Chapter III.32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Ten Days After the Wedding
Adaline had not run to Miria empty-handed.
She’d packed her saddlebags full of coins, jewelry, and whatever other small comforts from home she hadn’t wanted to give up—some easy-to-carry clothes, a fine hairbrush, perfume, a beautiful mirror, two books filled with her favorite stories and another of poetry.
And, of course, her sword. All the money wasn’t necessary, but it couldn’t hurt either, and Miria figured she’d find a way to use it, especially if it made Adaline feel like less of an imposition.
After a bath in the river (made more enjoyable by Adaline’s company), Miria spent the remains of the day settling Adaline in and relaxing.
Tuli was pleased to see her again, too, acting as jovial as a golem ever acted.
He freaked out Pearl a bit, and that would take some adjustment, but they would make it work. Somehow.
She’d gone to sleep with her head full of plans.
Over fall and winter, she would expand the cottage again.
When it had been only her and Yali, the cottage had never felt cramped, even before Yali had built Miria her own room.
Whether two rooms or three, it had been cozy but comfortable.
But although Adaline would never say so, Miria knew she was used to bigger, grander rooms, and certainly two women of their age could use more space than a nana and a little girl had required—particularly when one needed space for spell work and the other for sword practice.
One day, Miria might even have her own apprentice, and she should be prepared.
Besides, Tuli did not really fit in the cottage, and Miria wanted to change that.
Her first priority, however, would be to build a barn for Pearl.
The horse needed somewhere warm for when winter came, and she and Adaline would need a place to store Pearl’s feed.
Once Pearl got used to Tuli, maybe they could build an extra tall room so Tuli could have a spot of his own there to do whatever he did when he was resting.
(Another item on Miria’s winter to-do list was learn more about her golem so she could care for him better.)
All of this was going to require a lot of effort on her part, but Miria was feeling optimistic. Every witch built or altered her own home, and it was time she stepped up and made the cottage hers.
Just like it was time to step up and make this territory hers, as well.
Yali had been the best nana and teacher Miria could have wished for, but as the predicament with Rosmilda had shown, there were actions Miria could take to improve life in this part of Waere and Gawfrid Province. She finally felt ready to own that.
To that end, a week after Adaline had come to live with her, Miria set out for town.
She’d had plenty of time to rest, and though Adaline continued to fuss over her, Miria knew she was well and truly recovered by the sense of restlessness that overtook her mind whenever she thought of her plans.
She wanted to begin acting on the ones she could quickly.
The chaos of the wedding was spreading new fear of the witch through the town, and fear was a stubborn weed.
Eliminating it entirely was impossible (and, perhaps, not the best option anyway), but recent events fed it, sending the roots deeper, making it harder to rip them out. Miria couldn’t let that happen.
Thanks to Sarel, she knew the names of the children whose blood Rosmilda had been using to draw her power, and through her own efforts, she’d learned where to find them. In time, the children should recover on their own, but Miria intended to both ensure that they did and speed along the process.
With Adaline at her side, Miria went from home to home, leaving gifts of healing magic for each child.
They were simple charms of comfrey and sage and blackberry leaf wrapped in scraps of knotted linen and threaded through on string that could be tied around a neck or hung over a bed.
After the recent magical spectacle (the tales of which had surely been embellished for those who weren’t present to witness it), Miria considered the charms’ plainness an advantage. It made them less frightening.
Still, not all the families were pleased to receive a gift from the witch.
A couple slammed their doors in Miria’s face.
One family refused to open theirs at all.
But most people were grateful, even if they were also suspicious.
They took the charms with trembling hands, whispers of thanks, and plenty of assurance that these were gifts not meant to be repaid. Only a few asked questions.
“I’d heard Anida was feeling unwell,” Miria said to those who would listen. Or sometimes it was Effi or Holger or Uwin. “Because I do not like children to suffer when I can help,” was all she responded when asked why she’d come.
When Miria delivered the last charm, she felt lighter, though the charms themselves had weighed next to nothing.
“That went well?” Adaline sounded unsure as she looped an arm through Miria’s own.
“I think so.” Mostly, she feared it could have gone worse. It would take time to see how well it had been. But it was a first step on a long journey.
The sun was high as they headed toward the main road, and traffic in town was heavy as people would soon begin heading to lunch or the chapel, if they were so inclined.
Miria was dressed in her best—and only—town clothes, but she’d done nothing to disguise her appearance otherwise.
For once, she wanted people to see her face, though she could not shake how exposed that left her feeling.
She was glad Adaline, with her noble features and all her social graces, had come along.
Scents of fresh bread and steaming fish emanated from the taverns and lunch carts, and Miria considered buying herself and Adaline a meal from one of the vendors rather than make them both wait until they returned to the cottage. Adaline was always hungry, so if Miria was feeling so too …
“Miri.” Adaline squeezed her arm, pulling Miria from her thoughts of hand pies and doughy treats.
She turned in the direction where Adaline was looking and froze. Her brother was stopped on the other side of the road, Winda’s and Katline’s hands in each of his own.
Hans stared at her. Miria stared back.
Adaline waved at Miria’s sisters, and they shyly returned the gesture, and that seemed to be the deciding factor. Hans led them across the cobblestone street.
Again, Miria was grateful for Adaline’s company, as Adaline lowered herself to be closer to the girls’ heights.
“Do you remember me?” she asked.
The taller of the two managed a nod and released Hans’s hand long enough to curtsey. Seeing her sister’s behavior, the younger girl followed suit.
“My lady,” they both whispered.
“Oh, there’s none of that anymore.” Adaline grinned.
“You will always be deserving of the title, Lady Adaline,” Hans said. He turned his head to Miria, “And you …”
Miria raised an eyebrow, unwilling to help him finish his thought. “Brother, I would like to be introduced to my sisters.”
“Of course.” Hans took a tentative step forward. The girls had already shown more bravery after being acknowledged by Adaline. “This is Winda and Katline. Girls, this is your sister.…”
He hesitated, and Miria filled in the gap, kneeling alongside Adaline. “I’m Miria. I’m so glad to finally meet you.”
“Are you the witch?” Katline asked in a whisper.
“I am.”
“You don’t seem scary.”
Miria smiled and glanced up at her brother. “A witch is only scary to those who have done horrible things and deserve to be scared.”
Hans swallowed, but Katline nodded like this made perfect sense. “You don’t have horns, either.”
“No, witches don’t have horns, but I do have quite pointy ears that stick up when I become an owl.”
Katline gasped. “You can be an owl? I want to fly!”
“Kat!” Winda shook her head, then she turned back to Miria, and her lip trembled. “People are saying our mother is a witch, too.”
“Your mother is very much not a witch.”
“Do you know where she went?” Katline asked. “Hans said you might.”
Miria could have smacked her brother for that, but she supposed it had seemed like a logical thing to tell the girls.
“She went very far from here, because she did some very bad things. But …” Faced with the conflicted expressions the girls wore, Miria added, “But she was trying to be good to you. I hope you see her again one day.”
That much, Miria believed was true. She was left without words after that, though, not knowing what her sisters knew or how they’d gotten along with their mother.
Had they loved her? Feared her? Had they known she was hurting them?
Miria had so many questions she needed answered before she could proceed.
Adaline came to her rescue, holding out her hands to Katline and Winda.
“I’m famished, and the bread over there smells wonderful.
Would you like some, too?” She led the girls down the street toward a vendor selling cheese-stuffed pastries, leaving Miria and Hans.
Hans stared at his boots until Miria shifted.
“I have a lot of questions, but this is not an ideal spot for this conversation,” she said. No one was paying them much attention, but town always felt crowded to her, regardless. For her comfort, never mind her safety, she’d rather confront Hans in the woods. Town was not her domain.
“I’m sorry.”
Hans’s words stopped her before she could suggest going elsewhere, and Miria held her breath, waiting. For what, she wasn’t sure.
“I was a coward. I meant to protect us both, I swear. But when the time came to run, I … I panicked. I told myself you were right behind me, on my heels.”
“You were a coward,” Miria said, not feeling particularly moved. “And when you discovered I wasn’t behind you? When you returned home to our father, alone? When you lied about what happened?”
Her brother stared at the dirt-dusted stones.
“I was too shocked, too scared to do anything right away. You weren’t the only one Father used to hurt, and I know that doesn’t excuse anything, but I didn’t know what to do.
And Father seemed so—I don’t know—pleased when I told him I escaped.
It was like he was genuinely proud of me for the first time, so I kept embellishing the tale to make him happy.
I thought, now that he was happy with me, I would find the courage to come back for you later, and he would be happy about that, too, but …
” In the heavy pause, Miria realized Hans was fighting back tears.
“I couldn’t. I was terrified, and the guilt only made it worse.
I was afraid if I went back for you, I’d learn I was too late. ”
“So you ensured that would be the case by doing nothing?” Miria crossed her arms.
Hans took a deep breath. “I wanted hope. As long as I didn’t discover you were dead, I could hope you were alive. And when I realized how stupid that was—as you said—I just tried to put you out of my mind. To forget.”
More than that—he’d tried to justify what he’d done. She couldn’t forget the words he’d used at midsummer two years ago, and Miria shook her head, trying to decipher her feelings. She’d used up her anger, and the betrayal had faded. Mostly, surprisingly, she just felt sad.
It was true that their father had not always been good to Hans.
He’d been treated better than she had, but Hans had endured his share of punishments, usually ones more violent than Miria had suffered.
He had seemed so strong and brave to her at the time, but in retrospect, how much had been an act for her sake and his own?
The truth was, knowing that he’d played no part in Rosmilda and Garulf’s schemes, she wanted to forgive him, and she told him so.
“But not yet,” Miria added. “I don’t want to forgive you because it’s easier than carrying around all this hurt.
I need to believe you’ve become a better person, especially if Winda and Katline are your responsibility now.
I need to know you won’t repeat Garulf’s mistakes, and that you will undo the damage you’ve done with your lies about the witch. ”
Hans was silent for a moment, his shoulders heaving. “That seems fair.”
Miria thought it was more than fair, but she cut him a break for apologizing.
“When you’re ready,” Miria said. “bring the girls to the cottage. I think they’ll like it.”
She wasn’t sure she wanted Hans there—yet.
But if he came, if he was willing to confront his past, it would be another step toward earning her forgiveness.
And if he did not, well, now that they’d been introduced, she could seek out her sisters on her own.
She would not let Hans nor her father be the only one filling their heads with the stories of their mother and the witch.
The girls deserved to write their own versions, and Miria would see to it that they knew they were loved in hers.