I'm Sorry

Winter pressed hard against Hearthford’s stone walls.

The sky was a pale sheet of white, the sun little more than a dull glow behind cloud and frost. Breath fogged in front of mouths as people moved briskly through the streets, collars raised, hands tucked into sleeves. Merchants shouted less in winter; coin was harder to pry from frozen fingers.

Lyra walked between Klen and Marna, boots crunching lightly over patches of thin ice.

“We’ll need water, food, and other things.” Marna was saying.

Lyra listened, quiet but attentive, gaze wandering across the city’s buildings. Hearthford felt stern in winter—unwelcoming, but not openly hostile. Not on the surface.

Klen glanced at her. “We’ll split for a short while. Marna and I will purchase what we need. You may look around the square if you like.”

Marna nodded. “Stay where it’s crowded.”

Lyra gave a small smile. “I will.”

Klen adjusted his gloves. “We won’t be long.”

They parted ways near the fountain square.

The commotion began near a fabric stall.

A girl stood with her back nearly against a stone pillar while two men flanked her. One had his hand wrapped tightly around her wrist.

“You think winter excuses you?” the taller one said sharply.

“I told you—I need a little more time,” the girl replied, her voice steady but strained.

“You’ve said that before.”

The second man leaned closer. “Don’t make this difficult.”

Lyra slowed.

People were watching.

No one was intervening.

She stepped forward.

“Let her go.”

Both men turned.

“This doesn’t concern you,” one replied.

“It does,” Lyra answered evenly. “Release her.”

The man’s grip tightened for a second as if weighing his options. Then he clicked his tongue and shoved the girl back toward the pillar.

“Fine. You’ve bought yourself another day,” he muttered at the girl before stepping away with his companion.

They disappeared into the square.

Lyra moved closer. “Are you hurt?”

The girl rubbed her wrist. “No… not badly.”

“You shouldn’t have to endure that.”

A faint, humorless smile touched the girl’s lips. “Shouldn’t and do are different things.”

Lyra hesitated before offering gently, “I’m Lyra.”

The girl looked at her properly now.

“…Eira.”

They walked together toward the fountain, where water continued to flow despite the cold, steam rising faintly from its surface.

“You know those men?” Lyra asked.

Eira sat carefully along the stone edge. “I owe them.”

“For what?”

“Existing, perhaps,” she said lightly, though her gaze dropped to the water.

Lyra studied her. “You don’t seem like someone who deserves to be cornered in a public square.”

Eira gave a quiet breath that might have been a laugh. “You don’t know me.”

“Then tell me.”

They spoke for several minutes—about the city, about winter harvests, about how difficult trade had become. Lyra mentioned she was traveling. Eira listened closely, measuring tone, posture, the way Lyra spoke without suspicion.

Lyra asked gently, “Do you have family here?”

Eira paused. “No.”

“I’m sorry.”

The words were sincere.

That made it worse.

“Lyra.”

Klen’s voice carried smoothly over the square.

He and Marna approached through the crowd, satchels heavier than before.

Lyra stood. “Klen, Marna—this is Eira.”

Eira rose as well. “Sir. Ma’am.”

Klen inclined his head courteously. “A pleasure.”

Marna nodded once in greeting.

“We couldn’t find greenroot anywhere,” Marna said to Lyra. “Every apothecary is either out or pretending it never existed.”

Klen added calmly, “Either hoarded or already sold in advance.”

Eira’s pulse quickened.

“Greenroot?” she asked carefully.

Marna glanced at her. “Yes. We need it for the road.”

“It doesn’t grow within the city limits in winter,” Eira said. “But it still grows deeper in the forest—past the outer timberline, near the old frozen stream.”

Klen regarded her with composed interest. “You’re certain?”

“Yes.”

Marna exchanged a look with Klen. “If she’s right, that saves us days.”

Klen studied Eira another moment, then gave a faint nod. “Very well. We would appreciate the guidance.”

Lyra smiled at her. “If it’s not trouble.”

Eira forced herself to return the smile. “It isn’t.”

They passed through the city gates shortly after.

The air beyond the walls was sharper, colder. Snow lay thicker across the ground, disturbed only by scattered tracks. The forest loomed quiet and skeletal, branches bare, trunks dark against the pale world.

They walked deeper than the cleared outer ring, boots sinking softly into snow.

“Almost there,” Eira said.

They reached a shallow depression where clusters of greenroot pushed stubbornly through frost-hardened soil—dark leaves with thick stems, resilient even in winter.

Marna knelt first. “It’s fresh.”

Klen crouched beside her. “Impressive.”

Lyra stepped closer, brushing snow aside to expose more of the plant.

Eira’s hands trembled inside her sleeves.

I’m sorry, she thought.

As the three of them focused on harvesting the greenroot, she slipped a small vial from within her cloak. She crushed it beneath her heel, pressing it into the snow and soil near them while turning slightly away, pretending to adjust her scarf.

The powder dissolved quickly.

There was no warning.

Klen’s hand paused mid-motion.

Marna blinked once.

Lyra swayed.

“What—”

The dizziness struck hard and sudden.

Klen tried to stand, but his legs gave way.

Marna collapsed beside the herb.

Lyra barely had time to turn her head before the world went dark.

All three fell into the snow within seconds.

Silence returned.

Eira stared at them, breath shaking.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered internally.

Leaves shifted.

Two figures stepped from behind the trees.

“Well done,” one of the men said approvingly.

They were the same collectors from the square.

Eira’s jaw tightened. “It’s finished.”

“You did well,” the second added. “Better than we expected.”

She didn’t answer.

“You see?” the first continued, gesturing toward the unconscious bodies. “All that worry for nothing.”

“I didn’t do this for praise,” she said coldly.

He laughed. “Still have pride, do you?”

She turned as if to leave.

A hand caught her arm.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“You have them.”

“And you still owe.”

Her eyes flashed. “That wasn’t the agreement.”

“The agreement is what we say it is.”

She shoved him back.

“I brought you three—”

He struck her across the face.

“You brought us four,” the other corrected calmly. “And we’ll use all of them.”

She lunged at him in fury.

The second man caught her wrist and twisted. Pain shot up her arm.

“Enough,” he muttered.

A heavy blow landed at the back of her head.

Snow rushed up to meet her.

Darkness followed.

The two men stood over the four unconscious figures.

“Sell the fighters,” one said. “They’ll fetch decent coin.”

“And the girl,” the other added with a dismissive glance at Eira’s still form. “She’s expendable.”

His gaze settled on Lyra.

“But this one…”

He crouched slightly, studying her face.

“A noble. Unprotected. If we sell her, we get coin once.”

He straightened, eyes gleaming with calculation.

“But if we keep her—bend her, corrupt her, make her dependent—we gain access. Influence. Doors that never open for men like us.”

“A noble under our control,” the first mused. “That’s worth more than any market.”

“We raise ourselves through her,” the second said quietly. “Step by step.”

They began binding wrists and ankles efficiently.

“Move,” one muttered. “Before the cold does our work for us.”

They lifted the bodies.

Winter swallowed the clearing behind them.

And the forest fell silent once more.