The cottage sweltered under the blaze of Hadja’s cooking fire, but it couldn’t warm her. She’d ripped the blue cloth from her hair the moment she entered, flopped onto one of the stools and fumed at it, only barely resisting the temptation to toss the thing into the flames. It wouldn’t help Marten, or the town, to rebel against Vane openly.
“Tell me about your mirror, Hadja.”
The woman grunted and continued to grind the herbs she’d chosen. A heavy stone bowl sat on the table, and she twisted and beat at the dried plant matter with a matching pestle. “I see where you’re going there,” she said. “And I agree. It’s not doing me much good in that hole.”
“So it is a piece of the glass around your neck?”
“Problem is,” She answered the question with a dismissive nod, confirming Satina’s suspicions about her appearance shifting abilities. “That I’m not the one who made it work like that.”
“The mirror isn’t ensorcelled?”
“Sure it is, sure. Why else would I drag that heavy thing all the way home.” Now she winked and chuckled silently. Only the rhythmic shaking of her shoulders gave her mirth away. “But we’d have to tweak it to show what we needed, and the only one I know who can do that…”
The cottage door flew open. It banged hard against the wall and bounced back, smacking the outstretched hand of one irate partial-imp. Marten’s expression was enough to make Satina cringe lower on her stool, but the tone of his voice cut even deeper.
“You joined a gang?” His upper lip curled like a pony’s and his eyes glowed yellow without even a pocket to aid them. He pinpointed the kerchief on the table and recoiled as if it were a snake, as if it might strike out at any second. “You joined a gang. Joined them.” He threw up his hands and whirled toward the fire. Two steps in that direction and he spun back around so fast Satina flinched. “Are you mad?”
“Am I mad?” She stood and faced him down. “I’m not the one screaming!” Except of course, now she was. Now, they both were.
“You joined Vane.” He pointed at the kerchief, waved one curled finger in her face in a gesture she couldn’t even guess at. “You, he, gang!” He snarled again, turned back to the fire, and took a broom upside the head. Hadja whacked him with it a second time, and when he opened his mouth to snarl at her she thumped him in the chest with the handle.
“Silence, you!” She threw the broom on the bed and glowered at him. “Shame on you, barging in here, screaming at the girl. Where are your manners?”
“M—manners? Hadja she—”
“Did what she had to.” The old woman balled up her fists. Marten backed closer to the fire. “She saved your ungrateful neck is what she did, and earned us a chance of getting rid of the Starlights to boot. Not sure the one outweighs the other at the moment.” She waved one of her mitts in his direction. “But we owe her either way.”
“What are you saying?” He looked at Satina then, as if she’d somehow poisoned Hadja against him. “What?”
“Do you think your Vane gave her a choice? Do you think he asked her politely and she just joined right up?”
“Hadja.” They spoke as if she weren’t in the room, as if she had no voice of her own. Marten and his mentor stood toe to toe and glared at each other on her behalf. “He’s going to hurt her.”
“And if she hadn’t joined he’d have hurt you.” Hadja tossed back.
His head snapped in Satina’s direction. One brow arched high, and his head tilted. “What was that?”
“His men had orders to go after you if I didn’t cooperate,” she answered for herself and thrust her chin out while she did. He could yell all he wanted, but she had a feeling he’d have done the exact same thing in her shoes.
“I didn’t ask you to protect me.” He didn’t shout it, but he didn’t offer her any quarter either. The chill still held between them.
“Nor I you.” She matched his snarl and stance. Neither of them flinched or looked away, and the cottage temperature continued to rise in more ways than one.
Hadja intervened. She sidled between them and put up her hands, one facing each combatant. “Pagh. There’s no time for this now.” She fixed a glare on Marten, and then one for Satina for good measure. “What’s done’s done. Now we have to sort out the next bit.”
“Agreed.” Satina stood up tall and nodded. “We need to plan.”
“After,” Hadja’s finger swiveled in her direction. “After supper. Marten will stoke that fire, and you’ll got out back and fetch me some water.”
Arguing with her never seemed to be an option. Satina felt like a child again, scolded for skipping too wildly through the rows of rolled skin and paper. She sensed as well, that she was being dismissed, that Hadja had more words for Marten alone. She just couldn’t decide if the woman meant to chastise him further, or if she had some secret for him, some information that would be too dangerous to share with a Starlight.
Her stomach knotted and she turned to the door, dragging her feet in hopes of catching at least a few words.
“Don’t forget the bucket, dear.” Hadja thrust the wooden vessel into her hands and placed one hand at the small of her back. She ushered her out the door and shut it with nothing more than a quick smile.
Drat. Satina moved off quickly, afraid to linger now in case Hadja had guessed at her plan. She trudged around the little house, swinging the bucket as she went. The moon already waned visibly, but the pump still gleamed in a fair swath of light. It cast a dark shadow across the lawn, and as Satina approached it, a large part of it shifted position.
She squeaked and dropped the bucket.
“It’s me.” the shadow spoke with Maera’s voice. “I’m sorry.”
“Maera, oh. You scared me to death.”
“I’ll go.” The shadow shuffled away toward the long grasses ringing the cottage.
“It’s fine.” She bent and snatched up the bucket again. “Come on back.” Had the blacksmith put another bruise on the girl? She needed her in the moonlight to be certain. Something had Maera scared, if she was hiding by the well at this hour. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“No. I’m fine, really. I just wanted a quiet spot.” Maera slunk into the grasses before she could argue. They closed around her, but waved in a line as the girl wandered back toward her father’s shed.
Satina frowned after her. She needed to help the girl, not to woo Vane, but to escape or cope or somehow free herself from whatever she found so terrifying at home. Maybe once the gang was gone, should they pull off that miracle, she’d be free to focus on Maera. With Vane out of the picture, perhaps, the girl would be able to see things more clearly.
She filled the bucket and returned as quickly as possible without sloshing. The cottage door stood ajar, and Marten ducked out as she came around the front of the house. He looked at her, but his face remained blank. Only his eyes flashed in the moonlight before he walked away, down the herb path and into the night.
Hadja’s head poked out from the doorway. She found Satina and waved an old hand for her to hurry. When Satina reached the door, the old woman took the water from her. They settled into the nightly routine, Hadja cooking while she tidied, put away the woman’s tools and laid out dishes. Neither of them spoke until the water hung in a pot over the fire, half way toward becoming soup.
“Marten will fix the shards for us.” Hadja squatted by the cauldron and sliced thin bits of onion into the water. “But we’ll be on our own for the rest of it.”
“Probably for the best.” Satina chewed her lip and stacked two bowls on the table. She wiped at a dusty spot and shrugged. Vane would suspect them anyway, if she asked for Marten’s help. He knew she’d only joined to keep the imp out of things, and Marten had already resisted enough to make any sudden interest on his part look shady. “What about the Gentry though?”
“He said he’d try.”
“Well he’s just falling over himself to be helpful, isn’t he?”
“He’ll come through
.” Hadja grunted and her voice turned toward scolding again. “That one’s lived enough hardship in his lifetime. He’s earned a right not to chase after more.”
“I know.” She bit her lip, minded her tongue and tried not to think less of him for it. He’d said it in the pocket, no more than I’m prince charming, but she hadn’t wanted to believe it for a second. She’d wanted him to act the hero, and shame heated her face at the thought. A man was who he was. “I just wish he’d stand up for himself.”
“Maybe, he’s been too busy standing up for others.”
Maybe. She wanted to believe that too, didn’t she? She was supposed to see the best in people. She was the Granter. Then again, according to Marten, that made her a complete idiot. The pressure built in her chest, behind her eyes, and she started for the door, for an escape from the heat of the cottage and the company of her host.
“I’m going to wash up.” She tossed it back over her shoulder as she slipped out, heard Hadja grunt as she shut the door and stumbled toward the weeds. Shelter. Calm. It seemed as good a place to hide as any. She dove into the field like it were water, waded out far enough that the cottage lights didn’t reach and sank to her knees.
Her hands covered her face while she cried as quietly as possible. How had she come to this? A gang member! Ignorant of all that someone with her blood should know! In love with an Imp who… She choked on a sob and dropped her hands. In love? Oh no. No, not already, not with someone who…someone. Someone who thought she was a traitor to her blood.
She tilted her head back and stared at the moon, letting the tears fall freely. The herbs scratched and shifted in the breeze, and somewhere she thought she heard the rustle of another late night wanderer in the patch. Maera hadn’t gone straight home, then. They both sought the comfort of Hadja’s secret garden tonight. They both let the herbs and moonlight nurse their broken hearts, perhaps.
And perhaps, that made her just as foolish, just as wild-eyed and childish as the blacksmith’s misguided daughter. She felt certain at least Marten would agree. The one person in Westwood she couldn’t help, the one person who saw through her goodmother façade and labeled her a fraud. Suddenly the only person, unlikely as it was, that mattered.
Chapter Fourteen
Unlikely Page 14