Spring rain returned with a vengeance during the night. Pia rose early, sitting in the main doorway to Dedication, watching the courtyard puddle up once more.

Despite the confidence she’d had with her friends, worry ate her from the inside out. A worm burrowing through her heart, weakening her confidence. Either she’d get offers for apprenticeship, or she’d get her exam returned to her. A returned test paper meant failure. It meant no sect or Master found the candidate worthy of apprenticeship.

A shudder rippled through her at the thought of it happening to her. She’d worked too hard, put in too much effort for it to end in Dwelling. Her eyes scanned over Dedication—the emptiness and isolation further soured her mood.

Pia decided sitting at home wasn’t the best idea. It always made her go crazy. The silence was too loud, the emptiness too busy.

Slipping on her boots, Pia stood and dashed out of the courtyard, leaping over the wall, and jogging down the main road. Training would calm her mind.

The road out of town was mostly empty. Store fronts without shelters had their outdoor wares moved inside. Food vendors had their awnings open to protect their customers. The lack of activity in the village made her feel as if she were the only person left in the world. Taking a deep breath, Pia focused inward. The pulsing of her heart in her ears, the rhythmic sound of her feet slapping the wet ground.

She ran her usual training route. An alternate path that spiraled up the mountain in the opposite direction of Reflection. The path was perfect for building endurance. The entire path was on a steep incline with natural rock and log obstacles to build muscle and flexibility. Running it left her heart racing and her muscles burning. On the way down, she had to slow her pace, careful to avoid a slip in the mud.

A few crows chattered as she passed. Pia waved at them, grinning. For all the years she’d been running this path, the crows had been there. She liked to think of them as her fans cheering her on. Their beady black eyes glimmered with mischief and their loud cawing cries always put her in a better mood.

On the days it rained, most of the wildlife stayed hidden away. Pia missed the animal songs of the forest but there was a tranquility in the sound of rain on the leaves and the song of the wind whistling through the tree limbs. When her muscles ached, lungs burned, and vision narrowed to just the path ahead Pia felt free. If she ran just a bit further, pushed a bit harder, could she sprout wings and fly away?

Pia wished she could fly, up and away, floating in the wind, going anywhere she wanted.

Her return into town jarred her from her meditative mindset. The streets were still empty and quiet, and the feelings of peace she had felt in the forest quickly evaporated. She slowed her pace down to a brisk walk, pushing air out of her lungs to avoid a side cramp. A growl pierced the silence as her stomach let out a complaint.

Slipping her hand inside her inner robe, Pia felt for the few dol she had left. It was enough to make a stop. Changing direction, Pia headed toward her favorite food vendor.

The Lucky Cat was a small bun vendor near Dedication. It was set near the end of the main road, a single stand tucked between a dress shop and a stationary shop. As she neared, the smell of the steaming buns had her mouth drooling.

The man behind the counter saw her coming and he scowled at her. Pia grinned widely at him, waving.

“I don’t serve drowned cats,” he called out, turning on his stool away from her.

“Old Pot, what have you got for me today?” Pia asked happily, ducking under the awning in front of his shop.

The reprieve of the rain was welcome, but water slicked down her head and face, down her body, to pool at her feet.

Old Pot looked her up and down and stared pointedly at the puddle at her feet.

“You’re getting water everywhere,” he complained.

Pia looked at her feet, at the large puddle that had clearly been there before her.

“Blaming me for the rain,” she said, pouting.

Crossing her arms, Pia looked behind him at the stacks of bamboo baskets. Steam poured from them, filling the air with the scent of cooking buns. She wasn’t sure if the meat or sweet buns smelled better to her.

“No,” Old Pot said, holding up a hand. “Nothing for you. With that appearance,” he gestured to her body, “you’re going to scare away all my customers.”

Mouth agape, Pia looked left, then right, then turned flinging her arms wide.

“What customers?”

He grabbed a wooden spoon from the counter and shook it at her, threateningly, “Don’t think I won’t come out there and teach you manners.”

Bowing before him, Pia gave him a respectful nod.

“I thank the gods every day that you don’t teach anyone anything,” she told him solemnly, hiding a smile behind her hands.

Old Pot sputtered, turning away from her, but Pia saw his shoulders move and knew he was hiding a laugh.

“Go away, wretched creature,” he yelled.

“First, the buns!”

Turning around, Old Pot bundled four buns into a bundle of paper and then tossed them across the counter at her.

Pia pulled three dol from her inner robes and left it on the counter. Picking up the buns, she said, “Keep the change, Old Pot!”

Before he could reply, Pia trotted back into the rain, smiling brightly, mood significantly improved.

“That barely covers one!” he called after her.

Back turned, Pia hid her grin. Her spirit felt bolstered after her chat, warmth in her chest at his kindness. Next to Fewl and Conch, Old Pot was the person she liked best in Dwelling. Despite his gruffness, he’d always been kind to her. It wasn’t often Pia could afford to buy food from vendors. Count Sol included one silver a month in the supplies the servants brought to Dedication. It didn’t last long so Pia had to budget every dol spent.

She bit into a bun, savoring the richness of the sweet red beans, the fluffiness of the bread. No one made buns like he did. The hunger hit her after the first bite and Pia quickly devoured all four. Old Pot had given her two meat buns, a sweet red bean bun, and a veggie bun. She wanted to savor each bite, but in the cool rain a warm bun was better than a cold one.

Pia leapt the wall for Dedication and entered the kitchen. She decided today was worth breaking into her tea stash. She quickly built a fire and put on a pot to boil tea water. Cutting and stacking wood was her least favorite chore, but on days like this, Pia was glad she forced herself to do it regularly. Dry wood lit quickly and burned with less smoke.

Returning to the main entrance, Pia closed the door shut, wanting to change out of her wet robes. As she crossed to her bedroll, Pia froze. That morning, as all mornings, Pia had neatly folded her blankets and placed them on top of her sleeping mat. Now, sitting atop the stack of blankets, sat a rolled-up scroll, tied with a thin piece of cloth.

Pia froze as her stomach dropped. A heavy sick feeling came over her—the buns feeling as if they might rush back up her throat.

Dropping her sodden robe to the floor Pia picked up the roll with trembling hands. For a moment, she could only stare at it in terror. Her fingers could barely hold the scroll steady to remove the ribbon. It fell loose onto the floor forgotten as she unraveled the paper.

Her eyes scanned the paper over and over and over again. Not a single mark, no cinnabar red ink slashes or comments left. Just her own scratchy handwriting stared back at her. Her heart slammed against her chest with heavy, thudding beats that felt as if they’d break open her ribcage and fall onto the floor.

Her test paper had been returned to her. She’d failed.

Legs numb and weak, Pia collapsed to the ground, staring forward at nothing. Failed. She’d failed. Leaning over, Pia vomited everything she’d eaten, then thick bile that left her stomach and throat raw and aching.

Now what could she do? Stay in Dwelling while Fewl and Conch left? Face the shame of the entire village knowing she’d failed? Just thinking of that had her gagging again.

Pia could see it clearly in her mind.

The old ladies who sat out in town, drinking tea and gossiping.

“We always knew the orphan wouldn’t measure up. Bad blood begets bad talent. Nothing good comes from abandoned children. Unwanted children are unwanted for a reason. No good parents abandon their children.” It would go on and on, growing worse as time went on, becoming exaggerated and fanciful as the tongues wagged and the ears listened.

That would all she’d ever be. An orphan. A burden. A parasite to society. At best she’d get looks of pity, at worst sneers of mockery. Pia’s skin shivered just imagining it.