his voice trembling so hard he could barely form the words. "You need to come outside! Now!"

The entire classroom froze. Master Vance turned sharply toward the door. "What is the meaning of this, Thomas?"

The man swallowed hard, his eyes wide with absolute dread as he looked directly past the teacher—and straight at me.

"They're here," Thomas whispered, his voice shaking the entire room. "The crest on their carriage... It's the royal seal. They say they've found her.