One of the magisters of the earth announced the time to plant, and Rina was in the field the next day. That had been less than a week ago.

Various fields surrounded Amadore, the crops rotated with different seeds or left fallow. This cycle they planted corn, and Rina had been assigned to the terrain overlooking the Yenis Sea, where the waves crashed against the white cliff walls at high tide, sending bursts of salt-drenched water into the air. She could taste it on her tongue. Feel the pinkness of her cheeks, matching her near-frozen fingers.

The Denese were not the only people to work the cropland. At least three-quarters of the field hands came from the lower rungs of Euran classes: travelling labourers, seasonal workers or Jack's-of-all-trades who found employment where they could across the empire.

"Hey there, be careful!"

Rina jumped at the shout from a tall, slender man dressed in a padded undertunic and maroon leather armour. With a jerk of his chin, he indicated the precipice from where he stood on a patch of loam, his feet half-swallowed by the earth.

The sun awoke behind her, bleeding across the water in a red streak as Mani, the near moon, settled into its bed in a molten pool of amber, seeming to call Rina to follow. To sleep.

She stifled a yawn and stepped away from the edge, smiling at the man despite her better judgement. He was a new guard. No doubt. Because he was unforgettable. The first time she saw him, a few days earlier—with his caramel hair and purple eyes stark against his fair skin—her toes had curled. Lines creased at the corners of his eyes as he smiled back at her, flashing slightly crooked, but white, teeth.

Something tugged inside Rina. Close to the crystal under her skin that went thump, thump, thump. She shoved the sensation down and pulled a neutral face. It did not pay to get friendly with the guards, with Eurans. Olav had been a lesson—a near miss. Her people had killed too many of them. Magisters' could protect themselves from the taint, monitor it, track it. Not regular soldiers. Now, after all the centuries, some found a way to seek revenge against the unsuspecting.

"Sorry," Rina said, and walked past the man, her eyes fixed on lumps of churned sod and chunks of broken limestone as she made for a pile of bags. She selected a pack, adjusted the straps over her shoulders and secured the tie about her waist. Her hand groped for the seed feeder on her right. Moments later, a thin drizzle of seeds filtered out, small and smooth in her hand.

Around her, the other field hands lined up, the Denese identifiable by the yellow bands on their upper arms, their dark hair and eyes of earthen shades.

The violet-eyed man gave her a conspiratorial wink, then turned his attention to the others and spoke, this time loud enough to be heard by all at hand. "Alright, let's go!"

They set to work, walking through the tillage, filtering slow trickles of seed and letting them flutter to the ground. Every few metres they paused. The Denese sunk to their knees and thrust their hands into crisp topsoil, making a wish for fertile reaping. That was all it was. A wish. Not a blessing. An effective way to combat the taint by wishing for goodness, for something that would benefit the world around them, not destroy it.

The tips of her fingers were as pink as fresh-caught shrimp when she noticed it. A green bud. Right where her fingers had been. She gave her head a shake and straightened.

The sun had risen, red dulling to orange in the cloudless sky. Her breath frosted in front of her, tiny ice crystals flickering in the dawn light like a hundred fallen stars. It must be a sprout of cat grass that endured the winter. Yes, that was it.

When she prayed to the earth the next time, her eyes remained open, scanning for any green that had survived the tilling. Nothing. Then a tickle. So quick, she might have imagined it.

"Anything the matter?" came the now familiar voice, rich as syrup.

She jerked, guilty as a youth found with the whisky flagon. "No, nothing. It's just early." She squinted her eyes, hoping to appear sleepy.

"Hmm," he said, followed by a lazy yawn, half-heartedly covered by a leather-gloved hand. "Far too early to be out in this weather."

Against her will, a chuckle escaped Rina's mouth. It was eaten by the wind. Not your friend, she told herself.

"That's what I like to hear." He rocked back on his heels, hands in pockets. "We need some warmth out here, and laughter is a fire on a winter night. Can I help you up?"

He'd grabbed hold of Rina's elbow before she had time to refuse, and a crackle of energy shot up her arm as he touched her, even through the layers of material.

She flinched, and stood, stepping away from him to give some distance. "No, I'm fine."

"Your hands are like ice," he said, squeezing them.

An urge to roll her eyes came upon her. "I might as well be sticking them in it." She leaned in and hissed, "Have you not felt it cracking under you?"

He lifted one hand to face her. "Sorry, my little firedrake, I have not." The other hand rose, and he plucked the tip of each finger, one by one, then stripped the leather off. Holding her gaze, he squatted down, trousers hugging his well-formed thighs. He chewed on his bottom lip as his fingers approached, then plunged them into the ground.

"Shit!" The hand flew out and he shook it. "That's bloody freezing!"

"Yes, I know."

From the corner of her eye, she spied a short, stocky sentry approaching them, arms uplifted in question. "The line's backed up, Fin. Is there something wrong?"

Fin blew into his hand. "Nothing, Ivan, just checking the temperature. We don't want to lose any fingers out here."

"Pfft," snorted Ivan, stopping before them with his thick arms folded over his barrel chest. "Don't you know they can't feel like us?" He took a moment to hock and spit out a glob of phlegm, then returned his pale-blue glare to Rina. "Cold-hearted pigs, they are. Belong here, digging in the mud."

Cold slid down Rina's spine.

"Get back to it, you Arkis-spawned bitch."

An invisible hand reached around Rina's heart and squeezed, pumping adrenaline through her veins. She'd never hurt a soul. Never would. But because of her blood, she was treated like a murderer.

There was a flash of light. Then another. Tiny little streaks, like asteroids, that darted across her vision. Something warmed at her core, beneath the crystal. No—in the crystal.

"I said go!"

Rina hurried forward, her seeds trickling in her wake. Behind her, Fin spoke in lighthearted tones to Ivan. "She's just a kid, and she might as well be planting in the snow."

"Looks all grown up to me. I don't know what they tell you in the capital, but you can't trust 'em. A crafty bunch, the lot of 'em. They may have Mai and the Magisterium fooled, but I listened in history. Watch yourself 'ey, my lad. Watch yourself."

Crunching boots retreated. A sigh, and another pair of boots grinding.

With eyes closed, Rina's fingers dug once more into the ground and she forced herself to focus upon her words. Bless this earth, Mai. Bless this harvest. Bring sustenance and light to the land. This time, life came to her, warm and welcoming as a womb.

A gasp.

Her head lurched up as she met wide violet eyes. She shadowed them to the sprouts of green shoots tickling her wrists and yanked herself away.

"They were already there—I swear it!"

Fin placed his palm on his chest, his face a picture of reverence as he breathed, "Bringer of life."

"Don't say that," she said. "They were already there." She pushed up and stumbled on, further down the line. The next time Rina's hands contacted the earth, her whole body shuddered. 

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A/N:  Hi there. Thanks again for reading! What did you think? Anything you liked, didn't like, or would change? I'd love to hear your thoughts—even if in emoji form. Don't forget to hit that star! (Never underestimate how motivating it is).

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Dedicated to linalaurine for volunteering her time as my Wattpairs mentor way back in 2019 when the world was normal. Thank you!