The winding alleys of Eldendore's Narrows concealed more than cobblestones; they cradled secrets. Every doorway, every turn, hid the forgotten fates of all who faded into the dim. Ava's fingertips itched with a phantom chill. Three days away from the Midsummer Solstice, the alleys were anything but cold, but dark shadows blanketed her path and rats could scurry out at any moment.

She hated rats, but she hated being late more.

She'd left home too late that morning, having woken up too late from a night up reading. By the time she'd taken her morning tea, it had truthfully been a noon-time tea, and by the time she got dressed for the day after tending her father's plants and tinctures, it was truly afternoon and the day was half-gone. Lunch was gulped down as she shrugged on her coat and stumbled onto their humble street, a mere fifteen minutes before her fitting appointment.

She had to go in the Narrows. Her mother would never forgive her. 

Her heeled boots clacked on the stones, echoing off the sides of the brick buildings. Even in the narrows, signs hung from sign-posts declaring potions and wishes, curses and promises. One declared that with one sip from their love potion number 7, dreams could come true. The question of why there was need for seven love potions wasn't answered by the signs and Ava didn't stop to look closer. The temptations, though she was wise to them, were temptations all the same. What was her fate?

What should she wish for in three days at the Midsummer's presentation at the Mirror when truly she wanted to be anywhere but here?

The shops' owners might try to tell her, but these shops were the shunned cousins of the much flashier and often more legitimate store-fronts in the middle of the merchant district. Ava half-expected an equally shady figure to jump out at her from one of the doorstops. It happened often enough, and so close to the Midsummer, it was only a matter of time before one of them sniffed her out as a potential customer or potential victim. Perhaps they could even find a way to be included in her wish.

Not everyone got a wish, and dressed as she was, young as she was, with her plaited hair, tailored trousers, and smooth skin (despite the rogue breakout she'd tried to fight that morning), her appearance screamed youth. She shouldn't have cut through the Narrows.

Three days until the Midsummer. Three days until she reached majority. If she were someone else, like her brother's wife, Maya, or her mother, maybe she would be more than swayed. Maybe she would buy a potion or sit for a fortune teller, unaware of being pick-pocketed at the same time, or unaware of what it could do to her reputation.

Ava hurried faster, shuddering at the thought.

Ava navigated the labyrinth of alleyways, the air thickening with the weight of unseen eyes. The whispers of the city's bustle far away brushed against her senses. She turned a corner, familiar to her, but always unexpected. It was easy to get lost in the in-between of the outskirts and the Inner City. The city had grown up fast and on top of itself, with some alleys so tight that Ava had to turn sideways and some openings so wide that they were almost courtyards.

The narrow alleys gradually opened into a slightly wider thoroughfare, but Ava's unease deepened.

As the path ahead twisted into a darker enclave, Ava's gaze flitted to a flickering lamplight, sputtering with a pale blue flame and revealing a figure leaning against the entrance of a dim doorway. The silhouette emerged from the shadows, and Ava's heart raced as she confronted the possibility of encountering a purveyor of clandestine magic and unfulfilled promises.

She couldn't turn back so she passed the figure instead, veering to the edges, even as her heart-rate spiked. She was just past them when the figure stepped closer, holding out a hand and revealing a sly smile and tall frame as he unfolded from the shadows.

"Ava, Ava, did your mother finally teach you to ignore the likes of me?"

She skidded to a stop, gaping at the figure. Or should she say, at... Rowley? A boy of her childhood grinned back at her, but boy wasn't quite correct. Tall and lean, with a glint she couldn't quite place in his dark eyes, the boy he'd been was present only in his coy, cat-like smile. He'd always had that, even when she'd last seen him, some five years ago before he'd either disappeared or stopped running in the same circles as her.

Ava couldn't remember which, but now, in a dark alley three days before Midsummer, she wished she did. A strange coincidence, if you believed in coincidences. Ava didn't, not with parents like hers.

"Rowley? What are you doing here?" She hesitated for a second, but took his out-stretched hand and gave it a firm shake, all while wondering at his appearance— so sudden, and on today of all days. She brushed it aside for a moment. He was a friend, once upon a time, and while her mother had warned her of strangers, it was her father's advice that rang in her ears. Never show that you know their game.

He may be nothing to worry about, but her instincts told her to be wary. No one decided to dwell in the Narrows. Accident didn't happen in the Narrows.

"Oh you know how it is. Even well-meaning sons of lords can end up in the Narrows." He leaned back against the wall, cocking his head and crossing his arms while Ava racked her memory for any sort of gossip about him her mother would've brought home from the market or one of her many teas. Had he gone off with a caravan? Had he been cut off from his father? 

"I'm sorry to hear that, Rowley."

"Don't be," he waved her off. "It's the way of the world." He paused for a moment, his eyes raking over her. Ava shifted in her place. She should be going... "How is your family? That brother of yours was always an interesting one."

"They're fine. My father runs the alchemist shop, now. Mother is the same." She doesn't mention her brother. There wasn't much to say.

"That's lovely. Where are they today? You seem like you're in a hurry."

"I am, but I have to say, you seem pretty comfortable here," she countered, answering his statement instead of his question. He did seem comfortable. The midnight blue and black of his boots blended seamlessly with his surroundings, and even his sharp cheekbones matched the cut glass in the grimy windows behind him. 

"Well, it's hard to be uncomfortable in my own domain." He swept his arms out wide, the gesture revealing his thin torso underneath his long, wool coat. "Isn't it grand?"

He spun for effect and Ava caught a glimpse at a pocket watch and a worn dagger hanging at his hip as he did. She stepped back while his back was turned to her, her mouth dry. When they were children, his turn of words was best used for flirting with the girls in their preparatory school. Now, it seemed different, and she was no school girl.

"Your domain? What are you then? Lord of the Narrows?" She matched his tone, joking, but he straightened, his height even more clear now. He towered over her, larger than the shadows cast by the lamplight and a head taller than her.

"Yes, that's right. Rowley Perkins, Lord of the Narrows himself." He gave a bow, but when he stood back up, he was a step closer to Ava. "You know what that means. A Lord demands a token. A toll if you will. A gift if you like"

"I thought that was a bridge troll and I'm afraid your birth month is long since past." He laughed, throwing his head back and taking another step. Ava didn't budge. Never show that you know their game.

"Pity that. Although, bridge trolls don't exist."

"Says who? I know a few." She truthfully knew a few bridge-workers and also some toll collectors so she supposed that combined to a bridge troll, but her thoughts were coming fast. It had been a mistake to stop. But then he may have chased her anyway.

"You would! Always your head in the clouds. I remember those books you used to read."

"Oh no, I was being quite literal. I do know a few trolls and I meet new ones every day." Perhaps she said it too biting, perhaps she sounded too exasperated, but Rowley's next step was more sure, more meaningful.

"I'm sure you do. If I remember correctly, you're a summer child. Tell me, what will you wish for? And better yet, what can I do to make you include me in it?"

Ava's scoff was real. "Rowley, I haven't seen you in years. Why would I include you in my wish?"

His left hand moved to within his coat, parting the fabric to reveal his hand on his dagger handle.

"Why don't you tell me?"

His grin turned wolfish, and Ava's eye twitched. So it would be that way. The goddess save her from men who thought they had some hold on her.

"Well." She took a step closer. They were almost nose to nose, brown eyes meeting blue. "Now that I think about it, I can think of a good reason."

"Oh really?" He sounded intrigued, but his brows furrowed, wary. He should be. She took another step, controlling her breathing as much as she could. She was no use to him dead. That's not how wishes worked. 

"Yes. I bet you can guess." Their breaths mingled, his eyelashes fluttered, and Ava smirked. The power of a rhetorical question. Idiot.

Ava's right hand jabbed the inside of his elbow, grabbing the handle of his dagger herself with her free hand, and pulling it free. With her left knee, she kneed him in the groin, and her right, she punched him squarely in an uppercut as he doubled over.

It took less than five seconds, but soon he was flat on his back, splayed onto the alley cobblestones. Ava took one last look at him, feeling the weight of the dagger in her palm, the stinging of her knuckles, and the surge of adrenaline in her veins. She hated this. She hated this place. She hated that she had to always be on guard and that Eldendore was the kind of place where a promising child could end up in the alleys and become whatever he was.

He was nothing more than a rat. Maybe she was wrong to pity him and maybe she'd regret her next move, but her mind was made up.

She threw the dagger at his feet, letting it clatter as she turned and ran down the alley, moving on instinct and her internal compass that knew where she was better than she did.

In less than ten minutes, the alleys spit her back out into the Inner City, and if she was a little dirtier, a little more hurried than the others on the street, no one seemed to notice.

At least no one did until she turned up at the seamstress's shop. She took a breath and made a last ditch attempt to calm herself and her hair, which had pulled loose from her plaits. She caught sight of herself in the windows of the shop, and held back a grimace. Hair askew, overcoat stained, hands raw. She looked nothing like she had when she stepped into the Narrows and nothing like she had when she left her home that morning.

She definitely didn't look like her mother wanted her to, especially in front of the other girls her age in the shop that would be presented to the Mirror at the same time as her. She did not look like the daughter of a lady.

Her mind went back to Rowley. She could look worse.

She opened the shop door, taking her seat beside her mother wordlessly. Her mother's answering grip on her forearm tight and accusatory. Ava fought the urge to groan. This was going to be a very long fitting.

-o-0-o-

Thank you for reading Chapter One! What do you think of Ava? Thoughts on Rowley? Do you think he'll come back? Next chapter is coming next Friday!