by CJ Brightley
I clasped and unclasped my hands, not sure what to say.
Hurik must have noticed the smears of caramel clinging to his nails, because he started scraping them off with his teeth. “Of course, you courted Derrim,” he said. “So your taste in guys might be terrible.”
“He’s not like Derrim,” I said. “I’m sure he’s not like Derrim. But . . . what if he’s like Jontan?”
“Jontan’s not a gossip,” Hurik slurped. “He’d be trustworthy.”
“Not with some secrets,” I said quietly.
Hurik shrugged.
I took a deep breath. “Hurik . . . do you want to know what my secret is?”
“Nope,” he said.
I let out the breath explosively. “What?!”
“I don’t want other people’s secrets.” Hurik made a face. “That’s just a burden. It’s like being volunteered to keep your mouth shut. No, thanks.”
I felt kind of angry. I felt . . . rejected. How dare he?
“Besides,” Hurik said, gnawing caramel off his thumbnail, “if you really wanna trust somebody, you should go with somebody who ought to know, not somebody who doesn’t even want to.”
I breathed out slowly. He was right. He was right, of course. Unfortunately. Because if it might make Genn change his mind about marrying me . . .
I squeezed my eyes shut.
Because if it might make him change his mind . . .
I dug my fingernails into the cushion underneath me.
Because if it might make him change his mind . . .
Well, then it was all the more reason I needed to tell him.
15
Really, it was quite amazing how much you could do to procrastinate visiting somebody.
For instance, household chores were usually unappealing, but when you have an unpleasant conversation stretching ahead of you, volunteering to scrub the soot from the kitchen fireplace could take several delightful hours to delay it.
Weeding my garden seemed an urgent task, too. I mean, I had a bare patch sitting right in the middle right now. Even after I siphoned off my magic for the day, there were barely even shoots of groverweed, and very little could be done about the filias my sister had almost entirely stripped out of it. I sighed. After the awkwardness yesterday, I really didn’t want to ask Jontan for some of his, but I probably was going to have to anyway.
No, no. I put that out of my mind. Only one unpleasant conversation per day. Besides, there was a hint of slipgrass in my thayflowers, and one of my adly vines needed trimming. That was plenty to do for now, right?
Except . . . those didn’t take long, and I soon stared around in exasperation. Why had I kept up with my weeding all season? Hadn’t I realized I would need to use it for an excuse later?
I looked around for something else to do, and my eyes fell on a spiky silverbush somewhat in the distance. Aha! Yaika’s garden!
Armed with a spade and clippers, I headed out of my gate, squeaked it back into place, and skipped towards Yaika’s fence. She spent far more time painting intricate designs on the inside and outside of that polished wood than she ever spent pulling up weeds. Her gate didn’t squeak, either. I wonder what she’d used to make the hinges work so smoothly.
Standing in the center, in the bare-dirt part she used for dyeing, I felt a thrill of trespassing. Yaika would kill me if she saw me here. But then again, she was the one who’d gone into my garden and cut practically all of my filias yesterday, so she really had no leg to stand on.
Her silverbush held out its green limbs far into the spindly ulla tree beside it, so I trimmed back the offending branches. Her burra patch was way too crammed, so I pulled out the weakest stems. I was just starting on removing slipgrass from her tonna berry shoots when I heard someone yelp.
I turned around to find my sister standing at her gate, wearing her oldest, most frayed shift, a bundle of grey fabric and dyeing equipment tucked under her arm.
“What are you doing?!” Yaika asked in horror.
“Removing slipgrass from your tonna berry shoots,” I said unapologetically.
“I want the slipgrass! The tonna berry shoots are the weeds!”
I looked down, my brow furrowed. “Why would you want slipgrass when you could have tonna berries?”
“Because they’re full of thorns, and slipgrass is useful for yellow, and I don’t need berries,” Yaika said hotly. “Mother already grows plenty of them! That’s why her plants are always sneaking shoots onto my side of the fence!”
Oh. I looked down. Okay, maybe I had gone a little overboard there.
“And you cut my silverbush?!” Yaika yelped. “The sap’s only glittery when it’s fresh! Otherwise, it just turns things grey! Now I’m going to have to dye things silver all day!”
I straightened, trying to maintain my dignity. “Well, you’re the one who got into my garden yesterday —”
“Out!” Yaika cried.
I trudged back down the dirt path towards the house, and nearly bumped into Grandmother on my way past Mother’s garden. She was pushing a heavy wheelbarrow, loaded down with plants with straggly roots. The wheel hit a small bump, and one fell out.
“Here you go,” I said helpfully, picking it up and putting it back.
“Thank you, Raneh,” Grandmother said, still trundling along.
“Do you need help?” I asked hopefully, trailing after her. “What are you doing?”
“Filling Hurik’s garden with something useful,” Grandmother said. “I’ve been telling that son of mine for years that I should have an herb garden of my own, and he keeps insisting Hurik needs to learn to work outside by having his own space. Now the boy’s gone for a few weeks, and we have company coming, and I’m going to take advantage of it.”
“Do any of those plants send runners under fences?” Yaika asked warily as we passed her gate. Hurik’s gardening space was between hers and mine.
“No,” Grandmother said.
“Do you need help?” I asked again, eagerly. “I could help you plant them, or — oh! — do you have a watering can? I could water the roots —”
“Thank you, but I’m fine.” Grandmother stopped outside of Hurik’s falling-down fence, and propped the metal bars of the gate open with the wheelbarrow.
“Are you sure?” I said desperately. “I mean, the whole space is full of weeds. I could help you pull them . . .”
Grandmother reached down and pulled a sharpened shovel from the compartment beside the barrow. “No, thanks. I’ll just be turning the earth over, weeds and all. It won’t take long.”
“But . . . but . . .” I protested.
Grandmother smiled. “Why don’t you just do whatever you’re procrastinating?” she asked shrewdly.
Busted.
“O-okay,” I said, swallowing. “I’ll just . . . do that.”
I headed back to the house, wishing desperately that I could think of something else to do first. Nobody else came up the dirt path to distract me.
Inside the house, I peeked into Grandfather and Grandmother’s room in case Grandfather needed me, but he was scratching away with a pen, referring to several papers in front of him, so he didn’t look interruptible.
As I headed up the stairs, slowly, I heard Lala’s door open. I perked up, spinning around, to see her emerge in a crimson and pink shift that I rather thought had been made from two of my old underskirts.
“Lala!” I cried hopefully. “Do you need my help with anything?”
Lala squinted up the stairs at me. “No,” she said. “You don’t have magic. You can’t help with my chores.”
I bit my tongue, because it was almost, sort of tempting to correct her. But I wasn’t stupid enough to just spill the beans to anyone in reach. Especially somebody as untrustworthy as Lala. She gossiped with her friends about us all the time.
“R-right,” I said, my heart pounding so loudly, I could hear it. “I’m just . . . uh . . . I’m going to visit Genn.”
I waited for her to ask me to st
ay.
“Okay,” Lala said. “Have fun.”
Gaaahhhhhh . . .
I turned around and headed slowly back up the stairs. As I reached the landing, I heard the front door slam behind me. When I turned around, she was gone.
Why won’t anyone stop me? I moaned silently. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to do this. Now’s the perfect time to stop me. I’ll do anything else at all!
But nobody came to stop me as I slowly changed into a dark orange bodice and matching outer skirts, a combination that normally cheered me up, but today did nothing to lift my gloom.
Nobody stopped me as I brushed my hair and pulled it into the usual tight bun at the back of my neck, or when I dithered over placement for our family signature. I considered going out to pluck new plants, but reluctantly decided that the signature I’d worn yesterday was still too fresh for that to make a valid excuse.
Nobody stopped me as I headed down the dirt path towards our road.
Nobody stopped me as I kept on going, past the carriage tracks my parents had left in the mud from the dew at dawn, beyond the edge of our land, and onto the main road.
Nobody stopped me as I turned the opposite direction, away from the market my parents were at far down the road, and toward the Weedless land. Sweat collected at the back of my neck, and I wished my parents hadn’t taken the carriage. Genn lived just far enough away to be really inconvenient to visit on foot. It took nearly an hour to walk it. Surely that could have been a good enough excuse to wait until tomorrow instead?
And yet, nobody stopped me.
16
“Hello, Raneh,” Genn said, opening the door and squinting out at the bright sunlight at me. “Uh, what are you doing here?”
“Coming to see you,” I said, trying to smile flirtatiously. It felt awkward. I felt like an idiot.
“Oh,” Genn said. “Won’t you . . . come in?”
“Yes,” I said, shoving past him to get into the shade. I bolted down the hallway and made a right turn without stopping, skidding straight into the kitchen. I flung open cupboard door after cupboard door, hunting for a water pitcher. The last time I’d been here, it had been for the art exhibition, so I had no idea where he kept things.
“Uhhhh . . .” Genn said, from the doorway of the kitchen. “What are you looking for?”
“Water! Where do you keep it?!”
“Uh . . . we have rain barrels outside. The well is kind of a walk away, so we usually don’t go that far unless it’s really dry —”
I snatched a cup from the cupboard in front of me, shoved down the latch of the kitchen door, and ducked back out into the blazing sun. I passed a row of empty barrels that gaped open, and I fumbled for the lid of a full one. Once I got the lid off, I dunked my cup into the water and gulped it down.
Genn poked his head out of the back doorway, squinting in the bright sunlight. “I take it you were thirsty?”
“Yes,” I gasped, thrusting my cup back into the barrel. “I walked all the way here.”
“Why didn’t you take your family’s carriage?” Genn asked, shielding his eyes with his hand.
“Really, really stupid,” I said, glugging my next cup of water. It was lukewarm and tasted horrible, but I shoved my cup back down into the barrel anyway.
“Right,” Genn said, rubbing his neck. “Um . . . you realize I could get a bucket and bring water inside, don’t you?”
“Take too long,” I said, gulping my fourth cupful. It tasted rather strongly of wood. I wasn’t sure how long it had been stored in that barrel, but it definitely wasn’t from last night’s rain. Tepid and wood-tasting. He definitely needed a closer well.
“It’s really hot out here,” Genn hinted. “Maybe if I just . . .”
“I’ve noticed the heat,” I snorted. I gulped my next cupful. “This stuff tastes horrible.”
Genn rubbed his arm. “Can I, uh . . . wait inside, then?”
“Just point me in the direction of your latrine before you go.”
Slowly, looking at me like I had two heads or something, Genn pointed off to the left, where a semi-shaded area with portable walls was hidden partially behind a tree.
“Perfect,” I said. “Thanks.”
Still staring at me like I was a stranger, Genn backed slowly back into the house through the kitchen door.
I dunked my cup down again, barely noticing or caring.
By the time I had finally drunk enough, my stomach sloshed as I walked to the latrine. By the time I headed back to the house, I was cringing as I thought of my behavior.
I knocked on the solid wooden kitchen door gingerly, wondering whether Genn would even let me back in. Thankfully, he flung it open on the first knock.
“Can I come back in?” I asked sheepishly.
Genn nodded.
I ducked under his arm as he held the door open, and breathed a sigh of relief at the relative cool of the kitchen shade. As he shut the door, the room darkened until I could barely see.
“So,” he said, clearing his throat, “you were thirsty.”
“It was overcast when I left, so everything seemed fine at first. Then the sun came out,” I said mournfully.
Genn looked fairly amused. “Perhaps you might have considered that it’s the hottest time of the year, and midday.”
“It wasn’t this bad yesterday!” I cried. “The weather was perfect yesterday! Everything’s always perfect when it’s convenient for Yaika!”
Genn started laughing. “I can’t believe you actually walked all this way.”
“Yeah. So. Um.” I cleared my throat. “I actually . . . um . . . had a reason for coming.”
Genn tensed up. “What?” he asked warily.
I was suddenly extremely nervous. “Are you the only one at home?” I demanded. I looked over my shoulder in case of eavesdroppers. I didn’t know the other two people who lived here well enough to trust them with my secret.
“Lilla’s in her room back there. I think Dakk’s visiting some friend or another. Why would anybody want to drink rotten fruit, anyway?” Genn burst out. “It just makes him stupid for the rest of the day. And his breath reeks. It’s beyond me!”
I laughed. Good judgment wasn’t something that a landowner could afford to compromise, so we had never had that stuff in our house. But I had heard there were some vassals on our land who made it. It was beyond me, too.
“So can we speak . . . privately?” I asked, swallowing. “You know, so nobody else can hear what we’re saying?”
“I don’t think Lilla would eavesdrop,” Genn said. “Honestly, I doubt she’s even noticed you’re here. When she gets absorbed in calculations, she ignores everything.”
“And she’s doing that now?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Genn said. “She always does the budgeting at this time of day. It’s really annoying, actually.” His lips quirked upwards, as if it didn’t really bother him at all. “If she forgets to eat, we have to remind her. And that’s most days.”
I laughed. “Do you have a good cook?”
“No,” Genn said mournfully. “We’re all terrible.” He brightened. “I don’t suppose you’re good at cooking?”
“I’m passable,” I said warily. “But I wouldn’t want to be the only one who did it.”
Genn sighed.
“Okay,” I said, screwing up my courage. I wanted to get this over with before I lost my nerve. “Genn, I, uh . . . I have a pretty big secret.”
Genn waited.
I swallowed. “I have magic.”
Genn stared at me.
“I didn’t take the oath of magic,” I said hastily. “I didn’t ask for it. I want to be a landowner, just like you do. I — I don’t know how it happened. It’s just constantly there.”
Genn rubbed his ear, looking confused. “But isn’t that against the law or something?”
“Yes,” I said aggressively. I couldn’t believe he didn’t know that. “That’s why I’ve never told anybody before. I don’t want to get t
he death penalty.”
Genn’s jaw dropped. “Death penalty?”
“Landowners aren’t allowed to learn magic or mathematics,” I said. “It’s very, very strict. You do know that, don’t you?”
“Well, yeah, I knew that,” Genn said, looking baffled. “But that’s the punishment? Really? I thought it was just being stripped of all status or something.”
“I wish,” I said uncomfortably. “That would be bad enough.”
“Well, then I definitely won’t tell anybody,” Genn vowed.
I breathed out a sigh of relief.
“So . . . what are you planning to do?” Genn asked cautiously. “I mean . . . does this mean you don’t want to get married?”
“No,” I said immediately. “Of course not! Once I take the oath of the land, I’ll have to renounce magic, and that should take care of it! That’s what I want! But I don’t know for certain, and I realized it might make you change your mind, because it might be dangerous, and it’s wrong to keep secrets from the person you’re going to marry, so even if we aren’t engaged officially . . .”
I drew in a deep breath, twisting my hands in my skirts nervously.
“Secrets aren’t always bad,” Genn said cautiously. “I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d wanted to keep this one. I mean, especially since it’s probably not going to be a factor anyway.”
“No,” I said. “I had to tell you. It was absolutely necessary.”
Genn looked very uncomfortable. “No, you didn’t. I mean, thanks for telling me, but as for it being necessary . . .”
I was starting to get upset. I clenched my fists in my skirts, trying to quell their shaking. A pinch of magic rose up, trying to escape. I clamped down hard, and it subsided again.
“No,” I said, keeping my voice as level as possible. “Not telling you would have been lying by omission. And any kind of lying in a marriage is not okay.”
Do not argue with me on this, I thought, glaring at him.
Genn didn’t take the hint. “But there are always circumstances that are private,” he said. “Things that people don’t want to say —”