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Chapter 1

The night of Kupala hung suspended between heaven and earth, a golden thread of magic binding the village to ancient rhythms that even the church had failed to silence.

Vesna stood at the edge of the meadow, her bare feet pressed into soil still warm from the summer sun, watching as the girls gathered flowers for their wreaths. Her fingers itched to join them, to weave stems and petals into promises that would float along the river's back, carrying whispers of futures yet unwritten. But her eyes, bright with anticipation and mischief, kept straying instead toward the gathering of young men near the bonfire, searching for the tall, ash-smudged figure of Velimir Havran, the blacksmith's son whose smile had lodged itself like a splinter in her heart.

The bonfire crackled and spat embers toward the velvet sky, its orange fingers painting the faces of the villagers with golden light. Girls in white linen dresses moved like spirits through the tall grass, their hair adorned with blossoms, their laughter carrying on the summer breeze. Boys tested their courage by leaping over smaller fires, each jump accompanied by shouts and clapping. Elders sat on logs, passing earthenware jugs between them, their voices growing louder as they gossiped about the village youth.

Hearing them, Vesna tucked a strand of her short blonde hair behind her ear, suddenly self-conscious of her boyish frame in her best white dress. Unlike her sisters, whose curves had earned appreciative glances from the village men, Vesna's body remained stubbornly slender, better suited for climbing trees than attracting suitors. She plucked a daisy and twirled it between her fingers, wondering if Velimir ever noticed her as more than his childhood friend.

"Vesna! Stop daydreaming and come help us!" Her friend Milica waved from where the girls gathered, their laps already filled with flowers. "The best ones will be gone if you wait any longer!"

With one last glance toward the bonfire, Vesna darted across the meadow, her bare feet barely touching the ground. She fell to her knees beside the other girls, her nimble fingers immediately seeking out the most vibrant blooms.

"Looking for someone?" Milica teased, nudging Vesna's shoulder.

"Perhaps," Vesna replied with a grin that didn't reach her eyes. She gathered cornflowers, daisies, and sprigs of herbs into her skirt, the scent of summer rising around her. "But I doubt he's looking for me."

"The blacksmith's son again?" Milica lowered her voice, though the other girls were too busy with their own wreaths to listen. "Vesna, you've been mooning over him since we were thirteen. Either tell him how you feel or set your sights on someone who notices you."

Vesna's fingers stilled on a fragile stem. "He notices me," she said softly. "He saved me from falling in the river last autumn. And, he walks me home from the market sometimes."

"As a friend," Milica insisted. "Open your eyes, he treats you like a little sister at most!"

The words stung, but Vesna forced another smile.