The Baker's Wife--complete

by Amy Keeley

  What would it be like, she thought, to leave this place? She didn’t have to go to Zhiv for help. Her sister lived in the capital, Hurush, wife to a spell merchant. Though she hadn’t heard from her in years (and wasn’t sure she would be welcomed), the idea of leaving a place that was not her home, no matter what she did or how she lived, appealed.

  In the morning, she woke before the sun rose and dressed in one of her more worn dresses. Wrapping her blue sash around her waist, she silently made her way down to the first floor and put on her clogs.

  Light had begun to fill the east when she arrived at the meadow. Tall grass brushed against her legs, leaving dewy drops like sticky tears behind. She didn’t care. She kept walking until she got to the stones, with their strange characters that no one could read. Except Zhiv. Reaching into the dark space, she pulled out the mug she’d engraved, wrapped in a cloth. The weight of the lock inside the cloth felt heavy in her hands. She hadn’t touched one since the Felldesh lock and, even now, had no intention of trying. It had been her one act of rebellion since that day, a trinket she’d bought at a market for the house, along with the keyspell which she’d burned not long after. It was more fun the other way.

  Except, she never tried to pick this lock. Never. On a day when the thought of what Lejer might do in retaliation if he knew her secrets overwhelmed her, she burned her herbs and hid the cup and lock here.

  For a moment, she thought of Zhiv. It had felt wonderful to cast spells near him. What would it be like to speak with him about the different kinds? Is that why he said she interested him, because he had no one he could speak with as he could with her? Was he lonely?

  Dangerous thoughts, she decided and put the mug back with the lock, untouched, inside.

  The morning sun’s light filtered through the trees, bringing color back into the world. She breathed in the air, remembering those days of freedom. I can’t think while I’m here, she decided. I’m too worried about what Lejer or the neighbors will think.

  Her sister hadn’t contacted anyone in the village since she married four years ago. And Krysilla doubted she would if she, her own sister, showed up. I’ll ask for some money from Lejer, she decided. I won’t lie. I’ll tell him what I’m doing. And when I’ve thought this through, I’ll come back and tell him if I’m going to stay or not.

  Part of her said this wasn’t her decision. Women who left their husbands, even when those husbands had broken their promise, were weak. No one else would have her if she left. Or, if they did, they would be like Zhiv, the kind who never cared about that promise in the first place. A separation was all she could have anyway. Divorce was only for the wealthy. She would always, in some way, be Lejer’s wife.

  But the wind was pleasant, and the air was fresh, and she hadn’t touched any magic outside baking in so long that she thought she would go mad if she waited any longer. She had to leave, if only to think.

  By the time she had arrived back at the house, Lejer and Byor were both hard at work. She ate some bread and cheese for breakfast, then worked behind the counter until dinner. He didn’t have to marry me, she thought, watching him at one point. Even if I leave, at least he gave me a home for seven years. And the bakery if I wanted it.

  At dinner, she told Lejer her plans to visit her sister. Though she could tell he hated giving her any money at all, he didn’t complain when he handed her over enough to make the journey, and extra for good boots to walk in if the road was broken or rocky. She hadn’t asked for that, and that softened her opinion of him a little. By supper, she had all she needed. By the next morning, she had packed her few belongings into a small sack, and left.

  On the way, she stopped by the houses of friends and let them know she was gone and where they could reach her. For those who asked, she said she had gone to find out what had happened to her sister. Her last stop was the meadow, where she picked up the mug with the lock inside. It was a dangerous thing to carry with her, and yet, she knew if she left that behind, she would also leave the very changes that had occurred in her life. This is part of me, she thought as she put the two items in her sack. And so she continued down the road. Alone. And, for the first time in years, truly happy.

  Part Two: The King’s Minstrel

  This can’t be right, Krysilla thought. Around her towered wood-frame apartments, hastily constructed from the look of them, three floors high, some five or six, with stucco between the wood beams. And yet, all was quiet. Now and then, a baby cried, and once, she heard children laughing. But she didn’t see them.

  Perhaps, she thought, I’ve got the directions wrong. Looking down at the paper the innkeeper had given her, she checked the crude map she’d drawn once more. She squinted at it in the morning light, fatigue from the road lingering, even after a full night’s rest. But it wasn’t like her exhaustion from working the bakery, so she ignored it. Nothing could be worse than that.

  Folding up the paper, she pressed on, counting the buildings. This can’t be right, she kept thinking, over and over. As if that would change what she was seeing. My sister can’t possibly live in one of these buildings. Her sister, Nitty, had married a spell merchant with more money than anyone in the village had seen before. She’d certainly done better than Krysilla, with her marriage to the baker, Lejer Gillasin, and she hadn’t been afraid to say it. No one had been surprised when the letters stopped once Nitty was gone. She lived a life of ease, people said. Of course she wouldn’t write to see how we’re doing.

  Sometimes, in moments when Krysilla had had time to think, especially early on as the weight of running the bakery settled, she had wondered what kind of life her sister led, surrounded by finery and books (Krysilla would have had books). “It can’t be the same one,” she muttered, and checked the map again.

  Deciding to at least make sure the innkeeper had gotten the name wrong, she tucked the paper into a fold of her blue sash—the color that marked her as a married woman—and strode to the door that was supposed to belong to her sister. Giving it a gentle knock, she stepped back and waited.

  The door opened, and a small girl with eyes that reminded her of Nitty stared at her. “What are you doing?” a voice that sounded like a harsher version of her sister’s cried out from the back. “I told you not to open the door!” Heavy footsteps thundered toward the entrance.

  The girl backed quickly from the door that swung wide, revealing a woman Krysilla wasn’t sure she recognized at first. Dirty hair pulled up untidily into a knot at the back of the woman’s head only emphasized the sharp lines of the woman’s face. It was her sister. Krysilla knew this. And yet, it wasn’t, couldn’t be the same laughing girl she’d known. “He’s not here,” her sister announced, hardly sparing a glance.

  I must look very changed myself, Krysilla decided. “Nitty?”

  Her sister stopped at that and finally looked, truly looked at her. “Silla?” She blushed a deep scarlet and ducked her head. “Sorry,” she said, her voice almost the melodious tune Krysilla remembered from their childhood. “Sorry, I...what do you need?”

  Aren’t you going to invite me in? “Oh, nothing, really.” Everything, she almost added. “I thought I’d catch up. It’s been four years.”

  “I’ve been busy.” The words were colder than Krysilla expected.

  “I imagine.” She gestured toward the little girl, watching them from inside, with a gentle smile. The girl smiled back, shy.

  “Why are you here?” Nitty asked. If Krysilla didn’t know better, she’d say her sister sounded wary. “You’re still married, right?”

  She hesitated, and Nitty’s eyes went wide. “He didn’t—”

  “I’m traveling for a bit.” To clear my head, she almost added. But that meant thinking about that night at the Felldesh manor, and Lejer’s broken promise...and Zhiv. The memory of Zhiv, clear as if she’d just seen him yesterday, was never too far away if she let herself think about him. Never good for a married woman. Never.

  Nitty’s eyes narrowed. “Is he with you?”


  Krysilla hesitated again, but this time couldn’t find the words.

  A smile slowly stretched across her sister’s face. “Tira, go play in the back. Your aunt and I are going to talk about grown-up things.”

  The little girl nodded and, with a final intrigued look at Krysilla, went deeper inside the apartment.

  Still, her sister didn’t invite her in.

  “Sit down,” Nitty said, gesturing to the dirty steps that led to their apartment, and she herself sat on the small platform in front of the door.

  “Thank you.” Krysilla sat on the narrow wood, but kept one foot on the ground to steady her.

  “Now, don’t worry about anyone here saying anything,” Nitty gestured to the apartments around them. “Everyone here has a secret they want to keep. If they didn’t, they’d be in a place with more light and scrutinizing. This place, no one says anything because if you do, well, you’ll end up with more trouble at your door than you can wrap in a sheet. So, tell me, what’s really happened between you and Lejer.”

  Choosing carefully, Krysilla told Nitty an abbreviated version of what had happened. She’d caught Lejer with another woman. He’d refused to give her up. More than that, he’d made it clear that he had never truly loved the woman he’d actually married. He’d only married Krysilla in an attempt to forget a woman he had thought he could never have.

  She didn’t mention how all this had been brought to light due to the mysterious Zhiv Mikailsin, minstrel to the King. Lord Felldesh had been cheating the King on his taxes, and Zhiv had been sent to confirm it. But Zhiv had wanted to know more than that. He’d wanted to know why. And by the time he’d met Krysilla, he’d known about her husband’s broken promise and dragged her into it as a way of...Krysilla still wasn’t sure what he’d hoped to gain. It wasn’t a chance to sleep with her. Years of overwork in the bakery had ruined much of whatever former beauty she’d possessed. Only now had she begun to gain some of it back, and it had been a few months since that night. Whatever he had wanted then, he was sure he would get it, in time. He hadn’t pursued her. He’d only sent a message, along with an assistant for her husband. Whenever she needed help, the message had said, she could call on him.

  Never, she’d promised herself, and planned to make that promise stick.

  “I see,” Nitty said, lounging on the platform. “So, you’re here to build a new life?”

  “Just to think things through. I don’t know what I want, to be honest.”

  “How much money did you get from him?”

  Of course Nitty would think of that. “Just enough to get here.”

  “Really?” Her sister was not impressed. “Silly Silla,” she chuckled. “You never were one for practical things. Marrying Lejer is the closest you came and look where that’s got you.”

  Krysilla heard the thinly veiled contempt in her sister’s tone. You’re one to talk, she almost snapped back. Look at where your marriage brought you.

  As if she knew what her sister was thinking, Nitty lifted her arm in a dramatic gesture toward the building that housed her. “I’m not much better off, I’m afraid. A few bad business deals with the wrong people and before I know it, he’s gone. Left his bad debts behind him. With me. Most of his creditors know I can’t help them. I don’t know where he is, and I don’t have the money to pay them. So most leave me alone. A few don’t.”

  “But you can use his magic,” Krysilla said. “That must feed you well enough.”

  Nitty laughed. “The magic of a merchant is in the products he sells. He can’t use a glamour to make the products look better, and he can’t cast a persuasion on his voice to entice buyers. All he can do is hope his goods are valuable enough to feed him and his family. If a merchant chooses poorly, a minstrel could make more than him.”

  She remembered Zhiv—first known to her as Parlay—and his fiddle. He never used magic when he played it, and she wondered if Nitty’s view was why.

  But he had used it when he sang, she remembered, and that made her think of the amazing sights each of his songs had called forth. She wondered what he would sound like without magic. Would he be as good as he was with a fiddle?

  “Ah, but you have a plan,” Nitty said, eyes focused once more on her. “You wouldn’t come to me for help.”

  Krysilla hesitated. Nitty was her younger sister, though only by two years. After their father had died and their mother had fallen into a depression deep enough that they might have starved if Krysilla hadn’t tried to run the farm, Nitty had been the one who had dreamed of better things. Prettier shoes. Beautiful dresses. It was Nitty Krysilla had worked for the hardest, since her sister had once been clever and ambitious, but also kind when she wanted to be. And now and then, when Krysilla wasn’t too tired, they had talked and watched the stars overhead. Of all people in this world, Krysilla had hoped Nitty would be the one who would understand best when she realized she couldn’t stay with Lejer anymore.

  The only other option was Zhiv. Except he wasn’t.

  Krysilla checked the braid that bound up her black hair. “The money Lejer gave me won’t pay for another night.”

  “Ask for more.”

  Krysilla shook her head. “It’s not that simple.” She’d only asked once, and that had been difficult enough.

  “You’re his wife. You have a right to provision. If he refuses, you can demand it.”

  Shaking her head more emphatically, she said, “It’s not like that between us.”

  “He’s the one in the wrong, Silla. He’s the one who—”

  “I’m not going to beg!” Surprised by the force of her own words, Krysilla blushed.

  “You’re his wife,” Nitty said softly.

  “Not in his heart. And I won’t touch one more coin that’s passed from his hand.” The moment she said it, she knew it was right.

  “And how will you live?”

  “I’ll get a job.”

  Nitty laughed, a cackle that splintered like old wood under strain. “Good luck with that, Silla. There are no jobs for women here in Hurush. Married women are expected to take care of their husband’s business. And that was never really you. Puttering around with your little house magics, tidying up as you go. That’s what you want.”

  Krysilla bit her lip. “There has to be something. Men die.”

  “And leave the business to their wives.”

  “Not if they die before they can make it official.”

  “Then the wife goes back to her family, with an oath that she’ll never reveal her late husband’s magic or its secrets. Going to another trade? Oh, no, no, no. Never.”

  “Not another trade. I baked bread and cakes and all sorts of things for seven years. There should be someone in this city who needs that.”

  “Oh, there is. But not from you. If you want a job baking, you’ll have to marry a baker, and that will only happen if you are free and single. Children? No, not even freedom will make a man look twice at you. You don’t have any, do you?”

  “No.” Krysilla felt that familiar pain stab her once more. But it was an old pain, and she’d gotten skilled at ignoring it.

  “Well then, find a man who can support you.”

  “Even though I’m still married.” Krysilla frowned. “There has to be something.”

  Nitty shrugged. “Street work. Or a brothel. Oh, and cleaning houses. As a woman, you could offer your services that way.”

  “Well, that’s something,” Krysilla murmured. She sank her chin into her palm, resting her elbow on her knee. “Know of anyone hiring housekeepers?”

  “If I did, I wouldn’t be here talking to you.”

  But Krysilla could see in her eyes that she was doing something to support herself. It may not be much, but it was something. “How long since your husband’s been gone? If you don’t mind me asking.”

  Nitty shrugged again. “Doesn’t matter. Time kind of slips away when you’re in a state like me. Two, three months? Maybe more, maybe less.”

  “How do you live?�
��

  “The kindness of strangers,” she said with a bitter smile that also carried an air of cleverness, as if getting help had, in itself, become a form of work.

  Krysilla thought of Zhiv and his offer. If she became his housekeeper...no. He’d be looking for his angle, his way in, and she would have to live with that day in and day out. She’d left Lejer because she’d wanted a quiet place, to think, to dream, to possibly love and be loved someday, without breaking any promises. If she wanted a battle, she should just turn around and head home.

  “If you’re dead set on cleaning,” Nitty said, bringing Krysilla out of her thoughts, “you should try the upper-class section of town. You can’t go door to door begging, but there are places you can register your name. If a job comes up, they’ll contact you. You look spiffy enough. They’re more likely to take you than me.” Her sister chuckled. “Doubt you’ll find a job before tonight, though.”

  Nervous now, Krysilla wondered if she should even ask if she could stay, just for the night. “Is there anyplace a person can stay for free?”

  “Not inside the town. The fields are open, and there’s bits of the forest where some of the poorer folk live. When the gates open, they come inside to work. I can give you a bit of canvas if you like, to give you some shelter.”

  And that answered Krysilla’s question about staying with her sister. With a brief smile, Krysilla said, “No, thank you.” Getting up, she brushed herself off.

  “Well, now that you’re in the city, we’ll have to keep in touch.”

  Krysilla couldn’t tell if Nitty was simply being polite, or truly meant it. “Of course. I’ll probably be busy, though, looking for work.”

  “Of course.” And Nitty’s smile grew. That certainly makes her happy, Krysilla thought, and decided not to contact her unless she had no choice.

  After a brief farewell, Krysilla began walking across the city, toward the upper-class section. It’s probably between the business district and the homes of the upper-class, she thought, and kept a lookout for signs that marked the kind of business Nitty had described.