An elegant brow lifted. “Well, then,” the Lady Mahavar pronounced. “Dry clothes, Radd. The poor man is dripping on the floor. I believe we should sit to a proper breakfast, if you and Peggs would be so kind.” Then, without any change in her expression, she added, “This is what comes of toads. Mark my words, Jenn Nalynn.”
Jenn dropped a quick curtsy. Peggs turned toward the sink, her shoulders shaking, Radd chuckled, and the house toad, who’d tucked his head under the curtain to see what was about at such an hour, gave a toothy yawn.
While the dragon sipped tea and looked insufferably smug.
Until Jenn met his gaze and saw the dread he couldn’t, or wouldn’t hide.
All day long, clouds lurked beyond the crags in every direction, never quite tumbling into the valley. Bannan wondered if the turn-born tired, having kept the weather fair these past days, but even they looked at the horizon and frowned.
Tir lifted his mask and spat. “Isn’t natural, sir. Just say’n.”
He shrugged. What was, here? “So long as it holds off till we’re done.”
They harvested the field next to his farm; it lay farthest from the village, split into a deep wishbone by the first of the Fingers, and those working its ends found themselves shadowed by the forest. Hedges hid the ruined meadow, a mercy. Bannan gazed wistfully, every so often, at the rooftops of his home and barn.
An empty barn, for now. Davi promised a share of stalks from the village once the tinkers left; Anten a couple of piglets from Satin’s next birthing.
Bannan dug in his ’fork and pitched. How could he plan for the future, when tomorrow loomed as ominously as the clouds?
“Ancestors Broody and Glum. There’s that look again.” Tir tossed stalks into Wainn’s wagon. “Sir.”
“Stop calling me ‘sir.’”
His friend grunted and lifted another ’forkload. “Bannan. You could cheer up. There’s another dance tonight.”
Riverstone and Flint were absent, having crossed to the Verge in search of Jenn Nalynn’s pebble; the other turn-born drove their wagons. Everyone shifted duty to put Kydd, Allin, and Tadd in the mill; it being tradition for a prospective groom to cook for his to-be-bride and her family the night before the wedding, each of the three needed to stay close to a kitchen. Ribald jokes at their expense lightened much of the day.
Wyll was in the village too. There were no jokes about him, the villagers unsure if they were relieved or insulted to learn the strange man had rejected their beloved Jenn Nalynn, the tinkers puzzled. The dragon wouldn’t care what any of them thought, only Jenn, and acted, Bannan judged, to spare her what he could.
Roche, who would have spoken up and not pleasantly, had volunteered to help the dema today. Just as well, the truthseer thought grimly, his temper tried enough by his so-helpful friend.
“Here, I’d have thought you’d be singing,” Tir went on, persistent as a blood fly. “Yon lovely farm maid being free again.”
Bannan stabbed his pitchfork in the sod. “Heart’s Blood! Will you leave it be?”
Wainn looked down, his eyes somber within the shade of his broad hat. The truthseer waved an apology for slowing the work.
He tried to free the ’fork, but it was well and truly stuck. Without a word, Tir lent a hand; together they pulled it out. “It’s not tonight on my mind,” Bannan explained. “It’s tomorrow. What might happen.”
“Wouldn’t let us do that in the guard,” Tir came back smartly. “Fret over what might and what mightn’t and who knew what else? Those that did, didn’t last.”
“Tir—”
“You’ve done what you can, haven’t you? We’re ready as can be. Now take my good advice,” in a lighter tone, “and give it to someone who could use some herself. Along with a dance or five.”
Bannan shook his head. “More ‘good advice?’”
“Only kind I give,” Tir asserted. His eyes twinkled. “Bannan-sir.”
“I think—no, I’m sure—that’s worse.” The truthseer gave up. “Call me what you will.”
“Sir!”
They fell back into the rhythm of dig and pitch, side by side.
Bannan couldn’t help but see the Spine with each lift of his head, stark against the black, torn clouds. Tomorrow he’d be there with Jenn Nalynn, to cast Qimirpik’s rite and summon her pebble to Marrowdell. The tokens and words were in a pouch secured around his waist, beneath his shirt. He wouldn’t part with them.
But tonight, he would most certainly dance, if the lady was willing.
Leaves turned on the heights, geese flew overhead, and, almost overnight, Marrowdell took on the faintly shabby look of autumn. Thick-coated horses and cattle spread out over the empty field, finding favorite spots from last year or making new ones, together wearing a path to the river. Despite the lingering warmth and green, everyone looked to the sky and nodded wisely to one another. Tomorrow’s equinox might mark the end of summer, but this far north, winter was what followed.
Refusing to think of winter or tomorrow for that matter, Jenn wrestled the barrow containing the sum of her worldly possessions across the sod, taking the shortest path to the Emms’ kitchen door. Once Gallie had heard the news, she’d rushed to the Nalynn kitchen. Jenn was as near a daughter as could be, she’d declared fiercely, and would have a home with them as long as needful.
There being no arguing with that, with Peggs being off delivering a cold lunch to the field workers with Hettie and Palma and Aunt Sybb visiting the Treffs’, Jenn straightaway emptied her share of the drawers and clothes chests into pillowcases, leaving only what she’d need for the night and morning in the loft.
“Just run your things upstairs, Good Heart,” Gallie greeted her cheerfully, Loee on one hip. “Mind the mess. We’ll sort it all later.”
The “mess” Jenn discovered to be the densely scribbled pages of Gallie’s current manuscript, hung like laundry between the rafters. She worked her way between lines, careful not to dislodge any, and found a bed made up and ready. There were two in the room, but the rightmost was still covered in books, as were the chests for clothes. Where the Nalynn loft had a window seat, Zehr had built in a desk, presently obscured by paper.
Which would stay there, Jenn hoped, seeing no reason Gallie couldn’t use the loft for her writing so long, she ducked, as they came to an agreement on the hanging of literature.
“Thank you again,” she said, climbing down the ladder.
Gallie wiped her forehead with the back of her arm. “Ancestors Blessed, it’s no more than your mother would have done.” Her kitchen was filled with steam and curls of sausage; the twins, Jenn guessed, having enlisted their mother’s help to prepare their grooms’ portion of tonight’s feast.
“Here, let me,” she offered, taking the bundle of baby and receiving a grateful smile. Sitting herself on the ladder, Jenn gave the sleepy-eyed infant a knuckle to gum, smiling at the sensation. “Gallie, what do you know of my mother’s gift?” she asked gently, keeping her eyes on Loee.
“Your father’s the one to ask such things.”
She looked up. “He’s told me Melusine could find things. And bring things home.”
“That she could.” Gallie’s face lightened. “When the twins wandered—you know how they are, one eggs the other into worse than either alone—I’d tell Melly and she’d call them for me. Before Zehr could get his boots on to go look for them, there they’d be, coming home.” She sighed. “A sad sad day, when we lost her.”
Jenn chose her words with care. “So she had magic.”
“‘Magic.’” The other woman put down her knife and gathered onion bits in her cupped hands, giving Jenn a keen look. “Yes, you could say that.” She dropped the onion in a pan, then pulled down a sausage coil. “But it wasn’t the kind with words and bits of dead animals.”
“You mean wishings,” she supplied.
“Yes. What your mother did required none of that nonsense. What Melly wanted found, was found. What belonged in a place, arrived there.
This place,” Gallie moved her knife in a generous arc “was where we needed to be. And of course, we needed the tinkers.”
Jenn managed not to jostle the baby. “‘The tinkers?’”
Gallie smiled. “We’d fields of grain, but what could we do with it? I remember the meeting. Davi and the rest shouting ideas how to harvest it, not that they knew how or we’d tools; Radd worrying about the mill. Some thought we should send to Endshere and sell the grain to any willing to come and help. Young Kydd kept arguing we should give up and leave.
“Melusine said not a word that night, but the very next day, the two of us were sitting on the porch, she with Peggs, me with my babes, and she told me to expect company. We needed friends, she said, and friends she’d found.”
The turn-born could have taken what they needed from Marrowdell; they could have turned the villagers into puppets to do their bidding.
Was it because of Melusine they’d come as friends?
“Look at that. Here. I’ll put her to bed.” Jenn relinquished the now-sleeping baby to Gallie, who tucked her gently in the cradle behind the ladder. “I hope I haven’t upset you, Dear Heart, saying such things about your mother.”
Jenn smiled. “Not at all.”
“Because you’re the same. You always have been.” Gallie straightened, brushing a lock of damp hair from her high forehead. “Haven’t you noticed how we all come to you when something’s lost?”
“Yes, but—” She’d thought it part of her reputation for being good-hearted which meant, as far as she’d been concerned, an inability to say no to any request, from help finding a button to, what was much more fun, locating a missing piglet. “Oh.”
Hadn’t Bannan found his way home by coming here?
If so, it hadn’t been her doing, Jenn decided firmly. Bad enough her feelings could change the weather; she’d no desire to change people’s destinies and wouldn’t. Finding buttons and piglets was sufficient. “Thank you again, Gallie, for letting me stay. I’d better get back and help Peggs with the dishes.”
Gallie nodded. “I’ll see you later, then. The sewing?”
Added to the many unusual chores of this day were emergency alterations to Hettie’s scant wardrobe, necessitated by her newly expanding waistline. “We’ll be here,” Jenn promised.
The best part of being together to sew, Jenn thought, was that Peggs couldn’t fuss over her having moved out in front of Gallie, Aunt Sybb, Hettie, Palma, Lorra, and Frann. It was also wonderful simply to be with their aunt, who’d be leaving soon.
The worst part was sitting still on a day when so much else had to be done. To sew, which, no matter how one tried, couldn’t go any faster. Not that she was in a hurry for the day to end, but Aunt Sybb had made daunting lists.
And there was the circlet.
“I could wear my own,” Palma offered, though her fingers didn’t leave what lay in her lap. Her earnest gaze went to each of them. “Couldn’t I?”
Jenn lowered her eyes to avoid it. The circlet was of spun silver, with ropes of tiny pearls to hang below, and would be perfect over Palma’s lush black hair. If only it had come from another source.
Before leaving the sewing circle, Riss Nahamm had placed a faded velvet case on the Emms’ table. Inside had been this.
“Yours was lovely, Dear Heart,” Gallie said kindly. “But its flowers have faded beyond use. Fresh are a joy, but with the season’s change, we’ve none suited in bloom. You’re welcome to wear mine, if you’d rather.”
“Thank you, but you should save it for Loee, should she wish it.” The innkeeper chewed her lower lip, then ventured, “There are roses—”
Seven heads shook at once. “We don’t cut Melusine’s roses,” Peggs explained hastily. “It’s a tradition.”
“My apologies.” Palma gazed down in her lap. “This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever touched. I—I’m overwhelmed.”
Aunt Sybb’s tiny cough gathered their attention as effectively as a magistrate’s bell. “Treasures have value only when put to good use,” she said firmly. “Wear it and be happy, Palma. Keep it for your daughters’ joy or pass it to another. Remember the circlet is a symbol, honoring those who gave us love and life, and a promise, to live a life of love.”
Peggs’ eye shone; Jenn was sure hers did too. No one moved or spoke, but everyone smiled.
Did Aunt Sybb blush? If so, she regained her composure, lifting her pen. “Now, let’s go over our lists.”
Arms around a basket overflowing with clean wet laundry, one of the items not on any list but needful just the same, Jenn stepped on the porch and turned sideways to get through the door. She tried not to notice that Aunt Sybb’s cases were full and strapped for the trip to Avyo; she couldn’t help but notice who was sitting inside the parlor.
Urcet rose with Kydd, who said at once. “Let me help with that.”
Not when the basket contained Peggs’ simples and nightdresses as well as some of her own. “I’m fine,” Jenn said breathlessly, maneuvering her awkward burden through a room made smaller by their presence. She’d be even better if her dragon hadn’t filled the Nalynn laundry tub with bedding whisked by a breeze from her and Peggs’ bed, including the pillows, then curled up in it for a nap, but after the night he’d had, she could hardly begrudge Wyll some comfort.
Though it meant doing the laundry at the Ropps’, their tub not presently soaking workwear, and then walking back between wagons and everyone in a hurry.
Remembering her manners, she blew sweaty bangs from her forehead and paused, balancing the basket on a hip. “Tea?”
“No, thank you.”
She shifted the basket, not to make too fine a point. “If you’re looking for Peggs, she’s at the Emms.”
Urcet touched his hand to his throat. “We’re here for an audience with you, good lady.”
Jenn glanced at Kydd. Seeing the grim set to his mouth, she nodded. “Give me a moment, then.”
Once in the kitchen, she pulled the curtain across and got to work, fingers flying as she pegged laundry to the lines strung over the stove. They were for Peggs’ sake, though with the twins now settled, her undergarments should be safe outside. Their father’d be grateful if so, since he walked into the laundry as often as not. Kydd, being taller, surely would.
Kydd, being who and what he was, must have talked to the Eld about magic. Now, they were here, waiting for her. She chewed thoughtfully on a peg as she hung the last nightdress. Because of the harvest, she hadn’t seen Bannan yet today; with no way to know if he’d spoken with the dema, or the result, she’d need to be careful with Urcet.
Finished, Jenn paused to tidy her braid and be sure her feet weren’t filthy. Taking off her apron, she grabbed a bowl of apples, Aunt Sybb’s training being impossible to ignore, and slipped past the curtain.
The men rose again to bow. Flustered, for bowing made this a formal occasion, Jenn gave a token curtsy and put the apples on the table so hurriedly two fell off and rolled.
Kydd caught one in each hand, and gave them a peculiar look, as if suddenly reminded the apple trees had been strangers here too, once. Jenn took advantage of his distraction to sit herself; she folded her hands and waited. “Let intentions reveal themselves,” Aunt Sybb would say, usually followed by “first to speak’s the last to listen.”
The men sat as well, Kydd placing the apples in the bowl. “Our honored guest has come with a proposal, Jenn,” he said, proving Aunt Sybb right, as always. “One I believe you should hear for yourself.”
Jenn turned to Urcet and waited.
The bead twinkled at the side of his nose as the Eld smiled. “The wealth of knowledge contained in this small valley continues to impress. Kydd,” a gracious nod to the beekeeper, “knows more about Ansnan magical rites than anyone I’ve met. A shame we didn’t correspond, as your brother with the dema, before my coming. I’d have saved considerable time and funds.”
Kydd smiled too, but it wasn’t a smile that warmed his eyes. “Anything’s possi
ble.”
Waiting in silence having proved useful, Jenn gave a small, experimental cough. It didn’t sound like one of Aunt Sybb’s; nonetheless, Urcet waved a hand. “Excuse my digression, good lady. I appreciate that you’re busy.” With a flourish, he produced a slender brass case, displaying it on the palm of his broad hand. “Here is the Rite of Petition, to open the door to paradise. If you help me cast it, Jenn Nalynn, I’ll give you the Celestial’s Tear.”
Stunned, Jenn looked from the case to Kydd.
“Urcet’s well aware you’re someone special, Dear Heart,” the beekeeper informed her, his lean face without expression. “He came to me for advice, as your soon-to-be brother, and I said you might be interested in such a trade. Let’s hear him out, shall we?”
This was the Uhthoff who’d stood up to an entire village, who’d named her magic and loved her sister. Trusting him, she nodded.
“First, we want to see it for ourselves, Urcet. The complete rite.”
“Proof. Of course.” Putting the case on the table, the Eld pressed the ends, then pushed his thumb firmly against its polished upper surface. The case popped open, revealing a folded paper and three flat-sided glass vials, their tops sealed with wax. “I ask your discretion. My esteemed colleague doesn’t know.” Urcet emptied the case, standing up the little vials, unfolding the paper. “He refused to countenance bringing such to Marrowdell, in case we offended the stars.”
He chuckled as though the dema was foolish, but he wasn’t, Jenn thought. Urcet was, to do what he wanted and not listen to warnings.
Kydd held out his hand for the paper. “They’re only words until said at the proper time and place. And—” blandly, as the other man hesitated, “—by someone of magic.”
Urcet gave her a hungry look. Jenn felt herself blush, then pale.
The beekeeper sharpened his voice. “The rite.”
“As you wish.” The Eld and Jenn watched intently as Kydd read what was inscribed.
Done, he tossed the paper on the table and lifted an eyebrow. “You’ve the tokens?”
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