Chapter II.17
Chapter Seventeen
Two Years Before the Wedding, Continued
The summer solstice arrived that year with less excitement than it usually held for Miria.
All four of the year’s solar holidays and all thirteen of the lunar ones were busy times for a witch.
Each marked an occasion that was favorable for a different type of magic, so on the solstices and the equinoxes, Miria and Yali would be up earlier than normal, preparing, casting, or tending the necessary spells.
But even if Miria could sneak away for a few hours, she wouldn’t see Adaline today anyway, for the Lord and Lady of Gawfrid always graced Swiftdok’s town solstice festival for a few hours in the morning to toss coins and gifts at the townsfolk before retreating to their manor where they celebrated the holiday in whatever extravagant fashion nobility did.
Afterward, the town continued their celebrations without them, with music and dancing, and the customary sweet treats and costumes.
Miria didn’t remember much of it from her “before” time, but after the day’s spell work was completed, she and Yali would make an appearance each year (disguised, of course), and discreetly hand out small spells to those who seemed most in need, as was customary for witches.
A sprig from an apple tree for the girl who needed help getting over a broken heart, a tiny wreath of tansy blossoms to temporarily take the pain from an elderly woman so she could dance for the day, an egg from one of the magical chickens that would fill the belly of a hungry boy for a week.
These were relatively small magics, created or collected over the course of the preceding year (or, in the case of the egg, the preceding day).
Miria typically looked forward to all the festivities, but this year, a day without Adaline’s company felt less exciting.
Still, the larger magical workings she and Yali had cast had gone well, and now that the sun was well past its zenith, there was nothing left to be done but to enjoy the holiday.
Miria set the plates filled with the traditional cakes and piled high with sweet strawberries and fresh cream on the table. Nana had been sorting through the spell trinkets they would take into town, and she pushed the remaining items toward Miria.
“Are you not planning on carrying any of them this year?” Miria asked, grabbing a strawberry. The weight would be nothing, not even for someone as old as Yali.
Her nana stretched her legs out. “I do not think I’ll go into town this year.”
Alarm washed over Miria, her good mood swept away in an instant. “Are you feeling all right? Should I stay, too? Do you need anything?”
Following the alarm was guilt, like thunder followed lightning. She’d been spending so much of her spare time with Adaline lately when obviously her nana needed her. What kind of witch—what kind of daughter—was she?
Yali shook her head and swatted away the concerned hand Miria laid on her wrist. “I’m going to see a friend, or rather, a friend is coming to see me. You and your friend have made me realize I should see my own more often, too.”
Miria was silent a moment as Yali blotted up some cream with her cake. She sensed there was more to it, but not whether pressing the matter would result in any knowledge. Nana always fussed when Miria fretted over her.
Sensing her concern, Yali sighed. “The point of having an apprentice is so I may offload some of my work. Yes, I’m old and my feet tire more quickly than they used to, but that’s all the more reason to give you more to do.
” She cackled. “You do not need me to go into town and hand out gifts, and I do not need you hovering. Go, and maybe you’ll find your friend. ”
“She won’t be there,” Miria said, picking at her food. “They’ll have returned to the manor by now. And I don’t hover! I just want to be helpful. I’ve been neglecting you.”
“You are helpful, but you are also young and very sheltered here. You deserve to live a little, too. We see each other for the greater part of every day, child. You don’t need to feel guilty about spending time with other people.”
Was there some magic Yali had yet to teach her about reading people’s mind and emotions, or were hers so clearly written over her face? Miria flushed. “If you truly don’t require me here, then I’ll go into town.”
Nana nudged Miria’s dessert until the bowl pressed against her hand, an admonishment to eat. “I require you to go into town so I do not have to. Is that better?”
Miria rolled her eyes, but she speared another strawberry with her knife. It would have to do.
It seemed everyone in town had taken the day off of work to celebrate, but logically that couldn’t be true.
Certainly, the doors to the inns and taverns were thrown open to entice patrons with drinks, and the bakers had spent untold hours concocting sweet cakes and pastries to sell to the revelers.
The farmers in their fields and the men and women who served the wealthy continued to toil, as well.
Around the main market square and the town green, it only looked like a giant party if one didn’t look too hard.
It was those people, along with the ones too poor to indulge in strawberry cakes and peach tarts and raspberry-filled donuts, into whose pockets and hands Miria slipped spells as she detected need.
She’d nearly emptied her satchel of gifts and had already begged off two boys asking her to dance when she paid for an ale and leaned against a stone bridge to rest. Streamers on the trees flew in the wind, and a band nearby played a danceable tune.
Even the tiny boats in the harbor, visible below from her perch, had colorful cloths flying from their masts.
“Well it just seems wrong.” A woman’s voice caught Miria’s attention, and she glanced left to where a group of three women walked arm-in-arm.
Older than her, though far younger than Yali—Miria assessed them quickly.
Something about the speaker’s tone warned her of trouble.
They were dressed in the plain clothes of working women, much as Miria was, but with bright gold scarves tied about their heads like solstice crowns.
They began to cross the bridge in Miria’s direction.
“What is she to do? Neglect her other children?” asked a second woman. “It’s the solstice. Let them enjoy what they can of it.”
“The girl’s been missing for only two weeks,” the first woman said. “If my daughter was taken by the witch, I would not be out two weeks later, buying my other children treats.”
“Seems unfair to the other children who deserve a bright spot.” That was the third woman.
They moved on, the discussion continuing much the same way, never realizing the witch was right there, frowning at them.
Miria sighed, though not because she was being blamed. Another child who’d run away possibly, but not toward the woods and to help. Or possibly, another child who’d died under who-knew-what circumstances. Miria would hope for the former option. That one did not guarantee a tragic ending.
Miria finished her ale and followed after the women into the thick of the revelry.
Their conversation had reminded her of a reason to be in town for the day—learning news.
The witch did not get involved in town gossip or pay attention to politics, but her time in Adaline’s company had started to make Miria see there might be utility in learning more about the world beyond the Shadow Woods’s borders.
If nothing else, it seemed wise to know what the townsfolk were thinking about her.
She hadn’t gotten far with this endeavor before a group of rowdy dancers, who’d clearly drank a bit too much, jostled the passing crowd. In the commotion to get out of their way, a young man bumped into Miria’s side.
“I’m so sorry.” He placed a strong hand on Miria’s arm to steady her.
“It’s …” The fine withered on Miria’s tongue as she took in his features.
The high cheekbones and light brown hair that shone golden in the sun—those were common enough among the population.
But the strong nose and tilt of his brow were familiar, and his eyes …
There was no way around those eyes. Miria had never spent much time examining her own appearance until Adaline had burst into her life, causing her to think of such frivolous things, but she’d stared at her own reflection enough over the last few weeks to recognize her eyes in this stranger’s face.
Only this man was no stranger, was he?
Surprise was all that kept Miria from blurting out her brother’s name.
She wasn’t sure she even could. The combination of vowels and consonants, sounds that she’d once clung to in her childish love as she’d yearned to see her brother again, were not sounds she’d spoken aloud in years.
As the memories had faded and her pain had grown duller, so too had her desire to acknowledge him or dredge up any of the past. To say Hans’s name out loud was to muddy the peace she’d made internally.
But now that he was here, looking at her, not recognizing her (she couldn’t blame him for that; it had been her goal when she’d disguised herself), Miria found that her internal peace was more fragile than she’d believed.
It shivered and dissolved like the glassy surface of pond water, muddy emotions bubbling to the top.
“Are you all right?” Hans asked, and Miria realized she’d stared a touch too long.
She struggled to compose her face, to shove all the mud back beneath her surface. “Apologies,” she said. Then, before she could stop her tongue, she added, “You look very familiar. Do you have a sister?”