Chapter 3: Eve of the Lottery

The sky was painted in streaks of violet and rose by the time Rowan and Everleigh left the marketplace. Merchants were folding down stalls, calling last-minute prices for bruised fruit or day-old bread. The hum of the crowd dimmed to the soft murmur of families hurrying home, shadows stretching long across the cobbled streets.

Rowan carried the small basket in his hand—half filled with Everleigh’s errands for her mother, half with things he had slipped into it when she wasn’t paying attention. Fresh honey cakes from the baker’s daughter, a bundle of herbs far too fragrant to be cheap. She had rolled her eyes when she noticed, but he had only smirked, daring her to argue.

Now, as they turned onto the quieter lanes that led to her part of the village, the easy noise of the market was replaced by silence. Houses huddled close together here, their roofs sagging, walls patched with mismatched stone. Laundry still dripped from ropes strung between windows. A stray cat darted across the path, its fur matted.

Rowan glanced at Everleigh, his expression softer than usual. “You’re quiet.”

“I’m thinking,” she admitted, hugging the basket to her chest. “Tomorrow feels like it’s already here. I can’t… stop wondering what if.”

His brow arched, teasing. “What if you’re chosen?”

Her stomach tightened at the words. She had tried not to say them aloud. “I don’t want to be,” she murmured. “I don’t want to leave my family. Or the village. Or—” She stopped herself.

“Or me?” His tone was playful, but his gaze flicked toward her, searching.

She felt her cheeks warm. “Well, yes. You’re… my best friend.”

Rowan’s grin softened into something gentler. “Good. Then I’m still ahead of the pack.”

She laughed despite herself. That was Rowan—always turning dread into something lighter. Yet beneath the smile, there was something unsettled in his eyes. Almost as though he was the one worrying, not her.

They reached the bend in the road where the old oak tree leaned over the path. Everleigh slowed, running her fingers along the rough bark, as she always did. “Do you remember the first time we met?”

Rowan smirked. “When you nearly drowned yourself? Yes. Hard to forget.”

“I did not nearly drown myself.” Her voice rose in indignation. “I was pushed.”

He chuckled, falling into step beside her again. “You were such a tiny thing. All curls and fury, glaring at those boys even while you sputtered up half the river. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so determined to fight while choking on water.”

Her lips twitched. “And then you pulled me out.”

Rowan’s eyes grew distant for a moment, the humor fading. “You scared me. You went under, and they laughed, and I just—jumped in. I didn’t even think. My father always said I acted before I planned.”

“You saved me,” she whispered. “I don’t think I ever thanked you properly.”

“You did,” he said softly. “Every time you looked at me after that and didn’t treat me like—” He cut himself off abruptly, clearing his throat. His grin snapped back into place, bright but a little forced. “Anyway. That was the start of your bad habit of getting into trouble, and my bad habit of dragging you out of it.”

Everleigh tilted her head, curiosity sparking. “Rowan, what were you going to say?”

“Nothing.” He flashed his most disarming smile. “Just that you owe me your life at least twice now, considering how many times I’ve stopped you from falling into ponds, climbing roofs, or running headlong into guards.”

She laughed again, but her heart lingered on the moment he’d stopped short. There were so many things Rowan kept close to his chest, she realized.

As they neared her home—a modest cottage at the far end of the lane—the smell of woodsmoke drifted from the chimney. The lamplight spilling from the window painted the path in gold. Everleigh slowed, reluctant for the walk to end.

“You’ll be here tomorrow?” she asked, her voice small.

Rowan stopped with her, his expression unreadable in the fading light. Then he reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear with careful fingers. “Of course I’ll be here. I always am.”

Her chest tightened. For a fleeting second, she wanted to tell him how much she needed him there. But instead, she nodded and forced a smile. “Good. Then maybe it won’t be so frightening.”

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for her. “Everleigh, listen to me. No matter what happens tomorrow… remember you have a choice. Don’t let anyone make you forget that.”

She blinked, startled by the intensity in his tone. Before she could answer, he stepped back, slipping his hands into his pockets as though nothing had happened.

“Now, go inside before your mother blames me for keeping you out too late.” He winked, already backing away.

Everleigh watched him until the shadows swallowed his figure. Then she turned and pushed open the door to her home.

Inside, the warmth of the fire welcomed her. Her mother looked up from the mending by the hearth, her father carving at a block of wood. Both tried to smile, but the tension in their eyes was clear. Tomorrow loomed for them too.

Everleigh excused herself quickly, climbing to the small loft that served as her room. She set the basket down and sat on the narrow bed, staring at the single candle flickering beside the mirror.

Her reflection stared back—tired, restless. Not the girl Rowan teased, not the little girl who had been pulled from the river. Just a girl caught between who she had always been and whatever tomorrow might force her to become.

She touched the mirror’s cool surface, whispering to herself: Please don’t let them choose me.

But deep inside, where she didn’t want to admit it, a quieter voice stirred. And if they do… what then?

She blew out the candle, sinking beneath the blanket. Sleep did not come easily. Outside, the wind rattled the shutters, carrying with it the whispers of change.

Tomorrow, everything would be decided.