THE FLOWER CHILDREN

Chapter 1

ASMEEN'S entire life hinged on this one moment. And all she could do was sit. And pray. 

She watched Dara Segast and Osoric Beor stand at the front of the field, scrolls loosely clutched in their fingers, and shivered, hardly noticing wetness from the damp ground seeping into the bottom of her dress, her fingers pulling at blades of grass tightly, nearly ripping them from their roots.

She tore her eyes away from Dara and glanced to her right. Her sisters were sitting beside her, both their eyes fixed on the night-haired woman. While Wylla looked as nervous as she herself felt, Elyn's face was as blank as always, mist hiding the storm.

Wylla, maybe feeling the weight of Asmeen's gaze, turned her head and gave her a smile, her trembling lips failing to live up to their usual cheeriness. Asmeen returned the smile to the best of her ability and glanced back at the two leaders.

"Bjóll's blessings be upon us this fine day!" Dara intoned, her voice audible throughout the field, as if carried by the winds.

"And Lelitë's!" Osoric Beor added, giving her a pointed look.

Dara inclined her head at him before turning back to them. Her eyes scanned the crowd—the row of children, some so young they'd barely had their fifteenth, and some who were nearly to their twentieth. Asmeen was one of the oldest ones. So were her sisters. How she envied the younger ones, who'd gotten so far at their age.

She could only have dreamed of doing such on her fifteenth.

Now it was almost too late. And all she could do was fix her eyes upon Dara Segast and pray to Bjóll with all her might.

"You have all worked incredibly hard to be here today," Dara said, glancing at both sides of the field.

"Whatever happens, let it not discourage you from pursuing your dreams in the future," Osoric Beor added.

Asmeen sighed. She'd heard this speech too many times. After every round they said it. Usually it was meant for people like her. The people who failed.

"I'm sure Bjóll—and Lelitë—" Dara said, giving Osoric a pointed look— "Are incredibly proud of what you have already accomplished."

"But," said Osoric, almost smiling, "I'm sure you're all very eager to know who has made it into the final round, so without further ado, we will begin listing the names."

This was it.

Asmeen's back straightened as much as it possibly could as she waited. They always called the younger ones first.

Gasps and murmured congratulations rustled through the field as Dara and Osoric alternated in calling out names. The children barely past their fifteenth. A year after that. Two years. Three.

And then it was them.

Asmeen felt a clammy, cold hand grasp hers, and she turned to see Wylla staring at Dara, her gaze almost as hard as the way she was squeezing Asmeen's hand. Asmeen squeezed back and turned her attention to Dara.

"Elyn Bamaris!"

Asmeen and Wylla inhaled in unison, a sharp, quick sound as they turned to Elyn. Their oldest sister's expression faltered, just for a moment, before she composed herself and turned to face them. Asmeen knew that she was happy—but the two of them were still left.

Osoric called out the next name, and then Dara called out another, then Osoric again, then—

"Wylla Bamaris!"

Wylla gasped, her fingers loosening for a moment before she glanced at Asmeen. Asmeen gave her widest smile she could manage. Wylla gave her a similar smile and squeezed her hand again.