Untethered

by KayLynn Flanders

“Of course, Grandmother,” I replied, though I had no idea how to find quality food for a good price. We’d need both to make my coin purse stretch all the way to Riiga.

  Tents and carts overflowing with bright fruit, dirt-covered vegetables, and colorful fabric crowded the main road through Cozzare. I helped Yesilia sit as we observed the teeming throng, getting an idea of where people clustered and who people avoided. It was something Yesilia had taught me: how to fit in, how to act like a local. My stomach cramped with hunger—we hadn’t eaten anything since the early morning, when we left a tiny inn.

  “Miss! Miss!” a young man with a dark vest called. He’d been pulling his cart out of the square when he spotted us. “I have fine food here for your dinner! And at such a price!” He held up a handful of beets, stalks still attached. He held the bunch out to me, ignoring Yesilia. “Only four silvers for this bushel, miss.”

  The beets’ color was good. The boy’s dark hair and eyes had probably sold a fair share of his produce. But he was leaving with vegetables still to sell, and he wouldn’t look at Yesilia. “No, thank you.”

  He lowered his deep voice and put a hand on my arm. “I see you drive a hard deal, miss. For you, I could lower the price.”

  I stepped away and shook my head. I helped Yesilia stand, and we moved on, the boy scowling at us.

  “He’d have taken every coin in your purse,” Yesilia whispered. “How did you know not to trust him?” She studied the market as we walked.

  I lifted a shoulder. “He didn’t seem honest.”

  She chuckled and shook her head. “You’ve got a good instinct.”

  “Excuse me, miss,” another voice called out to us. Older, softer. “Would you like to buy this lovely scarf? It’ll keep your grandmother’s hair back nicely in the wind.”

  A woman stood in the shadow of the town’s chandler displaying a scrap of emerald silk. Her table was small and piled high with silks and wools. She had to have seen our dusty hems and boots, our windswept hair. Yet she didn’t look at us like strangers to swindle.

  I wanted food, not a scarf, but something about the woman transfixed me.

  “How much?” I dug into the pouch at my side that held the savings from the past few months of my shopping allowance.

  Her gap-toothed smile widened. “Just one, miss.”

  “You are mistaken, ma’am. This piece of finery is surely worth more.” I pulled out two coins and dropped them into her palm. “Tell me, where would you buy food for a long journey? That cart at the end?” I nodded toward a busy cart whose wares were depleting fast.

  Instead of answering, the woman pulled a crate from under her table and started folding the scarves into it. “A storm is brewing, miss. You two have somewhere to stay?”

  “We’ve only just arrived,” I said with a nervous glance at Yesilia. Had I been wrong to admit that? Yesilia stared down the woman but didn’t comment. She must be more tired than I realized.

  The woman clicked her tongue. “Both inns are full up for the night—my sister runs the nicer one. But if you like, you can stay with me.” She set the crate of folded scarves on the ground as a gust of wind snaked down the worn road. “Can’t have you two staying out in this weather tonight. I’ve a daughter about your age, and you can both sleep in her old room—she’s recently married, you see, and I’ve been low on the company side.”

  She bent over, still packing up. Yesilia shrugged, so I said, “Thank you. We can’t pay much, but—”

  “Nonsense. It’ll be nice having visitors.” She nodded to the cart next to the one I’d pointed to. “If you’ll buy us a bushel of his mixed vegetables—tell him Dora sent you—I’ll make us all dinner.”

  Yesilia agreed to her terms, so I hurried over to the cart. The seller handed me a bundle—bigger and better than what he was selling to those surrounding me. I paid and made it back just as Dora finished packing up her wares.

  “Thank you,” I told her. “I’m Chiara, and this is my grandmother, Yesilia.”

  Dora paused at hearing Yesilia’s name, then shook both our hands. Should I have come up with different names? No one had bothered to ask them before. But this far from Turiana, I didn’t think we would have any issues, especially with our borrowed clothes caked in dust and grime.

  “Pleasure to meet you both. Watch this for me while I put the table in?” She picked up the table and took it into the shop, which smelled like scented wax and tallow.

  “You think we can trust her?” Yesilia whispered. Not doubting, just curious. Like she wanted my opinion.

  I took the scarf and wrapped it around her head, tying a knot on the side and slipping it under her white hair. “Yes, I think we can.”

  Dora returned and placed a small parcel on top of the crate, hefted the load, and gestured for us to follow her.

  “We didn’t mean to make you close up early,” I said, Yesilia’s arm draped through mine. A chill wind lifted my cloak and distant thunder sounded.

  “Nonsense. Everyone will be packing up soon—if not, they’ll find themselves with a soggy load.”

  The clouds still looked distant to me, but we followed Dora obediently as she turned off the main road and into an alley.

  “Is a little rain so bad?” I asked. It rained a lot during autumn at the palace, but nothing that would warrant Dora’s hurried steps. Yesilia’s limp was getting worse. I bit my lip—we still had a long way until Riiga, and then we’d have to make it down the cliffs.

  “A little rain? Hah!” Dora harrumphed. “This is where clouds collide.” She gestured north, away from the clouds I’d been watching all day.

  My brow furrowed, but I looked behind me—something I hadn’t done since leaving the capital city—and saw another assault of black clouds racing our way. My eyes widened and Yesilia’s sparkled.

  “I haven’t seen a rain like this in ages,” she said, delighted.

  We kept to side roads to avoid the crowds pressing to find shelter. Eventually, we ended up back on the main road, but at the edge of the village this time.

  An inn, three stories tall with a stable in the back, had cheery orange flowers in all its window boxes. Dora turned right, and tucked on the other side of the stable, a tiny house peeked out from the surrounding trees.

  I wished Yesilia and I could borrow a horse and ride tomorrow, but it would cost too much, and she would probably fare worse in a saddle than on her feet. I had at least two blisters on each foot. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get my boots back on once I took them off.

  “So many horses for such a small village,” I commented. “Where did they all come from?”

  “We’re the midpoint between the port of Almare and Rialzo—the crossroads to change horses if you’re in a hurry to get to Riiga. Come now.” Dora guided us into her home, and set her crate just inside the door.

  My room at the palace was bigger than this entire house, yet I loved the small space. Every detail was clean and cared for and served a purpose.

  I set the bundle of vegetables on the well-oiled wood table. Dora bustled in next to me, helping Yesilia into a small rocking chair in a corner by the window.

  “Come, child,” Dora said to me. “I’ll show you how to make a stew that will woo any man’s heart.”

  I washed my hands in the basin, more concerned about wooing my own stomach, while Dora stoked the coals in the fireplace. She showed me how to clean and chop the vegetables, which spices to dump in and which to sprinkle. By the time the concoction was bubbling, my stomach was growling in response.

  Yesilia had dozed in the chair, but came to sit with us at the table when the food was ready. Dora placed a bowl in front of me, and I dug in, moaning as the warm, salty broth slid down my throat. She chuckled and set a chunk of bread next to my bowl. Even Yesilia dug into the food like she hadn’t seen a meal in months. I tore off a small piece of bread and tapped
it against the bowl. My grandmother was spry, but we still had so far to go.

  “What brings you two to Cozzare?” Dora asked, ladling a bowl for herself and sitting next to us.

  My ravenous appetite melted away and I stirred my spoon in circles. It had been ten days since Luc had brought his terrible news. Days of my father suffering who knows what.

  “We’re going to meet family,” I said. Part of my family, anyway.

  Now that we were at the midpoint approaching Rialzo, we’d have to be careful and avoid anyone on the trail. Enzo was sure to have sent someone after us.

  If, that is, anyone had even noticed I was missing.

  I shook off the thought. It didn’t matter. The words of the poem echoed in my head, and I patted the pocket of my skirt where Jenna’s book rested. All we needed was to figure out what the clue led to and we’d have the key to my father’s freedom.

  A crash against the small window startled me and I dropped the rest of my bread into my stew. “What—” I looked at the window, expecting shards of glass to cover the counter below it.

  “The rains are here,” Dora said in a low voice.

  And they were. Drops of water pounded with more force than I’d ever seen against the pane, against the entire house. Lightning flashed in the dark sky, thunder booming right after. I shuddered at the thought of sleeping out in this weather.

  Yesilia sat back, her hands clasped over her stomach. “The scarf was worth it,” she muttered so only I could hear.

  I reached across the table and took Dora’s hand in mine. “Thank you for offering us shelter. I had no idea.”

  She chuckled and patted my hand. “I know you had no idea, carina. That’s why I offered.”

  * * *

  I slept well for the first time in months. The little room hidden behind the fireplace had just enough space for a bed that fit Grandmother and me. The rains continued the next morning, but not with the crashing force of the day before.

  “Wonderful, you’re up,” Dora said as Yesilia and I emerged into the main part of the house after fixing our hair as best we could. “Come to the inn and meet my sister. She’s busier than a bee in springtime, but her breakfast is something of a specialty.”

  My stomach growled on cue, and my cheeks heated. We held our cloaks over our heads and dashed into the yard. Boards had been placed to form a walkway between Dora’s door and the inn, so our boots didn’t catch even a spot of mud.

  We went through a back door that led right into the kitchen. Dora waved to a girl about my age working at the long table in the middle of the room. Her shoulders drooped with weariness, but her knife flew over the vegetables around her. She dumped the pile into one of the large pots on the wide stove and smiled at Dora. It was barely a smile, and it dimmed when she noticed us.

  “Taking in more strays?” a woman slightly younger than Dora scolded, hands on her hips.

  Dora kissed her cheek. “Good morning to you, too.” She turned to us. “Lessia, meet Yesilia and Chiara. They needed a bit of shelter from the rains, and you know as well as I that your inn was full to the brim last night.”

  Yesilia held out her hand and shook the innkeeper’s. “We needed a fair portion more than a bit of shelter,” she said with a chuckle. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  I held out my hand in greeting as well, and then Lessia shooed us all to the long table where the girl chopped vegetables.

  “Sit here, and I’ll bring you breakfast.” Lessia went to the fire and pulled a large lid off a black pan, then scooped out a flaky pastry. From a different pot, she dished out a sloppy mess of oatmeal for each of us. She set the trays on the table, topped the oats with berries and a shaker full of dark spices—ones I’d never had on oatmeal—then bustled up a set of stairs and out of the kitchen.

  “Never stops,” Dora muttered.

  I took a bite of the pastry and had to sit back at the flavors bursting on my tongue. Apricot marmalade oozed out of the center onto my fingers. And the oats—I hadn’t known oats could taste like this.

  “Dora, what—”

  Horrendous coughing started in a room off the kitchen, loud and deep and rattling. The girl peeling potatoes froze and her hands trembled.

  Yesilia brushed crumbs off her dress. “A body shouldn’t make such noises,” she said.

  Dora worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “It’s Aleksa’s sister,” she said quietly with a nod to the girl, who was peeling much slower now. “Found them both on the street three days ago. I talked Lessia into keeping them here, but the sister is fiercely ill.” Her voice dropped even further until I could barely hear it over the coughing. “I’m not sure if…”

  Aleksa’s knife froze again. “She will make it.” Aleksa spoke softly but firmly. Her accent…I finally marked her dark hair and fair skin. She was too dark to be Hálendian, too fair to be Turian. Did Enzo know there were Riigans this far north?

  I expected Yesilia to question the girl about why she was here, but she only said, “I’m a decent healer. Let me look to your sister and I’ll see if I can put her to rights.”

  But…my father. We needed to continue on. The rains would let up soon, and even if they didn’t, surely we could find some way to make progress.

  The girl’s knife clattered to the table and she shot a panicked glance to Dora. “I don’t have anything to pay you with,” she whispered, staring down at the peelings.

  “Did I ask for money?” Yesilia said, raising a brow. “The potatoes will keep. Come show me your sister and tell me what happened.”

  Aleksa wiped her hands on her apron and led us to the room off the kitchen. I took the last bite of my pastry and followed. Yesilia was talented—maybe we wouldn’t have to stay long.

  There were only two candles in the room, but illness dampened what little light they gave. The window was cracked open, letting cool, fresh air into the room. A bundle covered in blankets on the bed groaned and rattled with cough.

  Yesilia pulled the covers back, revealing a small girl near Mari’s age with flushed cheeks. She had lighter hair than Aleksa, the same fair skin. Her chest sank with each cough.

  This was no simple illness.

  “How long has she been like this?” Yesilia asked, pressing her fingers against the girl’s throat and stomach, then feeling her forehead and feet.

  Aleksa stared at her sister, then shook herself. “The cough started two weeks ago,” she said, twisting her apron in her hands. “We worked for the baker in town.” Dora spat over her shoulder at the mention and I jumped. “When Ilma got worse, he tossed us into the street. Said it was cheaper than buying medicine or burying her,” she finished, her voice barely a whisper, like if she spoke softly enough we wouldn’t hear her accent.

  Yesilia grumbled under her breath, but I couldn’t stay quiet. “Why would he do such an awful thing?”

  Aleksa stared at me. “We’re Riigan, that’s why.”

  Like Koranth. Sennor. Like the men who’d probably attacked my father.

  I expected the usual anger to swell when anyone mentioned Riiga. But a different burning started in my chest. These sisters had nothing to do with mages or ambassadors or my father. “You shouldn’t be treated like that.”

  Aleksa folded her arms and glared at me. “Most of your people don’t agree.”

  Yesilia clicked her tongue. “Are we arguing, or are we helping your sister?”

  All the fight in Aleksa immediately dropped away. “What can I do?”

  Yesilia wrote a list of herbs on a scrap of paper Dora brought her. “Get these from the herbary. And hot water for tea and cold water for rags.”

  Aleksa scurried out, with Dora not far behind, consulting on where the herbs could be found.

  “Can you help her?” I asked, desperate to do something, to prove that we weren’t all like the baker. Trying—and not quite
succeeding—to push away the need to continue south.

  “Rub her feet,” Yesilia said. I sat and pressed my palms against the bottoms of the girl’s feet in quick strokes to make the blood flow better. “I’m tired from traveling, but I will try to help.”

  Yesilia sat near the head of the bed and placed her hands on Ilma’s shoulders. She closed her eyes and breathed deep. I’d seen her do this with patients—I only hoped she didn’t overtax herself.

  When the others came back in, we switched out the bedding, then Dora ordered Aleksa, Yesilia, and me to change into borrowed dresses. She sent Aleksa and me to wash them while she and Yesilia worked.

  We didn’t have time for this. For the rain, washing, healing, any of it. I needed to find my father. Needed to get to Riiga before whoever Enzo sent after us caught up.

  But Yesilia also needed rest, so I followed Aleksa out.

  The roof of the inn extended over a patch of dirt where three huge basins sat. A system of long, hollowed-out logs along the edge of the roof funneled water back under the porch and into the basins.

  I trailed my fingers along the contraption, held together with strips of leather and nails. I’d read about this manner of gathering rainwater, but I’d never seen it. I wished with a sharp pang I could tell my father about it. I would, and soon. I hoped.

  Aleksa ignored me and dumped the bundle of blankets into one of the basins, then plunged her hands into the water, soap and all. Perhaps having clean clothes would be worth the time spent here.

  I stood at the next basin and clumsily tried to follow her movements. I pulled out one piece at a time and rubbed the soap against the fabric, sloshing water down the front of my clean, dry dress.

  Wind from the storm caught the wet fabric against my legs, and I shivered as I tried to scrub the dirt and dust out of my and Yesilia’s things. Then there was so much soap on everything I had a hard time rinsing it off. My front got another helping of water splashed everywhere, and my feet began to freeze as a stiff wind pummeled the side of the inn.

  “What are you doing?” Aleksa asked, breaking the silence between us.