8. Rumors
Chapter 8
Rumors
R aewyn
Early the next morning, I went to see my closest friend Katricia.
We’d grown up together in the village, born only a year apart. I had memories of our mothers sitting together, sipping lemon water in her garden, as Katricia and I played among the flowering squash vines and tented supports for the bean vines, making stick houses and stick people to live in them.
Having lain awake half the night, staring at the thatched roof and fretting over the lost locket, I had come up with a plan in the wee hours—and it involved Katricia.
I rapped on the wooden door to her cottage, feeling guilty already for the favor I was about to ask.
“Good morning,” she sang as she threw the door open wide. “I’ll put the kettle on. I can’t wait to hear about your visit to the Rough Market.”
I’d clearly caught her in the middle of baking because her dark hair was dusted with bread flour, and the apron she wore was damp and wrinkled. Her eyes danced with anticipation as she stepped back, inviting me to enter.
“Well? How much did you get? Did the necklace fetch a high price?”
My own gaze dropped to the floor in shame. “It didn’t fetch any price–I lost it.”
“What?”
Katricia’s merry expression shifted into one of deep concern. She understood how devastating the loss was for my family. Once I stepped inside the cozy abode, she turned to face me.
“How?”
“I’m not sure. It might have been stolen,” I said. “But just in case it wasn’t and I only dropped it, I plan to go back there today and search for it. I came to ask if you’d look after the girls and Papa today. Not all day–just check on them occasionally while I’m gone?”
Katricia handed me a cup of hot tea and urged me to sit in a chair at the small wooden table. Taking the one opposite me, she blew into her teacup to cool it.
“Of course, you know I will. But if there are thieves there, do you think it’s a good idea to go back?”
No , my mind screamed at me.
No doubt the burned thief and his followers would remember me and perhaps hand me the same punishment they’d given Sam for the offense of trying to protect me.
“Probably not,” I admitted. “But I don’t see another choice. Unless I want to go to the pleasure houses.”
My friend shook her head and wrinkled her nose at the distasteful prospect. A poor girl herself, she knew how close that fate always lurked for the both of us.
Katricia had no younger siblings as I did, but as she was the youngest of six daughters, there had been no dowry left for her. And she had two elderly parents to care for.
Based on the regularity with which Harrell, the village cobbler, had been visiting her, it seemed she might beat the odds and marriage might be in the cards for her after all. He wasn’t wealthy, but he could afford to support a wife and children when they came eventually.
“We will not let that happen,” Katricia said. “A pleasure house is no place for you.”
“It might be the only place left for me if I don’t find the locket.” I groaned.
She took a sip of her tea. “Do you really think there’s a chance it’s still there somewhere?”
I sipped from my own cup before answering in a sullen tone.
“No. It’s probably a lost cause, but I have to at least try.”
Katricia nodded and looked thoughtful. “If you did drop it, and it wasn’t stolen… wouldn’t it have been trampled underfoot all day? The lanes at the larger markets are usually thick muck by end of day.”
Sticking out my foot, I twisted it side to side, observing the remnants of dried mud on my boot.
“True. And they threw fresh straw over the walking paths throughout the day to shore them up.” I let out a long sigh. “It’s hopeless isn’t it? I’ll never find it.”
Katricia reached out and patted my hand on the tabletop. Then she gripped it with a sharp intake of breath.
“I have an idea.” She wore a wide smile.
My heart leapt, though I couldn’t imagine what possible solution there could be.
“I saw Harrell last night,” she said. Her face lit up with the mention of her beau’s name.
“He told me that Dardick Creegan told him that he’d noticed how ‘nicely’ you’ve grown up.” She gave a pert nod. “And he’s far too well off to be concerned about a dowry.”
“Ugh. Dardick Creegan,” I groaned. “I might as well marry a Troll.”
Dardick was the eldest son of the wealthiest—and only—general merchant in town, and therefore quite a catch in the eyes of most girls. His family lived in the largest, nicest home in the village, and he’d just broken ground on the neighboring plot in preparation to build his own fine home.
Marrying him would certainly make my family’s lives much easier.
Unfortunately it would make mine a living hell.
Dardick was famously vain, and as far as I knew, had never once admitted to a mistake or a defeat. He was never wrong. He’d accept blame for nothing—even things numerous witnesses had seen him do and heard him say.
That wasn’t the worst of it. He’d seduced several of the local girls, but none of his courtships seemed to last.
According to him, he’d grown bored of them and called things off, but it had been noticed that each of them had sprouted mysterious bruises or sprains after spending time with him.
No one had outright accused him of abuse, but the women kept their distance after the breakups and didn’t want to talk about him.
I wasn’t sure why, but my guesses were they either felt shame about something that had happened to them or that Dardick’s father had paid for their silence. Maybe it was both.
Plus it was well known he was a steady customer of the nearest pleasure house to our village. There were stories that after his “visits,” the women who’d served him bore fresh marks on their faces and necks.
Though my father had warned against believing rumors, some were so persistent and loud they were impossible to ignore. My friends and I took care to steer well clear of him.
“I know, you’re right,” Katricia agreed, slumping. “He’s horrible. I’m sorry I even suggested it. I just thought… well, you seem desperate.”
“It’s all right. I am desperate.”
For a moment, I tried to imagine living with Dardick, allowing him to kiss me, sharing a marital bed—on the nights he chose to come home anyway.
Allowing him to beat me as the poor pleasure house workers were required to do.
I flopped back into my chair, staring up at the low ceiling. “There’s got to be another way.”
“You could ask Sorcha for help,” Katricia suggested. “She has ways of finding lost things—and helping people with all sorts of problems.”
“Yes, I know, and her ways lead to all sorts of new problems,” I said.
I’d already planned to visit the Earthwife’s cottage as soon as I left here to ask for a loan of Papa’s pain medicine. I didn’t want him to go another day without it.
But I did not want to get any deeper into her debt than absolutely necessary.
Though the villagers relied on Sorcha’s healing treatments, all of us were a little afraid of her as well. Earthwives had powers—and motives—none of us really understood.
And we all knew the stories of people who’d struck bargains with her.
Like Alux Cowden, who’d always longed to be a famous bard despite the fact he couldn’t carry a tune in a wheelbarrow.
Overnight he’d developed a new talent for playing the lute, and his previously torturous voice had become silken and true. His fame had spread quickly throughout the Three Peaks Valley, and he’d even been invited to perform for a lord in the neighboring region of Windros.
Unfortunately, on his way home, his horse had apparently gotten spooked and had run his master directly into a low-hanging tree branch.
It had struck him across the throat, ending his singing career—and his life.
And then there was Nilsa Mulberry, who’d asked to be the richest woman in our village. After visiting Sorcha, she’d gone on a walk and found a bag of precious gemstones.
She’d enjoyed her newfound riches for exactly two months before the sheriff of Ardenmoor arrived in our village in search of a noblewoman’s missing jewels.
Nilsa’s insistence she hadn’t stolen the gems but had simply found them didn’t move him. He’d taken her away to spend the rest of her days in Deadmarsh Prison.
These stories and more like them were why I’d avoided asking for Sorcha’s help in the past. The coincidences were all a bit too… coincidental.
“But you’re right,” I said to Katricia. “I may have to beg her mercy.”
The consequences of asking for Sorcha’s help couldn’t be any worse than becoming Dardick’s wife, right?