He ran his hands through his hair frantically. “Cosette, those books aren’t real. This, me,” he grabbed my hand and clutched it to his chest. His heart pounded beneath my palm. “I’m real. This thing between us is real.”
His breath found my face, bringing a momentary taste of warmth with them. That’s what Aiden had always been to me, warmth. Now, I’d never felt so cold. I shivered beneath his touch and prayed my honesty wouldn’t cut too deep.
“I need to give myself a chance at something more.”
He sucked in his breath and pain flooded in his eyes, spilling out in slow tears that stabbed into my heart. The tears still refused to come from my own eyes, causing me to appear closed off from him. His eyes searched mine for a sign of emotion. When he spoke, his voice came out shaking. “I can’t lose you. Can I change your mind?”
After what I’d just said, his resiliency surprised me. I raised my shoulders then let them drop. “I don’t think you can.”
He spoke with urgency now. “Let me try, please. My family has that trip in a few days, but we will be back in a month. Please wait for me. Let me try to win your heart.”
One month. He needed one month to accept this change. It was hard to deny him when he asked for so little. Slowly, I nodded my head and his tension relaxed.
“Thank you,” he breathed. He hugged me so tight I struggled to breathe. After a long moment, I pulled my head back to find the air.
“We should go. Mama’s going to come by any moment to drag me out there.”
He sniffed but let me go, still standing close enough that I could feel his breath as he spoke softly. “Alright. There’s a story your papa is telling tonight that I want to hear, anyway. Said he’s going to tell how you spin straw into gold.”
Chapter Four
The dizzy feeling stayed in my head through the night, and at a few points I felt sick. Aiden and I never continued that conversation, but the rest of the evening was ruined with the thought of it.
Aiden and I were the only ones not in a good mood that night while the rest of the tavern was alit and jolly with cheers that amplified my sorrow. As I worked, I kept my head down and my hands busy so not even Anika would sense my grief. It had been one of our busiest nights, filling the main and side rooms to the point where I was certain that if one more person showed up, they surely wouldn’t be able to fit through the door.
Some soldiers came, or guards, from the looks of their uniforms. Whichever they were, Papa gave them free drinks to thank them for their work and invited them in for his stories. Besides those few drinks we gave away, we were sure to have made a decent profit from the night.
Mama proudly told any who would listen of how her daughter was training to be a seamstress. Anika rolled her eyes at me, but it was the one of the two moments of the night that brought me pleasure. The other came when Papa told his first story of me. He made me out to be a magician of sorts, spinning thread into gold. The gold I spun was enough to save the village from poverty. I came off as quite the heroine.
At the end of the story Aiden leaned over my shoulder. “That’s my girl,” he whispered. I smiled timidly but the title didn’t feel acceptable anymore. Coldness settled in once more.
“Who’s the girl?” folks asked as soon as the story was finished. They looked between Papa and each other with their half-empty drinks in their hands. “Who is this girl that you tell of?”
Papa looked right at me with pride on his face. “The tale is based on my sweet daughter, Cosette.”
The people looked around, some uncertain of who I was. A few spotted me and whispered among themselves. Eventually, someone was brave enough to ask Papa, “Is it true? Can she spin straw into gold?” I spied the speaker as one of the soldiers who was leaning forward on his seat, eagerly awaiting the answer.
But Papa had no time to reply. Others started speaking up for themselves.
“Is that her Gift? I thought she was the girl who had no Gift?”
“Yes, yes that’s right. She had no Gift. Maybe she’s got one now?”
“Not finding your Gift until that age, I never heard of such a thing!”
I tried to hide behind the bar, uncomfortable with the sudden attention. Most still hadn’t seen me, but the few who knew who I was had their eyes fixated on me as if I could create the gold out of thin air.
“Is it true, Mortan?” the people asked my Papa. “Can your daughter spin straw into gold?”
The murmurs of the room fell silent as they all looked to Papa. I knew Papa never liked to tell if a story was true or not, but he couldn’t let them believe that I was capable of such a task. Had they not seen my dress? It was easily one of the simplest ones here, and this was the nicest dress that I owned. If I could spin straw into gold, wouldn’t I be dressed in finer clothes?
I shook my head at Papa, and he gave me a knowing smile.
“My daughter is capable of wonderous things.”
That’s all he would say on the matter, as he transitioned into his next tale about a frog who wanted to be a swan. Surely the people didn’t think that story was true.
The consensus on my abilities remained unsettled. Whispers continued and suspicious looks were cast my way. If anyone approached me for the truth, I would set them straight, but the rest of the night passed and only one nimble fellow did so.
I hoped he would spread the word, so folks didn’t come by looking for gold.
The excitement of the night passed, bringing with it the gloomy chores of morning. I stood with Anika, taking stock of the mess.
This was always the worst part of festivities: the cleaning. Though, compared to how dreadful last night had turned out for me with Aiden, the mundane chores provided an appreciated distraction from my gloomy thoughts. But as I worked, I could think of nothing else than the mess with Aiden, and soon wished for the chores to be over so I could find a book instead.
The chores dragged on. Cleaning would be a splendid Gift to have, perhaps even better than spinning straw into gold. Who has the Gift of cleaning? Who could snap their fingers and have the house tidied? I’d never heard of such a thing, but there were many Gifts in Westfallen that I didn’t know of.
Without anything to help me besides Anika, the cleaning would take the better part of the day, then we’d start prepping for tonight again. Most of the decorations that Papa and I had meticulously put up were now strewn across the floor in clumps. Dishes lay in looming piles on every flat space in the tavern, including the narrow mantle. Thick mud tracked through the entryway and across the floor, and none of the chairs or tables were where we had put them. Not a single one.
An unpleasant smell tinged the air, but I chose to ignore that.
“Think you can share some of your gold to pay someone to clean for us?” Anika joked. She had her hands on her hips and nose in the air as she examined the room.
“Very funny. I would give all my gold to have someone clean for us.” I shuddered at the memory of all the eyes on me last night as they wondered if I could spin straw into gold.
We got to work taking the dishes into the kitchen. We could clean those later. Putting the dining area back in order seemed a less daunting task.
“So, you caused quite the commotion last night,” Anika said as she pushed tables back to their places. Her dark hair was pulled back loosely, and her shirt was wrinkled as if it had been donned straight from the floor. “I wish I could spin gold.”
She talked to herself as she continued straightening the room. Anika’s Gift was the violin. Without ever having a lesson, her fingers could play the instrument perfectly. It was beautiful to listen to, though I had only heard it three times in my life. She had no care for music or pretty sounds and had discarded the trait as soon as it was discovered. When people asked about her Gift, she would tell them she could hit as hard as a boy. She had never been asked to prove it.
“I would have hoped you’d have this room cleaned by now.” Mama came into the room with her arms crossed as she examined t
he remaining mess. A few strands of her hair hung loose around her face where they’d fallen from her braid last night.
“You should have seen it when we started,” Anika grumbled.
“I did see it; I saw last night,” Mama said. She let out a tired sigh as she joined us in cleaning.
Not a few minutes after Mama came, Papa appeared looking jolly. He kissed Mama on the forehead as he danced into the room. Anika rolled her eyes at him, but his joy brought a smile to my face despite my gloomy mood.
“Last night was splendid! I say no work for today! Leave this mess, we will tend to it tomorrow!” Papa ordered, waving his finger around the room.
Anika let out a whoop, but Mama shushed her. “We have customers coming tonight, and we can’t serve them in a place like this.”
Papa waved his hand. “Let the inn serve them.”
Mama shook her rag at Papa. “The inn serves stale bread and spoiled wine. We will feed them here.”
Anika and I both sighed as we went back to work. Papa picked up some decorations from the floor as he joined in the chores, though his smile never faltered. It was soothing, working in silence with my family. I rehashed the details of last night, specifically the complicated matter with Aiden, as I went through the motions of cleaning.
I needed something to distract me from Aiden. Papa came near me and I asked the first question that came to mind. “Have you ever heard of a curse from a hundred years ago? One that is causing the war?”
Papa straightened himself for a moment and shoved his hands in his pockets as he bobbed his head a few times in thought. “I’ve heard rumors, but nothing that I believe.”
“What kind of rumors?” I asked hastily as I pushed two tables together.
Papa tilted his head at me. “Nothing of value. Just a story of a sad king who made a poor deal.”
I thought to myself as I fixed the chairs around the tables. This tale was becoming more and more intriguing. Who was this sad king? What was the deal that he made? Who did he make the deal with? The questions whirled through my mind, begging for answers.
Papa set a chair down gently. “There’s no truth to it Cozy, truly. This war is brought on by the greediness of men’s hearts.”
Maybe it was my love of books and interesting tales, but something in me didn’t want to let the story go. I wanted to know more about the rumors, but Papa didn’t look interested in sharing any more information.
“What about the stories you tell from your bar stool? Are they true?”
Father looked at me with a new light in his eyes. I think he enjoyed being asked this question. “A true storyteller never tells.”
Ah. A new answer tonight. I raised my eyebrows in mock amusement.
“Do you know which tales you will spin tonight?”
Papa gave a small laugh as he brushed off his hands. “I never know until I sit on that stool. Perhaps I will tell another tale of how my daughter spins straw into gold! That seemed to be a popular story last night.”
“People did seem to like it, though I still enjoy the one about the girl with fire the most.” As I recalled, no one had asked Papa who that girl was. With the come of the morning and the lingering influence of mead, everyone’s memories of my story would be muddled, all but forgotten.
We continued working in silence, each occupied by our own thoughts, until the tables were clean, floors spotless, and windows shinning once more.
Over the years, every inch of this tavern imprinted itself into my mind as a result of dusting the wood beams a thousand times and sweeping under every table a thousand times more. Fifteen tables and four booths fit in the tavern, and I knew every one of them by heart. The table closest to the door had a wobbly leg, and the one next to it had a deep gash in the side wide enough to fit a few coopers. The one closest to the west wall had my parent’s initials carved into it from when they’d commemorated their first table purchased for the tavern.
Suddenly a knock came at the door before it creaked open, and we all turned with a start to see Farmer Renolds Bohnson in the doorway, folding his hat in his hand and looking uncomfortable.
“Renolds! Did you leave something here last night?” Papa asked, coming forward to offer his neighbor a hand. After shaking it weakly, Renolds brought his hand back to his crumpled hat.
“No, can’t say that I did.” He fell silent again, shifting from foot to foot and looking between us. His brown hair stuck out in different directions and curled out above his ear, and his wrinkled shirt was only half tucked into his trousers.
Anika leaned toward me, almost knocking me in the head with the end of her broom. “Hungover,” she whispered as she rolled her eyes.
I shook my head, leaning back. “I don’t think so.” I had seen hungover men before and it didn’t look like this. Besides, Renolds Bohnson wasn’t the type to drink.
Our lands neighbored his, but we rarely saw him at this hour. He worked all day and we worked all evening, so our lives didn’t cross much except for when he came in for an occasional meal.
Bohnson’s Gift was predicting the weather. He knew the weather for each day of the week before it came. He had warned us all about the blizzard several years back and saved many of folks from starving. Anika took advantage of his Gift to plan which day she would have her birthday party each year. We couldn’t afford much for a party, but the weather was always nice.
Even without his helpful Gift, he was a nice man to have as a neighbor, one who lived by himself and never gave us any trouble.
He licked his lips a few times. Then a pause. Another nervous lick. Papa cleared his throat. “What can I do for you today?”
“I have to ask, does your daughter spin gold? Because I could sure use some gold.”
Mama’s jaw fell open in unison with mine. Anika looked amused as she leaned back and waited for our answer. Papa chuckled.
“No, my good man. She’s studying to be a seamstress, though. She’s getting real good.” It was a lie, I had barely sewed a skirt, but I was grateful to him for saying so.
Renolds Bohnson rocked back on his heels, looking unsatisfied. “You sure? Because I could work for it. It’s been a hard year, you see.”
Papa stepped forward and put his hands on the man’s shoulders. “I promise you, she can’t. We would share our wealth if we came by any.”
Renolds Bohnson nodded slowly then ducked his head. “Alright. Well I’ll be on my way then.” We watched as he slowly exited, still fumbling with his hat.
It showed to his character that he asked us directly instead of participating in the spreading rumors, which I soon learned had spread overnight like the wildfire we had a few years back. Still, I questioned his sanity for believing the tale. Spinning gold would mean we had wealth, and this was not what wealth looked like. A rag in my hand, a broom in my sister’s, patched up clothes that had been short on us three years ago.
This was not the look of a family who had money.
Still, Renolds Bohnson wasn’t the only one to take Papa’s story seriously. All week, I continued to get strange looks: the raise of an eyebrow, the squint of an eye, whispers behind hats and hands. Few approached me, but I could hear their whispers from afar.
“Doesn’t seem right they don’t share,” some would say.
“Makes sense now, why theirs be the only tavern to blossom. All that gold,” others would comment.
“Wonder where they hide it?” many asked.
“Always was a strange girl. Now we know why. She was hiding her secret,” one said with a high raise in their brow, followed by a shifty glance. Other glances followed, and each wary eye studied my own with suspicion, their distrust brewing within like a dark cloud, casting a gloomy air over me wherever I went—one that I couldn’t escape.
Along with the suspicion, there was something else. Admiration. As the curious eyes shifted over me, a distinct look of respect passed over them, one that I didn’t deserve.
I should have corrected them, and if I had a bit more hono
r then perhaps I would have, but instead my vain heart held me back from setting the story straight.
It was nice, acting as if I had a secret. It was nice being thought of as Gifted. It was nice to have my name paired with words other than plain and poor.
My intentions were wrong, and the knowledge of this burned in the back of my mind each time I heard a whisper that I didn’t correct. But it wasn’t enough for me to approach them and clarify the situation. Instead, I walked on and allowed them to think that I held some sort of power.
This is what I had always wanted, and somehow, Papa’s story had given me a Gift.
My pride faded a little each time a neighbor came to our door looking for us to share our wealth. Then we would tell them that I couldn’t spin gold, and that I had no Gift, and I would watch their opinion of me turn back into one of pity, accompanied by disappointment. It was unpleasurable for us all. For good reason, I did not look forward to those knocks at the door in the middle of the day.
It was a few weeks later, in the few hours after my seamstress lessons and before the tavern got busy, that a new knock came at our door. A book rested in my hands and one of Lolly’s biscuits by my side. I looked up, curious to see which neighbor had mustered up the courage to ask for gold this time. Aiden wasn’t due home for another few days, but part of me feared he’d come back early.
Papa pulled open the door, and Mama gasped. With a squeak, the door swung wide to let not one, but several people in.
I blinked twice to be sure my eyes didn’t deceive me, because in our doorframe stood soldiers with the Westfallen crest on their tunics, a blue and gold lion, and long swords hanging at their sides, and metal plates strapped to their legs and forearms. Five men stood within sight, but more waited outside along with horses. They wore an expression not many had when entering our tavern and none had when leaving it, calm and composed, scanning the tavern and its belongings.
The Storyteller’s Daughter Page 3