“What’s that?” I asked.
“It’s the art of getting what you want.” She wrapped her scarf tight around her shoulder. “You have something that is very valuable. No one else has what you have. So, if you are wise, you can get whatever you want.”
“I want my freedom.”
“You will get your freedom, one day.”
“I want my father’s freedom and my people’s freedom, too.”
“You can get that.”
“How?” I asked. It was unusual for Lara to speak this much. Would she keep talking? Please keep talking.
“There are two things to remember when you are about to negotiate. First, if you want something, you must ask for it. You rarely get what you don’t ask for. Second, you must always include something that you’re willing to give up. That makes the buyer feel like he’s won.”
A sudden gust of wind pushed across the beach. It caught an edge of Lara’s scarf and for a moment, she was revealed. I gasped. Some sort of creature had eaten her face. The tip of her nose was gone, as were chunks of her chin. Her lips were blackened and covered in sores.
Shame widened her eyes and she grabbed the scarf. I remembered the moment when I’d realized Owen had seen my foot. How I couldn’t bear his pity and disgust. But a disfigured face was a far worse plight for a woman than a disfigured foot. This was why she lived in this lonely place where no one would stare or cry in horror. “Don’t go,” I called as she hurried away. “I don’t care about your face.”
Though she wore no chain around her waist, she was as much a prisoner on this beach as I.
“I’m sorry,” I said when Lara appeared the next day. “I’m sorry I looked at you. I know you didn’t want me to. Please forgive me.” Her walk was slower than normal and she stumbled a few times. The sea plants hadn’t been chopped and there was no fish. But the water jug was full. Leaning on the boulder, she coughed, gasping for breath. “I can help you,” I told her. It wasn’t a lie. “If you’ll unchain me, I’ll hurry to the nearest town and get a surgeon.”
She coughed again. “No surgeon will help a leper.”
Leper? My mind raced to the top of the cliff, to the skull that sat atop the little sign. The word painted on the sign must have been Leper.
It was a word that turned even the bravest man into a trembling coward. Lepers who wandered into villages were to be burned. That was the law. I’d never seen one but I’d heard stories.
“But you need medicine.”
“There is no medicine for me.” She stared at the stone graves. Then she stumbled away.
“Lara!”
Just as I feared, no food or water was delivered the next morning. Standing at the base of the cliff, I screamed for help. The sea wind caught my cries like a gull catching fish, carrying them far away. Something had happened to Lara. She was too sick to tend to me. Or worse, she’d died. Without Lara’s food I’d die too, if Peddler didn’t return. I set clam shells around the hut. If rain came, it would collect in the hollow bowls.
A day passed. No rain fell.
My throat burning with thirst, I stumbled to the salty shallows. While days of hunger were well known in the Flatlands, never were we without water. In the hot summer months when the wells ran dry, we simply drank from the river. I knelt at the sea’s edge, waiting for the next wave to fill my cupped hands. Then I took a gulp.
The salt water raged down my throat like poison. I vomited.
When the sun trickled through the hut the next morning, I rushed outside, hoping to find Lara standing down the beach. Though she was nowhere to be seen, a new basket sat on the log. No food lay inside. But she’d delivered something better.
A key.
My hands trembling, I dropped the key a dozen times before it finally slipped into the lock, releasing its iron grip with a quiet click. The chain immediately loosened and fell to the sand. I felt so light I thought I might float away. I grabbed the padlock and threw it into the ocean.
There was no time to waste. Though freedom had been delivered, Peddler could appear at any moment. I grabbed my cloak and started up the trail. But halfway up, dizziness washed over me. My prison lay below. Escape had been what I most craved, but something tugged at me. There was only one reason why Lara would give me my freedom—only one reason why she’d betray her father.
She knew she was going to die.
The decision didn’t come easily. Freedom tasted sweeter than anything, even chocolate. But I imagined Lara, with no one to hear her last words. I’d feared I would die alone on that beach, and that thought had terrified me.
I’d long wondered where Lara lived. My question was answered as I rounded the bluff where a cave cut into the towering cliff. Lara’s fishing net hung from a tree that jutted from the embankment. Two jugs sat next to a steady trickle of fresh water that snaked down the cliff. I threw myself at the water, filling my cupped hands and drinking until I could drink no more.
“Lara,” I called. No reply came. Slowly, knowing what I’d find but hoping not, I entered the cave. Morning light flooded the interior.
Lara lay crumpled on the cave floor as if she’d been washed ashore. Her scarf lay at her side. Her mangled face was turned up. I knelt beside her. The blueness of her skin told me that she was long gone. Her last act had been to deliver me my freedom.
I wept for my captor. I wept for the woman who’d been ravaged by disease. Who’d died alone in the silence of that place. Who’d served her father as all daughters were taught to do. I think I was weeping for myself, as well. All that I’d lost came rushing back. My parents. My village. My love.
Something glittered in the corner of the cave. The burlap sack Peddler had brought on his last visit lay open. A necklace with bright blue beads peeked out. A white dress, a pair of dainty boots, handkerchiefs, undergarments, and a bonnet lay inside. More gifts lay in the corner of the cave—dresses, combs, ribbons, hairpins. Beautiful things to help a girl feel beautiful. This is where Peddler had hidden his daughter to keep her safe. Was this why he wanted to be rich? So he could hide her in a better place?
At any moment, I expected Peddler to rush into the cave, grab me, and wrap another chain around my waist. The urge to flee was overwhelming. But in our village, even murderers and thieves were granted the right of burial. And if anyone found this cave, they’d take all of Lara’s treasures—the only things she had.
I didn’t move her, fearful of the disease. I covered her face with a new scarf, then set all her treasures around her—save for a few things I needed from the burlap bag. The nightfrock I’d worn since being kidnapped was torn and ragged. The white dress fit well, as did the soft boots. I used the handkerchiefs to cradle my curled foot. Lastly came the bonnet, which was loose enough to hide all my hair.
I piled beach rocks around and over Lara’s body and her treasures. The grave would do for a while. Hopefully Peddler would return and bury her with a proper gravestone. I’d done my best.
I decided not to take the steep path. Knowing my luck I’d walk right into Peddler’s gnarled hands. So I said a final good-bye to Lara—a daughter like me, who only wanted to help her father. I would hold no grudge against her for her part in my captivity. I hoped the Thief of Sleep had found her and was escorting her to the hereafter, where her body would heal. With the cliff on my left, the sea to my right, I headed down the beach.
I soon passed two more signs painted with the same word, each guarded by a human skull. Leper. I didn’t expect to find a village or even a house nearby. Peddler would have chosen this place for its seclusion.
While I wanted desperately to return to Wander and make chocolate for the Oaks, I knew the only way to free my father and my people was to find someone powerful, someone who could talk to the king on my behalf. My plan was this—to get myself to the Baroness of Salt. I possessed what she wanted, so therefore I’d be able to negotiate for what I wanted. I would make chocolate for her if she bought my father’s freedom, my people’s freedom—and if she found Ped
dler. All those days and nights imagining him swinging at the end of a noose for what he’d done to Owen, for what he’d done to me, and it turned out he’d only been trying to make his daughter’s life better.
But he’d killed Owen, and for that, he’d earned my eternal hatred.
As I walked into the late afternoon, I came to a place where the cliffs gradually dipped down to meet the beach, stretching into a field of tall grasses. My stomach clenched with hunger and my right leg throbbed, but I didn’t stop to rest. Freedom was a powerful force, as if hands were pushing me from behind. A ship sailed in the distance, its three sails looking like clouds that had been captured and tied to posts. When the ship turned toward the shore, I smiled hopefully. Maybe there was a town nearby.
I froze at the sound of shouts in the distance. A man with a knit cap pulled over his ears was running through the field, followed by two more men—soldiers. I dropped to my stomach, peering over a tuft of grass. They looked exactly like the soldiers who had come to the Flatlands, with their white swan crests and yellow tunics. “Stop in the name of King Elmer,” the lead soldier cried.
I felt sorry for the man they were chasing. The poor guy looked terrified, his legs pumping wildly as he tried to outrun them. But they were gaining fast. I pressed close to the ground, my heart pounding. The last thing I needed was to be caught by soldiers. I’d stay right there, wouldn’t move an inch until they’d passed by.
But suddenly the man turned toward me. Go the other way! I wanted to scream. His face clenched, his arms swinging, he stumbled. The lead soldier reached out and grabbed the man by his hat, pulling it off just before the man ducked out of reach. A mass of red hair tumbled free, falling to the man’s shoulders.
My heart nearly stopped beating. As the soldier unsheathed his sword, the red-haired man stumbled again. He was going to die. The soldier clutched the sword in both hands, raised it above his head. I cupped my hands around my mouth. “Griffin! Watch out!”
Griffin Boar darted just as the blade swooshed through the air, missing his shoulder by mere inches. Then he spun around, kicked out his leg, and tripped the soldier. The sword flew from the soldier’s hands. Griffin grabbed it and, with a swift motion, plunged the sword into the soldier’s chest. I grimaced as Griffin pulled the sword free, its blade glistening with blood. The soldier lay motionless.
The other soldier, slower and fatter than his dead friend, stopped in his tracks. He held his sword but did not approach. His gaze darted fearfully from Griffin to the blood-streaked sword. Then, with a whimper, he turned and ran in the opposite direction. I sighed with relief. It was over. But Griffin, who’d seemed so desperate to escape these men, followed, and when he caught up to the second soldier, he took him down with a slice to the man’s neck.
I nearly vomited, closing my eyes against the horror of the spraying blood.
“Emmeline?” I looked up from my hiding place in the grass. Griffin Boar stood over me, breathing like a man who’d outrun death. “What are you doing here?”
PART SIX
Soldier
Chapter Twenty-eight
For the second time that day, I found myself making a grave—this time for two bodies.
We dragged the bodies into the woods beyond the field. Before digging the shallow pit with pieces of driftwood, Griffin stripped the soldiers down to their undergarments. Then he hurriedly removed his own clothes—the same ones he’d worn at the husband market. They were supposed to have been his wedding day clothes. Now they were torn and stained with filth. That day at the market felt like a lifetime ago.
I had a million questions for him. “Griffin—”
“Not now. There’s no time.”
Kneeling next to me, he smelled like sweat, the sour kind that comes from fear. Rummaging through the pile of soldiers’ belongings, he picked out usable pieces. One of the soldiers was tall like Griffin, so he pulled on that soldier’s pants. They were made of some sort of animal hide that had been pounded soft and thin. Both of the soldiers’ jackets were stained with blood so Griffin threw them into the grave, keeping one of the scabbards and one of the swords. The second soldier’s tunic was still mostly clean so Griffin put it on. After searching through all pockets and finding a single coin and a purse, which he hung around his neck, he dumped the rest of their belongings into the grave.
The soldiers had been young men. I tried not to think of their families, tried not to imagine their mothers or sisters as we rolled them, side by side, into their final resting place. We didn’t speak, the horror of the moment slithering around us. I looked away as dirt fell onto their faces, into their open mouths. Did they have wives? Children? Girls who were waiting?
“Griffin,” I tried again.
“Not now,” he said gruffly.
Once everything was covered with soil, he replanted the upturned ferns and tossed leaves and branches around to hide the grave.
We washed our hands at the beach. He crouched at the water’s edge and scrubbed the sword’s blade with sand until the blood disappeared.
“Griffin,” I said, drying my hands on my dress, once clean and white, now stained with forest dirt. “I won’t be quiet any longer. I want you to answer my questions and I want you to answer them now.” I could barely believe I was demanding something of Griffin Boar. But I wasn’t the same girl I’d been. I wouldn’t accept silence when there was so much at stake.
A chill spread through the air as the sun lowered on the horizon. Griffin slid the sword into its scabbard. Standing with his hands on his hips, he’d transformed himself into a soldier of the realm. The only thing that would give him away was his Flatlander hair. He stared out over the water, ignoring me.
“How did you get here?” I asked, stepping in front of him. “You’re supposed to be fighting in the mineral fields.”
“I escaped,” he said, still looking past me like he always did. Then he strode back to the field and grabbed the knit hat that had been yanked from his head. He pulled it over his hair, tucking the ends beneath.
“You mean you deserted?” I asked, catching up to him.
“Something like that.”
“What about my father? Where is he?”
“He’s still there,” he grumbled.
“He’s alive?”
“He was when I left. Look, Emmeline, it’s not safe out here. I need to hide for a while. Where are you staying?”
“Nowhere,” I said. “I have nowhere to stay.”
His gaze drifted to the marks on my wrists. Though the wounds had healed since the days in Peddler’s wagon, two thick red scars remained. “Who did that to you?”
“A man,” I said. “A dangerous man.”
“Is he looking for you?” he asked, still staring at the scars.
“He will be,” I said. “When he finds out I’ve escaped.”
“Did you steal that dress and bonnet?”
“No. Not exactly.”
For the first time since our bloody reunion, Griffin looked me in the eyes. His were green, like mine, and ringed with thick red lashes. I could practically hear his thoughts. I should leave her here. She’s got someone after her. I imagined myself curled up in the woods, sleeping beneath a shrub or hidden in the corner of someone’s barn. I wouldn’t get a wink of sleep, thinking each sound was Peddler coming to get me. I’d definitely feel safer with Griffin by my side.
“We’re both in trouble,” I said quietly. “You’re a deserter and I’m …” It wasn’t the right time to tell him about the chocolate. Besides, I didn’t trust him. Not in that way. We shared the same ancestors, the same homeland, traditions, and red hair, but nothing more. He’d always treated me like the unnatural, unwanted girl. What would keep him, once he learned the truth, from selling me to the highest bidder? “I left the Flatlands and you deserted the king’s army. We’ve both broken the law.”
He turned and started across the field.
“Where are you going?” I called.
“To find a place to spen
d the night.”
I did my best to keep up with his hurried steps. His stride was long and determined. “Griffin,” I called. “Tell me about—”
He whipped around and pointed a finger at me. “Don’t speak my name! Not out here. Not ever again.” Then his hand dropped to his side. For a moment, his face softened. “Look, Emmeline, we need to get someplace safe for the night. There’s a village nearby. This uniform should open some doors.”
He’d said “we.” He wasn’t going to leave me out there alone. It was perhaps one of the most surprising things that had happened. Griffin Boar was being nice to me. Maybe I shouldn’t have been shocked. We’d become two totally different people. Griffin, who’d spent his life working the land, wielding nothing more dangerous than a rake and hoe, had killed two soldiers. And me, well, I’d caused a boy’s death—the boy I loved. We were forever changed.
Not far into our walk, the field ended at the edge of a bay where the ocean water left its powerful currents behind and turned gentle. The sailing ship I’d seen in the distance had tied up at one of the many docks that jutted from the shore. Smaller boats lined the other docks. Villagers hauled baskets and barrels, ropes and nets. “Come on,” Griffin said.
“My hair,” I asked, tightening my bonnet. “Is it hidden?”
He glanced at me. “Aye. Mine?”
“Aye,” I said.
“Say nothing,” he warned. “Just follow my lead.”
A pebbled road ran the length of the bay. Wooden buildings, two and three stories tall, lined one side, the docks lined the other. Griffin’s stride changed. He slowed down, puffed out his chest, held out his chin. I was happy for the slower pace, but watched nervously from the corner of my eye as we passed the first dock. Would he be able to fool everyone? What if we ran into other soldiers? Murdering two soldiers of the realm was treason and would be punished by death, but I’d helped hide the evidence so I was equally guilty. Maybe I shouldn’t have stayed with him. But since he was the only person who could tell me about my father, the risk was worth it.
The Sweetest Spell Page 14