Chapter Four
In Which Proper Footwear Leads to Blackmail
The next week was torturous for several reasons. Tasia’s body hurt in ways she had never experienced before. Taking a walk through the estate gardens or walking and shopping in the city had in no way prepared her for four hours of hiking. The whole first day back, Tasia worked without her shoes.
While scrubbing the floor on her hands and knees, she remembered that she needed different footwear.
She had cleaned the whole kitchen and most of the living space before she hit upon an idea that might work.
Using the money she had secreted away could let them know that she hadn’t handed everything over.
If she asked the soft-hearted Anthi at the right time for some of it back to buy shoes, she wouldn’t risk her stash.
She decided to wait until dinner that night because Pagona was dining with friends and both parents were currently out.
The only one keeping Tasia company was the perpetually crumb-spilling, yogurt-coated Chara.
In an effort to soften the Galanis adults, Tasia prepared her best dish for dinner.
Bavenpier cooking differed from her own, but the spices and herbs weren’t completely unfamiliar, as Diomland was a giant blend of the various countries on the continent.
She roasted a chicken with a mixture of spices that smelled good to her, and she slaved over her fanciest bread recipe.
Stavros dug into his meal without comment.
Mother Anthi, at least, thanked the one who actually made the meal.
After letting them get halfway through their dinners, Tasia stood up to grab more butter from the counter.
She accidentally-on-purpose stumbled. The resulting wince and stifled moan were genuine as she miscalculated and bumped a blister against the lower cabinets.
Having planned well, her feet were in full view of Anthi, who gasped.
“Tasia, dear. Whatever has happened to your feet?”
Years of pretending for Diomland’s minor nobility served her well. “I’m afraid my shoes aren’t great for hiking,” she began with a polite grimace. “I was wondering . . . if I could have some of the money back to buy boots?” She left it as a question.
As expected, Anthi tried to hide her horror. Tasia suspected that the woman already had plans for that money and may have even spent some. But she also expected that Stavros held the actual purse strings.
“I’m just worried that I won’t be able to continue making deliveries for Grandmother without proper boots.” She focused on buttering another roll for Chara.
From the corner of her eye, she could see the husband and wife making silent faces at one another. She bit her lip to keep from smirking.
“That seems a wise investment,” Stavros said.
“Thank you.” Tasia smiled at him. She turned to his wife. “Mother Anthi, if you don’t mind watching Chara tomorrow, I can get them then. I imagine it will take a few days to break them in.”
Anthi’s nostrils flared, and she looked to her husband.
Stavros shook his head. “No need. Anthi will purchase them tomorrow.”
“Thank you again.” Tasia wasn’t sure if Anthi was more bothered by the idea of having to watch her own child or the thought that Tasia might spend more than necessary.
Either way, the important thing was that she was getting boots and she didn’t have to deal with uncooperative villagers who might refuse to take her money.
The cobbler had locked his doors when he saw her coming, if she remembered correctly.
Guilt about manipulating the family that had given her a home nipped at her conscience. She resolved, again, to turn over that new leaf. The first betrayal had felt unavoidable at the time, but she didn’t need to create situations like that here.
The two days following her trip through the woods had been nearly free of Pagona. Bianca was having some sort of shindig at her place, and Pagona spent the night after dinner. She and her friends returned the next day, eager to play “Aggravate Tasia.”
Chara and Anthi were absent because one of the other mothers in the village had invited the pair over so her little one could have a playmate for the day. This left Tasia unencumbered with a toddler but allowed Pagona and the others more opportunities to think up extra work for her.
“Ugh!” Pagona made an expression of disgust, wrinkling her nose then slamming down her teacup.
Tasia had a moment to worry about the state of the ceramic before her cousin continued.
“Don’t drink it, ladies. Tasia must have used old tea leaves.”
The others obligingly set down their cups and turned to glare at Tasia. Knowing it was useless to defend herself, Tasia kept calm. In a light tone, she said, “That tea was brought home by your mother yesterday.”
Bianca sniffed delicately. “Then perhaps something is off with your well, Pagona darling. It happens from time to time.”
A flicker of rage passed over Pagona’s face before she caught what Bianca was hinting at with her slightly widened eyes.
“Oh . . . yes! You are so right, Bunny. Sometimes the well does taste funny.” She turned to Tasia with a malicious sparkle in her eye.
“Cousin, you must fetch better water from the well in town.”
Bianca gently cleared her throat.
Pagona understood. “Do hurry, dear,” she said in a mockery of her mother. “We can only wait for fresh tea for so long. There might be . . . consequences for any delays.”
The girls giggled with ill-tempered glee.
“Right away, Pagona,” Tasia assured without inflection.
She grabbed a water container from the cupboard and reluctantly slid her feet into her shoes.
Fortunately, her blisters had calmed down a bit.
The footwear was uncomfortable but manageable.
Hoping the girls would take joy in her discomfort—and thus leave her alone for a little bit longer—she played up the pain as she limped out the door.
The laughter increased, only slightly muffled by the slab of wood shutting her out of the house.
Tasia hastened her pace once she was out of sight of the house.
Since walking helped work out the residual stiffness, she was fairly confident that the actual walking portion of her next delivery wouldn’t kill her.
She could set her own pace, for one thing.
Finding her way through the woods still fanned her anxiety.
Her mother and sisters used to laugh when she got lost coming home from the market.
An embarrassingly frequent occurrence, even with a servant trailing her.
Not many people lingered around the well—a fact that both calmed and distressed Tasia.
How could she go about making friends when the locals never had a chance to become familiar with her?
Apart from Pagona’s crew, she was convinced that Boschivo’s inhabitants just needed time to accept her.
Then it would only be a quick hop and a skip toward true connections.
Tasia didn’t like to brag, but she could admit to herself that she was very good at making friends with people who hadn’t met her sisters first.
By the time she reached the well, only one person remained in the vicinity.
Tasia took her time drawing water so she could examine the man from the corner of her eye.
Maybe he would be the first one to exchange a friendly greeting with her.
After a moment, Tasia realized she had already met the man.
It was Mitch, the mysterious scar-bearer who wouldn’t dance with her.
As she surreptitiously watched, he turned his head.
Having just seen Bagni’s scars far too close and personal, Tasia recognized the three lines as a wolf’s handiwork.
If Mitch had survived a wolf attack, he had to be a competent swordsman, right?
Or had survival skills that would come in handy in the forest, at least.
All too aware that her time was growing short, Tasia risked the wrath of her cousin for the chance to mitigate the near certainty of dying in the woods without a guide. “Mitch, right?”
A low growl of irritation came from his side of the well. He turned to face her, then blinked with what looked like surprise when he saw who it was.
“You may not remember me,” Tasia began. The scruffy fellow raised one eyebrow. She plowed on. “I have recently taken a job delivering medicine to Grandmother every week, and I could use a guide.”
She might have imagined his slight flinch at the name “Grandmother,” but she definitely didn’t misinterpret his abrupt no.
“I can pay you for your time—”
“No,” he repeated more firmly.
Before she could plan a rebuttal, let alone deliver it, he stalked off. Tasia rolled her eyes at his rudeness—a luxury she couldn’t afford at home. Then she lugged the water back to the house, aware that her short reprieve was quickly ending.
At the house, Pagona and her bunch barely noticed Tasia’s arrival.
They were deep in a discussion about the scandalous behavior of someone she didn’t know or care about.
The tea was made and served without a fuss.
The girls threw out a few desultory aspersions for the rest of their tea party, but Tasia could tell it was mostly out of obligation as Pagona’s friends.
Evidently, Mr. Ennio’s poetry-inspired behavior was simply too outrageous to focus on anything else.
The morning of Tasia’s second delivery dawned crisp and clear.
The days were still warm—if not hot, in the afternoons—though the mornings promised autumn was gaining a foothold.
Pretty soon a cloak would be necessary. Her feet were nice and toasty in the new boots Anthi had brought home.
Tasia had been wearing them for short periods of time around the house for the last four days.
Time would tell if that had been sufficient to break them in.