Chapter Seven – Sorina
Chapter Seven
Sorina
I wrap the last bundle of dried chamomile and tie it with string, and Julie slides a row of glass bottles across the counter for me to label.
“Tincture of arnica, tincture of willow bark, and the valerian is the dark one,” she says, already reaching for the next crate. “Don’t mix up the labels again.”
“I mixed them up once.”
“Once was enough. Mrs. Hargrove couldn’t sleep for two days and came back here ready to burn the place down.”
I write the labels in careful letters and press them onto the glass.
The apothecary is quiet this morning, just Julie and me up front while her mother, Danielle, grinds herbs in the back.
The shop sits between a cobbler and a candle seller, narrow and deep, with shelves stacked to the ceiling and dried roots hanging from the rafters.
I found it on my second day in the Narrowhalls, asked Julie about a jar of comfrey, and the conversation went on so long that Danielle came out from the back to see what was happening.
I volunteered to help on the spot, and they let me, and I’ve come back every day since.
I like it here. The work is close to what I used to do in Tessana, and Julie is easy to be around.
She doesn’t ask things that would make me uncomfortable.
The Narrowhalls make my life in the golems’ citadel bearable.
The corridors are built for my height, the voices are human, and the food is familiar.
Up in the Highhalls, everything is carved at a scale that makes me feel like a child, and Korr is always somewhere nearby, hovering.
I don’t know what to make of him yet. I haven’t decided, and until I do, I’d rather be down here, where I can talk to people and learn the layout of the place, and figure out what my options are if things go wrong.
Making friends is the smart thing to do, even if I have to push myself.
I forgot how to talk to people, how to be around them and open up, but Julie and her mother seem to be understanding.
They know who I am. I told Julie and Danielle myself, because I wanted them to learn it from me, not via market gossip.
Korr’s wife, the latest one. By now, the whole Narrowhalls probably knows.
It’s a small community, after all, and when someone new shows up, all the bored housewives start their own investigation.
The door opens and two women walk in. One is brunette with long hair past her shoulders, the other so blonde her hair is almost white. The brunette does the talking.
“We need creams,” she says, walking straight to the counter. “Serums too, if you have them. Something to make the skin brighter.” She turns to the blonde and points at her face. “Look at her. She’s got sun spots everywhere, and we barely see the sun down here. It’s ridiculous.”
The blonde stands there patiently, like this has happened before.
Julie pulls two jars from the shelf behind her and sets them on the counter.
“This one has rose hip and jojoba. The other is heavier, better for the spots. You put it on at night and wash it off in the morning.”
The brunette opens the heavier jar and sniffs it. The blonde turns to me.
“Are you Sorina?” she asks. “Korr’s wife?”
I glance at Julie. A quick look, just checking with her in case she might signal to me how I should answer such a sudden, direct question. Julie raises her eyebrows a fraction and goes back to the jars.
“I am,” I say.
The blonde comes around the side of the counter, and before I can step back, she pulls me into a hug, her arms tight around my shoulders.
“I’m so happy to meet you! I’ve been meaning to come by.” She lets go and holds me at arm’s length. “I’m Xenia.”
I stand with my hands at my sides, not sure what to do.
The brunette leans on the counter and gives me a wave.
“Hannah.”
“It’s nice to meet you, too,” I say. “But I’m not sure I understand.”
Hannah looks at Xenia, and Xenia grins.
“I used to be in your place,” Hannah says. “Four months ago, I was the one living up in the Highhalls.”
“And it was me a year ago,” Xenia says. “We both lived there. With Korr.”
I take half a step back and my hip bumps the shelf behind the counter. A jar rattles, and I reach behind me to steady it without turning around. I look at Julie, who’s watching with a half-smile that tells me she knew this was coming.
“Don’t worry,” Hannah says. “It’s in the past, and nothing happened.”
“Nothing happened,” I repeat.
Xenia shrugs. “Well, we did kiss once. But there was no spark, so to speak.”
She says it the way someone talks about a coat she tried on that didn’t fit. It didn’t bother her then and it doesn’t bother her now.
These are women who lived in the same room I sleep in. Who used the same bathing room, the same wardrobe, and the same bed. I don’t know what to do with that. It’s strange, and the fact that they’re both standing here treating it like old news makes it stranger.
Another customer comes through the door, a woman with a basket on her arm, and Julie moves to serve her.
“I should get back to work,” I say, reaching for the tincture bottles.
“You don’t work here,” Julie says without looking up. “Go have a drink with the girls. It sounds like you have stories to share.”
My face goes warm. I put the bottles down and come out from behind the counter.
“Thank you, Julie.”
“Bring me back something sweet,” she calls after me.
Xenia takes my left arm and Hannah takes my right, and we’re walking through the Narrowhalls toward the Pickaxe before I’ve decided if I’m even on board with this.
“It’s time for lunch anyway,” Hannah says. “A few of us meet at the Pickaxe sometimes to eat and talk. You should come meet the others.”
“The others,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “Korr’s women?”
They both laugh.
“We’re not his women,” Hannah says. “That’s silly. Don’t listen to the gossip down here. It’s vile.”
“Did you hear the one about the harem?” Xenia asks.
I don’t answer, which is answer enough. Xenia pats my arm.
“It’s not true,” she says. “None of it. Korr would never.”
The Pickaxe is half full at midday. I haven’t been back since that first night. I usually skip breakfast and have lunch with Julie and Danielle, and for dinner, I buy something at the market and eat it in my room. The tavern looks different, brighter and busier.
Hannah leads us to a table where two women are already sitting. One has short dark hair and intense brown eyes, and the other is older, maybe in her mid-thirties, with thin lines around her mouth. Her lips are pursed, as if something has displeased her.
“Prim,” the dark-haired one says, reaching across to shake my hand.
“Becca,” the other one says, barely touching the tips of her fingers to mine.
They already know who I am. We order bread, smoked meat, cheese, bowls of soup, and a bottle of wine that Hannah pours for everyone without asking.
“So,” Prim says, tearing a slice of bread in half. “What did Hannah and Xenia tell you?”
“That they lived with Korr and nothing happened.”
Becca takes a sip of wine. “That’s the short version.”
“He’s looking for his soulmate,” Xenia says. “That’s the whole thing. He goes to the bride market, brings someone home, and hopes she’s the one. If she isn’t, he lets her go.” She picks up a piece of smoked meat. “It’s pretty romantic, honestly.”
“He was always respectful,” Hannah says. “Never raised his voice, never came to my door at night, and never asked me for anything.”
“Same,” Prim says with her mouth full.
Becca nods.
“And when he knew it wasn’t a match?” I ask.
“He sat me down and told me,” Hannah says. “Said I could stay in Steinheim if I wanted, or I could leave. It was my choice. He set me up with a room in the Narrowhalls, and I had enough money to start a life here from what he’d paid for me at the market.”
“Same,” Xenia says.
“Yes,” Becca says. “He had the same conversation with us all, almost word for word.”
I frown. “I don’t understand how none of you are angry with him.”
They look at each other across the table. It’s like they have a special way of communicating, but the message I sense them passing around is one of confusion.
“Why would I be angry?” Hannah asks.
“He bought you.” I keep my voice low, but I hear the edge in it. “He brought you here and decided you weren’t the one, and that was it. He rejected you. All of you.”
Hannah puts down her bread. “I went to the bride market because I had nothing. No family, no money, and nowhere to go. I didn’t want to be married, not to Korr, not to anyone.
” She picks up her cup. “When he told me the bond wasn’t there and I was free, it was the best thing that had happened to me in a long time. ”
“I entered the auction because the alternative was worse,” Xenia says. “I left Korr’s quarters with money, a room, and nobody’s name on me. That’s more than I could’ve hoped for.”
“He’s a decent person,” Prim says.
Becca refills her wine. “Most of us didn’t want husbands. We wanted to survive. He gave us that and never made us pay for it.”
I sit with this for a while and eat my soup.
These women all went to the bride market for the same reason I did.
They had no future in the human world, and then they ended up here, fed, housed, and free.
Of course they’d defend the man who’d made it possible.
None of them are jealous of each other, none of them are competing.
The conversation turns lighter as my new friends – can I call them friends?
– start talking about their work and homes, and the gossip they’ve heard lately.
Xenia mentions a man she’s been seeing, someone who works in the Forgehalls, and the others pat her hand and giggle.
Prim works for a scribe in the trade quarter, and Becca runs a fabric stall at the market.
They built real lives here, and I realize that they did it together, helping each other.
I eat and listen, because that’s what I’m good at, and because I don’t have much to share with them.
They seem happy, and I don’t want to upset them with my sad story and the fears that still plague me.
The fact that they keep singing praises to Korr doesn’t make me less apprehensive of him.
They can say what they will, but I still think the fact that he’s brought so many women to his quarters and then dismissed them is not normal.
The door to the tavern opens and a woman walks in, scanning the room until she spots us. She comes over quickly and pulls out an empty chair.
“Sorry I’m late,” she says, sitting down. “Noah needed his shirt ironed and I forgot to do it last night, so I had to rush through it before I left.” She reaches across the table and shakes my hand. “Vicky. Nice to meet you.”
“Sorina,” I say.
I’m guessing Noah is her husband.
Her sleeve rides up when she extends her arm, and I see a bruise on her wrist. She slides her hand back and tugs the sleeve down in one smooth motion, her expression unchanged.
I look at Hannah, but she’s busy studying her plate. I look at Xenia, who’s pouring wine into Vicky’s cup. They both saw what I saw, but no one says a word about it.
“What should I order?” Vicky asks, pulling the bread basket toward her and picking up a slice to munch on.
“The soup is good today,” Becca says.
“Better than yesterday,” Prim adds.
The conversation folds around the food, easy and warm, as if nothing out of the ordinary just happened.
Prim asks Becca about a shipment of fabric coming up from the lowlands, then Xenia starts telling a story about a customer at her stall who tried to haggle on a price that was already marked down.
Vicky laughs at the right parts, eats her food, and tucks her hands in her lap when she isn’t reaching for something.
I watch her smooth her sleeve one more time, a habitual gesture she probably doesn’t know she’s doing.
I try to smile and behave like I’m supposed to, but even if I’m part of their group now – part of Korr’s harem, some women in the Narrowhalls would say – I feel out of place.
It’s not these women’s fault, though. They’re welcoming and lovely.
It’s my spiraling thoughts that prevent me from enjoying my time with them.