Seventeen - Mina
Seventeen
Mina
???
Running my thumb over the pattern of thorns engraved on my ring, I waited outside the village hall. I needed to talk to Sam. I needed a second opinion.
With every question Alan had asked me last night, it had become harder to maintain a balance between telling him the truth and not revealing my identity. I might not have been able to say the words, but they had almost spilled out multiple times, all the same. I didn’t want to lie to him, but I didn’t want to reveal my rank, either. The guilt of maintaining my secret and the need to wait until I told Alan warred within me. The correct answer was no longer obvious.
A dose of Sam’s insightfulness was just what I needed. Not that I planned to tell him that Alan was the reason I no longer wanted to hide. Not with the heart-changing charm still affecting him. But I could get his opinion without telling him all the details.
“That’s a pretty fierce glare, Mina,” Sam announced the moment he walked out the door.
I tried to smooth out my expression. “Join me for the noon meal? I bought pasties at the tavern. I thought we could go sit by the stream and eat. ”
Sam pulled the basket from my arm, peeking under the cloth to see what was inside. He found the slice of cake I also bought and pinched off a bite. “Are you going to glare at me the whole time?”
So much for smoothing my expression. “If you eat all the dessert yourself, yes.”
“Let’s find a place to picnic, then.” He ate another bit of cake and I reclaimed the basket.
Sam led me to a stretch of the stream I wasn’t familiar with, where it curved west and the banks were level with the surrounding land. We were farther downstream than the boulder or willow, in an area with soft grasses perfect for an impromptu picnic.
I handed Sam a pasty from the basket before claiming one for myself. But I didn’t eat. I stared out over the water. Now that we were here, I wasn’t sure how to bring up my situation.
“Eat or talk, Mina,” Sam said between bites. “I know you brought me out here for a reason, and it doesn’t seem to be for the food.”
I picked at the flaky dough of my pasty and popped it into my mouth. Golden brown and perfectly buttery, that tiny morsel was enough to rouse my appetite. I took a real bite, savoring the lamb, potato, and onion filling. Once I swallowed, I shifted to face Sam instead of the stream. “I think I want to tell someone who I am. But I can’t decide if it would be a mistake. I still have about two weeks left of my stay. If they don’t take the news well...”
“What, exactly, are you afraid of? I know you’ve mentioned that people treat Princess Charmina differently than they treat Mina Devale, but it sounds like you fear something more than that.”
“I do. It isn’t how they’ll treat me that is my primary concern. I’m worried they’ll be mad that I used the charm. That I lied and hid my identity.” It was only as I spoke that I realized it was true. Though I was afraid Alan would treat me differently once he learned my identity, that wasn’t what held me back. He was already the victim of at least one charm. To admit that I had used another on him could destroy any faith he had in me. But I didn’t know if it was wiser to wait until he knew me better—and hopefully trusted me more—or to tell him as soon as possible and risk him pulling away, wasting the limited time we had.
“Gemma won’t judge you for hiding your identity. She’ll understand why you made that choice.”
I knew what Sam was doing, but I gave in anyway. I had wanted to talk to him; it did me no good to refuse to explain the true problem. “I’m not talking about Gemma.”
He smirked. “Are we talking about the person you’ve been sneaking off to meet every evening?”
“I’ve hardly been sneaking off,” I muttered. I considered telling Sam exactly who I had been meeting at the stream, but knew it wouldn’t help. Until he reasoned through the situation himself, he’d only see Alan as the disappointment the charm made him out to be.
Sam didn’t push for a name, though I was certain he was trying to figure it out. “You said you were afraid he’d be mad. So, you aren’t worried that once he learns you are the princess, he’ll push for a commitment you aren’t ready to make.”
Sam’s assumption that we were talking about a man wasn’t worth protesting. Holding back Alan’s name was the most I could do. “I think—” my voice wavered, and I had to swallow before continuing. “I think I’m afraid of the opposite.”
Never before had I felt drawn to a man as strongly as I was to Alan. I wanted him to attend the ball. I wanted to show everyone my choice was already made. Which was ridiculous. I had known him for less than two weeks. Then again, most of the men at the ball would be complete strangers. Why not admit that I already knew who I wanted at my side?
I’d leave Skorsa a few days after the Midsummer Festival, going back home to prepare for the ball. Only a couple of weeks in which I could get to know Alan better. Only a short time to determine if he was the man I wanted to share my life with. But could I make that decision if all his interactions with me were based on a lie?
Then again, the only lie was my name and rank. Not my personality. Not my values, hopes, or dreams. If I didn’t tell him, we could get to know each other without the pressure of my responsibilities to the kingdom. If I waited, then maybe by the time I admitted to using a charm, he’d trust me enough not to turn away.
Perhaps I didn’t need Sam’s advice after all. I couldn’t tell Alan my identity yet. Not now that I knew I wanted more than a few weeks of friendship with him. I stood up, forgetting about the half of a pasty in my hand and the slice of cake in the basket next to me. “Thank you, Sam.”
He gaped at me, then reached out and wrapped a hand around my ankle. “Oh no, you don’t. You are not walking away after implying you want to choose a man from Skorsa as your consort. Sit down and talk to me, Mina.”
“I’m not telling you any more.”
“Sit down and finish your meal.”
I looked at the pasty in my hand in surprise. Probably better to stay and eat. This way, I’d hear what conclusions Sam had reached. I sat down and took another bite.
“Jeff is in Haiwella and still hung up on Kayla. Your mystery man clearly isn’t Cole, either. Is it Phillip?”
I stuffed more food into my mouth, refusing to answer.
Sam would notice that Phillip was courting Hannah before long, but better to say nothing for now. He scrutinized my expression. Then he began naming every other unmarried man between twenty and thirty in the village. There weren’t that many. Nevertheless, he forgot one.
Finishing my half of the cake, I stood once more. I wanted to believe Sam had omitted Alan from his list as a ploy, but I knew better. I still almost gave myself away, the urge to shout that Alan was worth all the other men combined thundering through my veins. But that would accomplish nothing. Sam had to discover his mistake on his own.
That didn’t mean I couldn’t put him in the position to make such a discovery. “Do you have time before you need to get back to work? ”
Sam gave up trying to identify the man I liked—though I knew it was only a temporary respite. “Why?”
“I need to pick up my new belt knife, and I thought you might like to see if Powell has gotten any better at forging a blade.”
???
Sam followed me into the smithy. I still wasn’t sure how I’d use this visit to convince him that Alan had made my new knife, but I hoped there would be some opportunity to make him question his assumptions.
Powell sat behind the counter, straightening slightly when he saw us.
“Good afternoon,” I said with forced politeness. “Is my knife ready?”
Powell grunted. “It’s right here.”
He reached under the counter and pulled it out.
The hilt was similar to my current knife, a simple, dark wood. The blade itself, however, had an air of artistry mine did not. If my original belt knife had been a weapon masquerading as a tool, then this was a tool masquerading as a sleek dagger. It wasn’t a dagger, but I suspected the back would take an edge easily and it could become one.
Sam walked past me and picked the knife up. The frown on his face gave me hope that I wouldn’t have to say anything. Letting him inspect the blade, I pulled coins out of my purse, paying Powell. “Thank you.”
Sam looked from the knife, to me, to the door leading into the forge. We could hear the steady strokes of a hammer, and I didn’t think Sam would dismiss that out of hand. Not right now. But I wasn’t sure what exactly had roused his suspicions so quickly. Certainly, I had hoped he’d wonder at the difference in quality between the throwing daggers Powell had made him and the knife Alan had made me, but I expected to have to nudge him before he entertained the idea that they had been made by different hands.
Sam kept a hold of the knife until we exited the smithy. Then he handed it to me. “I wouldn’t have expected you to order something like this.”
“All I ordered was a new belt knife.” I looked at it more closely, marveling at the balance. It wasn’t disguised like my other knife, but this one was of even finer quality.
Sam reached out and tapped the blade just below the hilt. “This seems like an odd detail to include if you didn’t request it. I certainly wouldn’t expect Powell to add it on his own.”
I lifted the blade closer to my face. I had to tilt it to see what Sam had noticed. It looked like a maker’s mark, a design etched into the blade, except it was so faint I feared a good polishing might wipe it completely away. I recognized the form of the lines as soon as I spotted them, even before I angled it perfectly to see the entire design. Alan had carved a tiny rose into the blade.
“No, I don’t think Powell would have added that. But if you are right and Powell is rubbish at making blades, then he wasn’t the smith for this project, was he? Because this is an excellent knife.” I tested the balance once more. “In fact, I suspect this knife might be perfect for throwing, unlike your daggers. Want to test it?”
Sam’s eyes went wide. “How do you know about the throwing daggers?”
I could only talk around the issue so far. Since this question wasn’t specifically about making anything, I decided it was better to be blunt and matter-of-fact. “I asked Alan.”
I moved away from the smithy and Sam fell in step next to me. He looked thoughtful. “Alan.”
“Alan,” I agreed. “Now, what can we use as a target?”
“The boys usually have a few hay bales set up as archery targets between the Plower and Brynson farms.”
“I didn’t think anyone in Skorsa hunted. ”
“Generally speaking, no one does these days. But archery is one of the traditional contests at the Midsummer Festival.”
“Let’s go, then.”
Sam glanced across the square toward the village hall, then up at the sky to check the angle of the sun. “We need to hurry, otherwise you are the one who will be explaining to my father why I am late.”