Four - Mina
Four
Mina
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The next day , I struggled to build an accurate picture of Alan’s role in the forge. I didn’t go back to the smithy, but I listened for every scrap of gossip about the village’s blacksmiths. There was little to hear. The young women of Skorsa, whom I spent the most time around, had little interest in that family.
Their disinterest in Gerald Powell came as no surprise. The fact that not a single one ever sighed over Alan’s broad shoulders when discussing the men of the village, on the other hand, only added another oddity to my list. Every other unmarried man younger than thirty-five was discussed, debated, or dissected.
“His farm is so small, though,” Kayla complained about the latest.
I sat with Kayla and two other women under the apple tree behind the tavern, spinning. My thread consisted of more lumps than usable stretches, but at least I had experience using a drop spindle. I doubted even my charm had enough power to convince the villagers not to look askance at a young woman with no idea how to spin.
Despite the laws granting women the same rights as men, in most of the smaller towns and villages throughout Nemya women stuck to traditional roles. In Skorsa, at least, it seemed to be more habit than ingrained misogyny. Parents wished their daughters well when they decided to seek a career in Haiwella, and no one batted an eye at the woman who ran the apothecary. But those were still exceptions. Most women spun, wove, cooked, and cared for their children.
It wasn’t so different from the noblewomen who spent their days doing embroidery, playing musical instruments, and sketching. They might be able to inherit an estate, but few took the time to learn how to manage one. They knew their husbands and stewards would handle such things. And they debated their choice of husband in much the same way as the women of Skorsa.
“There’s always Phillip,” Hannah suggested hesitantly. “He’s been trying to get your attention for months, and his family has the largest farm.”
Hannah, the youngest in the group, fawned over Kayla. She wanted the other woman’s approval desperately, and Kayla saw it as her due. I knew better than to interfere. Anything I told Hannah would be seen as jealousy. I wanted to push her to break free all the same.
“My pony is more attractive than Phillip,” Kayla said with a toss of her chestnut hair.
“Kayla,” the final member of our group said. “Don’t be cruel. Phillip is a very nice man.”
Gemma needn’t have wasted her breath.
“Nice? Who wants nice for a husband? When I am engaged, I want everyone to praise how rich and handsome my betrothed is.”
“What about smart?” I asked.
Kayla giggled. Her laugh rang out with crystal clarity. “Of course not, Mina. I don’t want to marry a simpleton like Alan, but my husband should look to me to make decisions.”
Normally, I’d have reminded Kayla that she could make her own fortune rather than marrying for it after such a comment. I made it a point to encourage women to look beyond traditional roles as much as possible without dismissing the work they did. But Kayla reminded me of the vipers at court. She didn’t want other options; she wanted to find a man who’d bring her the attention she craved and wrap him around her finger.
Changing her mind wasn’t a battle I’d win in my limited time in the village. Moreover, my interest had snagged on how she spoke of Alan. She had insulted him so matter-of-factly. Her tone had held no hint of a tease as it had when she compared Phillip to her pony. Finally, I had my chance to steer the conversation to the topic I was so curious about. Except I didn’t know how.
It was why I had come to Skorsa with a charm to hide my identity in the first place. I wanted to learn how people behaved around Mina, not Crown Princess Charmina Devaoile. I could barter with a silk merchant or debate philosophy with a priest of the Order of Tsy, but I didn’t know how to navigate this conversation with any finesse. All my experience at every level of Nemyan society—and I had plenty—had been flavored with the knowledge of my rank.
I knew better than to ask directly about Alan. That much remained the same, whether at court or in a small village. Women pounced on any interest an unmarried woman showed in a man—or a married woman, for that matter. I didn’t have the skill to ask about him and feign disinterest. I had always envied my brother’s ability to say a word here and there while projecting an air of boredom. Somehow, he learned everyone’s secrets. The best I could manage was making my interests clear, so that courtiers accommodated me while guarding their secrets.
I didn’t have the luxury of relying on my rank now. So, I took the risk that my new friends would decide I had my eye on Alan. I could live with that. Despite Kayla’s dismissal, he was plenty attractive. A crush after seeing him from afar would be easy to believe. A crush after seeing him up close, his forearms corded with muscle, a delicate gold chain resting in his calloused hands...
I pushed the memory away. “But won’t Alan take over from his stepfather soon? He’ll have a fair amount of authority in the village as the master smith. ”
“A real blacksmith might, but not Alan. He’ll probably become the village idiot.”
So much for an explanation. Kayla didn’t mince words when critiquing people’s character or appearance, but while harsh, she tended to base her judgments on kernels of truth.
Nothing I had seen or heard in my meetings with Alan matched this assertion that he lacked intelligence. I grabbed my drop spindle, stopping it before it changed directions and undid all my work, and looked at the others.
Hannah nodded in time to Kayla’s words, not even looking at the wool she carded over her lap. She didn’t offer any further commentary. Not that I expected Hannah to have much to add.
I turned my attention to the quietest member of the group.
Gemma garnered as much attention as Kayla among the young men of Skorsa, for the opposite reasons. Gemma and Mistress Kiels, her mother, had the distinction of being the only people in Skorsa with skin paler than my own. And where my own hair was silvery blond, Gemma's shone like gold. She was the exotic beauty with her willowy frame and almond eyes.
Kayla drew men through a vivacious personality and an earthy attractiveness. Gemma charmed them with her generous nature, serenity, and ethereal grace. Gemma was quite possibly the kindest person I had ever met. She saw the best in everyone.
I raised an eyebrow when Gemma glanced at me, silently asking for her input.
“Alan isn’t a simpleton,” she sighed, “but Kayla is right. He won’t have any influence. The village council won’t let him inherit the smithy. He can’t do the work.”
I bent my head over my spindle to hide my shock. I gave it a flick to set it spinning in the correct direction. Either the people in Skorsa were conspiring together to refuse Alan any credit for his work—and I couldn’t imagine Gemma ever going along with such a ploy—or he behaved vastly differently around them than me .
I admitted that I had hardly interacted enough with him to know his true character, although I couldn’t be so far off. Then again, I had only spoken to him while his stepfather was out of town.
My hands continued to feed wool into the spindle. If I had paid attention, I might have amazed myself with the smooth length of thread I produced when I stopped overthinking the movements. But I didn’t pay attention. I was too busy trying to find an excuse to go back to the forge.