Chapter One #3
“And her dowry will be the north runner ship in the Applegate Trading Company,” Joyce says.
I bite my lip. There is no north runner ship, not anymore.
Those waters are treacherous, and my father had one of the few captains in the world who could sail them.
She was an incredible woman; I met her only once but was utterly enthralled for every second of our brief discussion.
She was only a year older than me and had been captaining ships for two years.
Perhaps it was reckless youth that enabled her to chart a course that not even the hardest, most salt-crusted sailors would have dared to try across those choppy waters to access a rare vein of silver.
But even her luck had run out, as all of ours does sooner or later.
She went down with her ship. My father happened to be on that same sailing.
I didn’t realize that Joyce had kept my father’s death quiet.
She’s trying to fully control the Applegate Trading Company, I realize.
My nails dig into the wall. With my father gone but not declared dead, she can assume control without questions from any of the outside investors.
“That’s a very interesting proposition,” an old and weathered voice says.
I hope it’s not too interesting to this man, whoever he is.
Because if he marries me for ships and then finds out there are none, I am the one who will suffer.
I have no doubt that Joyce will concoct a clever lie if she needs to; she’ll tell him the ships went down just after the wedding.
Calm down; poor fortune happens to everyone, I imagine her saying.
“Indeed,” Joyce says. “So as you can see, this isn’t what one would think of as a normal marriage.
I recognize that it is customary for the bride to bring her dowry.
But I’m a shrewd businesswoman, and I know the value of my daughter and what I’m offering.
Thus, I am asking all potential suitors to let me know what they would give me in return for the benefit of her hand. ”
There is a long pause. “My master has no interest in ships,” that weathered, weary voice says. “You can keep them.”
Master? Does that mean the man speaking is not my would-be husband? What type of man would send a servant to negotiate for a bride? I do not want love, but I dared to hope for dignity. But if the man can’t even be bothered to come now, how will he treat me once I am in his care?
“Then what is it that your master would like as a dowry?” Joyce seems absolutely flummoxed that someone would refuse the ships. Though I can hear the delight at this making her voice tremble.
“My master is a collector of a certain variety of rare goods. It has come to his attention that you are in possession of a particular tome he has long sought.”
“A book?” A pause. “Oh, you serve him.” Joyce’s voice sharpens. “I know Covolt always refused to sell it, but you will find me a much more amenable businesswoman.”
The book…they couldn’t possibly be talking about that book, could they?
When Joyce entered our lives, she decreed that all reminders of my mother be expunged from the halls.
I had tried to object, but my father told me it was a natural thing for a new wife to do, that new love couldn’t blossom in the shade of the old.
One night I went to him, utterly inconsolable.
I begged him to save something, anything, just one thing.
I had already lost the memories of my mother’s face. I didn’t want to lose more.
It was then that he showed me the book. It was a small, old thing.
Whatever lettering had once been stamped onto its leather was mostly worn away with time.
The only marking that was still discernible was imprinted on the spine: an eight-pointed star on top of a mountain.
The writing inside had faded, leaving only illegible ghosts to haunt mostly blank pages.
My father swore to me that it was the one thing my mother had treasured most. The one thing she wanted me to have and keep safe—my birthright.
And when I was a woman, he would give it to me.
But in the meantime, he swore me to secrecy, I’m sure to keep Joyce from destroying it like she did everything else of my mother’s.
When I was worried most that Joyce would discover the book, I told Father I did not want to wait. Let me hide it, I’d begged. But he said I wasn’t ready. So he gave me the lute to ensure I had something of Mother’s, claiming it was the one she’d used to sing me lullabies.
“My master had hoped that would be the case,” the old man says.
“He has empowered me to make the following offer: He will take the young woman’s hand in marriage and look after her for the rest of her days, or his, on this mortal plane—whichever ends first. She will never be left wanting.
He asks only for the book as a dowry. Furthermore, to show good faith toward your family, he will pay four thousand pieces when the marriage papers are signed. ”
My fate is sealed. Four thousand pieces is more than this entire manor is worth. That is one year’s operations of my father’s trading company during the best of times. I slowly slide down the wall as I realize this mysterious man who could not even be bothered to come in person will be my husband.
“That is a very generous offer indeed.” Joyce’s voice quivers slightly. I can imagine she’s practically salivating. “I shall draw up the papers to formalize this agreement and cement the marriage. Shall we sign them tomorrow when your master can come?”
“There is no need to wait.”
“Oh?”
“As I said, my master has empowered me to make such decisions on his behalf. I am able to sign for him and he’s given me his seal. He said that should you agree to our terms, I should conclude the business immediately.”
“Very well, then.”
Somewhere between the mutterings over the best wording for the agreement and the shuffling of papers, I stop listening.
I lean against the wall, hands shaking, fighting for air.
The world spins sickly fast. I knew this would happen.
I knew it. But now it’s real and happening so quickly… I thought…I thought I’d have more time…
“There, it is done,” Joyce declares as she no doubt finishes signing my name on my behalf.
“Good. Tell your daughter to collect her things while you collect the book.” More scraping of chairs. “We will leave within the hour.”
Just like that, I am married and about to leave the only home I’ve ever had…for a man whose name I don’t even know.