Netta made her way through the crowd, one hand placed protectively on her pregnant belly. In the morning light streaming through the narrow windows of the Flametower, Valentina could see the freckles on her former best friend's nose – just like when they used to run across the fields together and confide their most secret dreams to each other.

  "What a contrast," said Vyxara. "The poor peasant girl who stayed at home while you went out into the big wide world."

  "Val," Netta said with an uncertain smile. "You look... different."

  "You too," Valentina replied gently and pointed to Netta's stomach. "When is it time?"

  "In about a month." Netta stroked her curved body. "Tom's so excited – he doesn't talk about anything else." She laughed, but it sounded forced. "He's already building the cradle."

  Valentina remembered Tom Thimbletack, the shy carpenter's apprentice who had adored Netta since she was a child. A safe choice, a sensible decision.

  "That's nice," she said politely. The congregation slowly dispersed around her, small groups forming for the usual after-service gossip.

  "Come on," Netta said suddenly and grabbed Valentina's hand. "Let's go for a little walk. Like we used to."

  Valentina glanced at her family. Her mother nodded to her as she tried to calm the tired Thomas.

  They left the Flametower behind them and strolled along the familiar path that led to the old willow tree. The tall grass at the side of the path was still a little damp from the morning dew.

  "So," said Netta after a while. "Tell me about Bridgewater. Is it really as great as everyone says?"

  "It's... different," Valentina replied cautiously. "Bigger, louder. The people there-"

  "Are they better than us?" Netta interrupted her. "More refined? More educated?"

  "Netta..."

  "No, really, I want to know." There was a hint of bitterness in Netta's voice. "Have we become too simple for you? Too ordinary?"

  "Ah, there it is," Vyxara commented with relish. "The envy of those left behind. How predictable."

  "That's not fair, Netta," Valentina said calmly. "You know that's not true."

  "I was hoping you would write to me too, you know," Netta suddenly said quietly. "In the letters to your parents – I thought maybe you'd add a message for me." She plucked at a loose thread of her dress. "But there was never anything."

  "No," Valentina admitted. "And I didn't even have the time to write to my family as often as I would have liked, to even think about them as often as I would have liked. It was hard work, Netta. The fine and educated people of Bridgewater weren't waiting for a yokel like me. People like us aren't given anything for free there." She didn't manage to keep the bitterness out of her voice herself.

  Netta slumped heavily onto the old tree trunk that had served as a bench for them as children. "Sorry," she mumbled, "that was mean of me. It's just..." She faltered. "Sometimes I think about how we used to sit here and dream about what we would become."

  "I remember," Valentina said quietly and sat down next to her.

  "You did it," said Netta. "You followed your dreams. And I..." She stroked her stomach again. "I stayed here. Married Tom. Becoming a mother now." She laughed briefly. "Remember how we swore we never wanted to be like our mothers?"

  "Life rarely turns out the way we imagine it as children," said Valentina diplomatically.

  "No, it doesn't." Netta sighed. "People talk, you know. About you. About what you did to Brentwood."

  "Let them talk."

  "They say you used Essence to drive him and his sons away. That you created fire out of nothing."

  "So, does it bother you that I helped my sister? Should she have married that awful man?"

  "Of course not!" Netta reached for her hand. "Val, it's not that, no one in the village is sad about the buffoon Brentwood getting a thrashing. It's just... Can't you see how it affects people? They're afraid of Weavers." She hesitated. "Doesn't it scare you at all?"

  "Superstitious bunch," sneered Vyxara. "Maybe you should tell her about me? I'm sure that would calm her down."

  "No," said Valentina gently but firmly. "It doesn't scare me. It gives me the opportunity to help those I love."

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  "Just like before," Netta said with a faint smile. "You always wanted to help everyone." She fell silent for a moment. "Tom says you're going to see the Duke in Dusktown?"

  "Yes. He invited me to work in his hospital over the summer."

  "Be careful," Netta suddenly said urgently. "People tell stories about the Duke. They say he..." She blushed slightly.

  "What do they say, Netta?"

  "They say he has... certain preferences. For young women." Netta looked at her worriedly.

  "A little late to worry about your virtue," Vyxara giggled.

  "I can take care of myself," Valentina said with a small smile.

  "Yes," Netta said quietly. "Of course." She brushed a strand of hair from her face. "I miss you sometimes, you know? Our conversations. It's gotten lonely here."

  "I miss you too."

  "You hardly ever gave her a second thought," Vyxara teased. "And you did well to do so. She's the past."

  Shameful, Valentina shook her head unwillingly to dispel Vyxara's searing comments.

  She and Netta sat next to each other in silence for a while, listening to the rustling of the willow leaves in the wind. It was a peaceful moment, almost like before – but it was deceptive. Between them lay the unbridgeable gulf of their different lives.

  "I should get back," Netta finally said and stood up with difficulty. "Tom's probably already waiting."

  "Let me help you," said Valentina, supporting her former friend.

  As they said goodbye to each other, they hugged briefly, Netta's heavily pregnant belly pressed against Valentina. "Take care of yourself, Val," Netta whispered. "And... don't forget us completely, will you?"

  "Of course not," Valentina promised. She looked after Netta as she made her way back to the village, one hand protectively on her stomach again.

  "Do you know why this meeting made you so uncomfortable?" Vyxara asked mercilessly. "Because you know full well that if your life had turned out a little differently, if you hadn't been able to see Essence, or the ability hadn't been discovered, then this could be you. Married, impregnated, fat and chained to this village until the end of your bleak life."

  "Shut up," thought Valentina. She needed a moment to gather herself again.

  ~

  The days that followed fell into a gentle rhythm. Every morning, Valentina helped her little sister Mabel milk the two cows. The familiar smell of the barn, the rhythmic splashing of the warm milk into the buckets, the satisfied mooing of the animals – it all brought back memories of her childhood.

  "You're still doing well," Mabel praised expertly as she skillfully worked on old Brownie's udder. "I thought you'd forget how to do that in the city."

  "You never forget how to do it, Mabel. And there are cows outside Bridgewater too," Valentina replied. "It's just that the students don't milk them themselves."

  She observed a fine crack in the wooden bucket, which would probably slowly become wider and wider. With a subtle movement of her fingers, she wove a simple pattern of Ard Essence, weaving the wood back together tightly. Mabel didn't even notice.

  The days were filled with little moments like this. When baking bread, Valentina used a touch of Viur Essence to bring the oven up to temperature more quickly. When Thomas tripped over a stone and cracked his knee, she used a gentle Leb pattern to speed up the healing process so that he could romp around again the very next day.

  "You should be careful with things like that," her father warned her one evening when she was helping to repair the plow. "People talk."

  "Let them talk," Valentina said gently. "I can help, so I will."

  In fact, more and more villagers came to them. Old Martha shyly asked for help for her arthritic grandson. The blacksmith asked if she could take a look at his sick goat. Even the grumpy Miller came one morning and sheepishly asked if she could perhaps do something about his wife's headache.

  "Like moths to a flame," mocked Vyxara. "They sense your power and hope to gain an advantage."

  Valentina helped where she could, but she had to be careful. She had to use the Distilled Essence she had brought with her sparingly – the price she had paid for it had been all too high to be wasteful. And as an unlicensed Weaver, she was not allowed to accept money for her help – even if many offered it. Only when she became a Master Weaver after her time at the university would she be allowed to offer her services for money. But then she probably wouldn't be healing goats in Palewood.

  But for the time being, the grateful looks from the people she helped were reward enough. And the way her mother looked at her – proud and a little worried at the same time – warmed her heart.

  In the evenings, the family often sat together in the kitchen. Colm practiced fighting moves he had taught himself with his wooden dagger. Little Mabel sewed a new dress for Adeline by candlelight. Thomas usually fell asleep on his mother's lap while her father told stories of his youth. Valentina had a sneaking suspicion that he had toned some of them down a little for her mother's sake.

  In moments like these, everything felt familiar again. Almost like before. But only almost.

  It was the little things. How her mother sometimes watched her furtively. How her father often sought her advice now when it came to important decisions. How even self-reliant little Mabel had begun to turn to her big sister when she had problems.

  "They sense your growing power," whispered Vyxara. "You're no longer the little girl they knew. You've become more."

  One warm afternoon, while Valentina was helping to hang up the washing, Adele Thimbletack, Netta's mother-in-law, came across the courtyard. The gaunt woman looked nervous, her fingers kneading her apron.

  "Valentina," she said hesitantly. "I... I hear you sometimes help people?"

  "If I can," Valentina replied cautiously.

  "Netta... she's having such difficulties with the pregnancy. The midwife is worried... but Netta didn't want us to call for you. She's too proud." She broke off, tears in her eyes.

  Valentina put aside the sheet she was about to hang up. "I'll go and check on her," she promised.

  "How generous of you," said Vyxara. "Her envious heart won't thank you for it."

  "She's still my friend," Valentina thought back. "And she needs help." And she helped Netta.

  The week flew by, filled with such small moments of help. Valentina could feel the village slowly getting used to having her around as a problem solver. She was no longer just Aldwin's daughter. She had become something special – useful for many, but also someone they feared a little.

  "This is something that will stay with you for the rest of your life," Vyxara remarked. "Both sides of power. Admiration and fear."

  The duke's messenger could arrive any day. Valentina knew that her time at home was limited.