Six - Mina
Six
Mina
???
By the time supper came, the fact that I had forgotten to wear a hat while I sat spinning all afternoon concerned me more than the blacksmiths. Despite the shade of the apple tree, I knew my nose and cheeks had turned red from the sun.
While eating with the Wrisons, I realized I had been ridiculous to think I should find another excuse to visit the forge. I was a visitor in Skorsa. An outsider with no knowledge of the history of the smiths. Why should I doubt an entire village’s impression of one man?
That wasn’t what I was here for.
I had one month. A single month to learn how to live as someone without rank and influence.
Many of my peers would call my desire to hide my identity foolish. I’d never be a person without rank. I’d always have influence. But I needed to understand.
Nemya had a unique set of inheritance laws for the royal family. I had to marry before I turned twenty-five next spring. Those same laws decreed that I must marry a commoner. For my father, the law had demanded a noble consort. My grandfather had been required to marry a foreigner .
Every generation it rotated through the three. Centuries ago, when the Devaoile family ascended the throne, my ancestors had enacted the marriage laws to prevent the previous dynasty’s mistakes. The first Devaoile king had believed the rotation between noble, commoner, and foreigner for royal consorts would give his descendants a better understanding of all factions and lead to better governance. So far, it had worked.
But there had been very few instances in the past where circumstances led to a female inheriting the throne. The law making the eldest child regardless of sex the heir had only passed during my grandfather’s reign. The rare queens who had inherited before that had done so in the generations dedicated to marrying a noble or foreigner. I was the first who had to marry a commoner.
From what I had gleaned in the palace archives, the heirs before me had simply chosen the prettiest woman they saw as their consort. The traditional ball before their twenty-fifth birthday deadline gave them a chance to meet the women. Then they made their choice after a single evening of dancing. Men.
My mother had decided we would do things differently. Meeting a stranger at a ball—one to whom I could not relate—spelled disaster. Before my ball, I needed to meet the type of men who would attend and learn how they lived. I spent my thirteenth summer as a deckhand on a fishing boat. The next year, I rode with a trade caravan. I knew how to interact with citizens throughout Nemya, from farmers to courtiers.
But I didn’t understand what such lives were truly like. Rank always formed a barrier between me and the people I visited. Sometimes that barrier was a brick wall, other times little more than a line in the dirt, but it always existed. With my birthday looming, I wanted one last chance to experience something similar to the only life my future husband would know. Some common ground to stand on as he was thrown into the life of royalty.
So, I wouldn’t stir things up and doubt the wisdom of an entire village .
By the next day, I forgot about the smiths, my attention focused on soaking up every new experience I could, like cooking. Mistress Hervor, Kayla’s mother, had offered to teach us how to make cherry pie.
Before coming to Skorsa, I had never cooked much. I had been in kitchens across the kingdom. During my summer visits, I had stirred a pot or two of stew and chopped a handful of vegetables, but nothing more. In Skorsa, the kitchens were still predominantly the domain of the women, and I worked with food often. I loved it, even if I wasn’t particularly talented. I was even willing to spend the afternoon in Kayla’s company for this opportunity.
I walked into the tavern, looking for Kayla, a basket dangling at the crook of my elbow. Neither Mistress Hervor nor her daughters were in the common room when I entered. I spotted Old Gordy bent over his usual mug of ale in one corner. One of Kayla’s beaus stood talking to Gordy.
“Mina, are you looking for Kayla, too?” Jeffrey Rennwaithe asked me.
“We planned to pick cherries this afternoon so her mother can teach us her pie recipe. I take it you don’t know where she is?”
Gordy laughed into his mug.
I turned to face the old man, wondering what had sparked his laughter.
Jeff understood, but didn’t seem to share Gordy’s inclination to laugh. Instead, he frowned. “It’s a good thing I came to see her now instead of later, then. I won’t delay her long, but please let me speak with her before you go, Mina.” He looked at the staircase. “Actually, I’ll go find her and tell her you’re here.”
Jeff hurried upstairs, where there were a few rooms available for overnight guests.
I raised an eyebrow at Gordy, who was still laughing.
“You’re making a pie with Kayla, are you? Be careful to follow Mistress Hervor’s instructions instead of watching her daughter. I’d say you can’t go wrong making a treat under Mistress Hervor’s direction, but I’ve had the misfortune of tasting one of Kayla’s creations before. Then again, Bethany's pastries are as good as her mother’s. Maybe you’ll be fine.”
A few steps brought me close to Gordy’s table. I lowered my voice in case Kayla came downstairs. “I wondered why Kayla would be learning her mother’s recipe at her age. I thought Mistress Hervor was being kind and including Kayla so I wouldn’t feel embarrassed about not knowing how to bake a pie. Is that not the case?”
“Oh, she’s being kind, all right. Not to you, though. Having a woman the same age as Kayla with no baking experience probably seemed like the perfect opportunity to try to teach her daughter. Again.”
“Can Kayla at least identify the best cherries to pick? Because I’ll admit that I am city-girl enough to have no idea how to identify a ripe fruit.”
Before Gordy could answer, Jeff came bounding back down the stairs. “Kayla will be ready in a few minutes. She needs to finish dusting the last bedroom first.”
Gordy huffed out a breath. “You didn’t offer to help her?”
Jeff's teeth sank into his lower lip. “I have to get back to the shop. I stopped by because I wanted to ask Kayla... well, I had an important question for her. But I really need to get back.”
Gordy raised a single bushy eyebrow. “You didn’t propose while she was in the middle of cleaning, did you?”
“No.” Jeff sounded horrified enough that I knew he understood exactly how big of a mistake that would have been.
Kayla was the type to require an over-the-top, romantic proposal. She’d turn a man down for asking the wrong way, even if she wanted to marry him. As far as I knew, Kayla didn’t favor Jeff over any of her other suitors. She considered him handsome, but that wasn’t enough for Kayla. Jeff was the younger son of the village’s cobbler and not in a position to offer her the prestige she wanted .
Though Sam had mentioned that Jeff would soon go to Haiwella to work in his uncle’s shop in the city for a few months. There was even a chance that he could take over that shop one day, if he was willing to leave Skorsa permanently. Perhaps that was what Jeff had wanted to speak to Kayla about.
Jeff left, and I spent a few minutes discussing the village’s Midsummer Festival with Gordy. The celebration sounded much tamer than the entertainments in Haiwella, but I still looked forward to it. The larger scale festivities in the city left little room for personal interactions.
“Mina!” Kayla bounded down the steps, a smug smile on her face. “Jeff told me you were waiting. You must be so excited to learn how to make a pie to get here early.”
I didn’t point out that she was, in fact, late. “I am excited. Let’s go pick some cherries.”
???
With my fingers stained red from cherry juice, I attempted to crimp the edges of my pie. I debated wiping my hands again, but with the amount of filling spilling over the edge, I figured it wouldn’t matter. I swore I had poured the same amount of filling into my pie as Kayla, yet the other woman’s didn’t leak.
While I fought to seal my pie, Kayla cut decorative slits in the lid of hers. She smirked when I slid mine into the oven next to hers. One pie looked like an artist’s masterpiece and the other a bleeding, lopsided fatality of a pie war.
I turned away from the oven with a sigh and cleaned up the mess I had made.
“Don’t worry, Mina. Yours is a respectable looking pie for the first try. Besides, taste matters more than appearance.” Mistress Hervor scraped the last bit of filling from my bowl with a spoon, tasted it, and smacked her lips. “Delicious.”
Kayla shoved her bowl at her mother .
Scraping a much smaller portion from her daughter’s bowl, the tavern keeper slowly raised the spoon to her lips again. Suddenly, she jerked the spoon to eye level instead. “Is that a pit?”
Mistress Hervor glanced at the counter where we had worked. Two red-stained spots showed where we had chopped the cherries. In the corner of one of those spots, a pile of pits and stems waited until I could scrape them into the waste. The other held nothing but juice.
All three of us stared at where the pits should have been.
“I pitted the cherries,” Kayla whined. “Why does this always happen to me? I do everything right, but something always goes wrong.”
Her mother pinched the bridge of her nose. “You must have swept them into the bowl with the rest of the cherries and not noticed. Can you girls go tell Bethany that I need her help to prepare supper?”
Kayla stormed out of the kitchen. I exchanged a glance with Mistress Hervor and followed. We found Bethany outside, under the apple tree, her infant son in her arms. I smiled. Like cooking, dealing with small children was one of those things no one ever entrusted to a princess. Holding Walton was a treat for me.
Bethany took one look at her sister and laughed. “I take it I’m not adding pie to the menu tonight? What did you do this time?”
Kayla crossed her arms.
Bethany looked at me. “What did she do?”
I pressed my lips together. I was sure Bethany would find out soon enough, but I didn’t want to be the one to tell her. Especially not with Kayla right there glaring at us both.
Bethany was unfazed by her sister’s attitude. She held Walton out in my direction. “I’ll let you hold him if you tell me.”
“Just tell her already,” Kayla snapped, heading back inside. “You know you want to hold the baby.”
I still hesitated.
Bethany handed Walton to me. “That bad, huh? ”
“She included the pits in with the filling.”
“Mother will want my help to make a different dessert then. Are you fine watching Walton while I take care of that?”
“Of course. You know I love getting to hold him.”
“The way you look at him, I doubt it will be long before you have a babe of your own.”
I almost choked. I knew having a child would be an expectation down the line, but I couldn’t think past my marriage. That requirement had always loomed so large in my life that it was hard to think about what would happen after I married. Even if that time was fast approaching. “Aren’t you forgetting a few steps, Bethany?”
She laughed again. “Minor details.”
I snorted. “Based on how much Kayla debates the merits of her various swains, you should know better than to believe they are minor details.”
“Based on how much you blush when anyone asks your opinion of those same men, I think you already have a beau back home.”
“I don’t.” I looked down into Walton's bright blue eyes. In a few months, I’d be engaged. Married not too long after that. But most likely I hadn’t even met the man who would become my consort. I didn’t look away from the infant when I added, “I’ve never even come close to having a suitor.”
“That can’t be right. Are the men in Haiwella idiots?”
I shifted Walton from my right to left arm. I shook my head, but didn’t answer. Luckily Bethany didn’t push, going inside a moment later to help her mother and leaving me with the baby.
I couldn’t explain it to her. She thought I was the daughter of a successful city merchant. She wouldn’t understand that most of the men I socialized with were nobles who knew I’d never marry among their class. Even if I fell in love, I couldn’t. Not without forfeiting my place as the heir.
Knowing that, none of the noblemen had made an effort to woo me. From one angle, it was depressing that none of them saw any merit in courting me with the chance of becoming my consort permanently off limits. I preferred to view the situation from a different angle, however. I had escaped the humiliation of men pretending to admire me when their only interest was the crown, not me.
It also meant that my lovers had always understood exactly what I could and could not offer them. Not that there were many of those, either.
That would change at the ball. The men invited to that event would know that I had to pick a husband from someone of their class. Flattery, lies, and manipulation were a given at that point. I had no intention of falling in love, though. I planned to avoid the flirts and look for someone honest and dependable.
If all else failed, there were a few men I had met over the years that I could see myself marrying. None who had felt like the perfect fit, though. The ones who appealed the most to me were also the ones who least wanted to become a prince-consort. My favorite of the bunch, a wanderer named Jacob, would hate the constraints such a title would place on him. His ability to recognize that a high rank did not equal freedom was part of why I got along with him.
We were friends, which is why I’d never even ask Jacob to be my consort—he’d feel bad if he refused me and be miserable if he ended up trapped in the life of a royal. At this point, my best option was probably Sam. He’d do well at court.
I looked down at the baby in my arms and sighed. Sam might do well as the prince-consort, but if we married, it would be in name only. Even after only a week, our relationship was too much that of siblings. Even if it wasn’t, Sam was more likely to lust after my brother than me.
Walton began to fuss, and I forgot about my impending marriage as I tried to bounce him back into a cheerful mood. Bethany returned to the courtyard and lifted him from my tired arms. “Time for his next meal. Thank you, Mina.” She nodded back toward the inn. “Your pie is done. ”
I returned to the kitchen. The pies sat on the windowsill, cooling. I laughed when I saw them. Kayla’s looked even more perfect than it had going into the oven. The golden-brown crust only emphasized the exquisite artistry of the pie. Mine, on the other hand, had leaked further. The top crust had split away from the bottom partially where I hadn’t pinched the halves together well. Filling leaked out of the gap, dripping down the pan.
“At least we know whose pie is whose,” I said to Mistress Hervor.
She smiled at me and grabbed a towel. Using the cloth to insulate her hands, she picked up my pie and passed it over, towel and all. “You be proud of your pie, dearie.”
I smiled back. “Thank you for the baking lesson, Mistress Hervor. I’ll bring your pie pan back tomorrow.”
“I really should get a few more pans for the tavern, but Gerald Powell thinks himself above making tools for the kitchen. He wouldn’t turn down a commission, of course, but after listening to his comments when he comes in every evening, I’m not sure I’d trust him to make anything for my kitchen. As far as I can tell, he’s never seen the inside of one. He probably wouldn’t know what a pie pan should even look like.”
I lifted my pie higher. “Who made this one, then?”
“Oh, that is from my mother’s time, and the old smith made the other one. I meant to ask him for another, but didn’t get around to it before the fever took him.”
“Why not ask Alan to make it?” I wondered at the words, even as I said them. Why would she ask Alan? I felt like I had a reason to ask the question, but the reason eluded me, now that the words were out.
“I’d sooner take my chances with Gerald. At least if I show him one of these, he ought to be able to create another. It shouldn’t be too hard. A pie pan isn’t exactly a complicated piece.”
My thoughts spun, telling me I should protest, even while I felt certain she was right. My hand rose to press against my charm, and I remembered another necklace. A work of art made by a man with plenty of talent. My thoughts cleared for an instant. “Surely a pie pan is within Alan’s abilities?”
“Affenala bless you, dear. You’d think Alan would have learned that much from being around his father in the forge every day for years, but he didn’t absorb any of his father’s teachings. I’d ask him, just to make him feel useful, but if the thickness of the pan isn’t uniform, it won’t bake evenly.”
I wrapped my hand back around the pie and nodded in understanding. She was right, of course.
???
At supper that evening, I struggled to follow the conversation. Conrad and Sam discussed their work, and Eliza talked about the latest village gossip. Normally, I’d have been enthralled. Instead, I could hardly focus beyond a nagging feeling in the back of my mind that I had forgotten something. Something important.
Then Eliza announced that I had made dessert, bringing the pie out of the kitchen.
“That’s a pie?” Sam poked at the bulge on one side of the top. Filling oozed out of a nearby crack and over his finger.
My emotions settled once more, the good-natured insult pulling me back into the present.
“I’d like to see you make one.” I glared out of principle, but I didn’t mind his teasing. The pie truly looked horrific. “I bet yours wouldn’t look any better.”
While I spoke, Sam bravely raised his cherry coated finger to his mouth and licked. His hands shot out, and he dragged the pie across the table to sit in front of him. “Mine. This is all mine.”
He pinched a piece of crust off and popped it in his mouth. He nodded. “Definitely not sharing.”
I smiled, pleased to discover it tasted better than it looked. “Well, eat it fast, Sam. I need to return the pan to Mistress Hervor as soon as possible. ”
“No problem. It will be gone tonight.”
Eliza reached across the table and pulled the pie away from her son. “You are not eating an entire pie in one night. You have to share.”
Cutting four generous slices, Eliza passed the dessert out to everyone.
“This is excellent,” Conrad said, after taking a bite. “Mistress Hervor’s recipe, I presume?”
Sam chuckled. “Now Mama knows you don’t think her pies are as good. Big mistake.”
Conrad gave his son a look. “Your mother is an excellent cook, but she is well aware that Mistress Hervor makes the best pastries in the village and beyond.”
Eliza raised an eyebrow. “You are still supposed to pretend you prefer my baking, dear.”
“When you make pie, I’ll sing its praises, my love. Since Mina made this one, however, I am glad she used Mistress Hervor’s recipe.”
The joking and gratifyingly tasty pie kept me settled for a little longer. But as everyone finished eating, my mood once more shifted to introspection. Which might have accomplished more if I had any idea what thoughts I wanted to mull over. After I finished helping Sam tidy up, I decided that a bit of time away from everyone else was what I needed. I moved to the back door. “I’m going to go walk off dessert.”
“That is no way to appreciate a delicious pie, Mina. You don’t exercise as soon as you finish it; you wallow in contentment and contemplate eating another slice.”
“You go wallow, Sam. I can’t eat another forkful, let alone a whole piece, so I’ll go for a walk.”
Leaving through the kitchen door, I turned my feet toward the outskirts of the village. Perhaps movement would shake loose whatever thought had lodged in my subconscious.