The Rightful Heir. #4
I grappled my throat, pretending to choke. Henry giggled as I reached out to him. “Help,” I croaked, but Henry shook his head, grinning.
I collapsed onto the damp planks, rolling back and forth while I faked frothing at the mouth. After one final grunt, I went limp, poking my tongue out and letting my eyes roll back.
Henry leaped off the bedstead and landed on top of me, tugging at my eyelids and pinching my nose, trying to break my act. I stayed dead still.
“If you want to prove she’s faking it, you have to do this,” Finn said.
I heard Henry giggling, and a moment later, four hands tickled my sides. When we were younger, I couldn’t stand such antics, but now I managed to resist retaliating to their touch.
Finn stopped squeezing me. “Or you could just let a spit bubble drip onto her face,” he whispered to Henry, quiet enough that Mother wouldn’t hear.
I abruptly sat up. “It’s a miracle—I’m alive.”
At that moment, Mother appeared in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the faint candlelight. Even in the low glow, I could see the darkness that circled around her eyes.
She sighed. “That’s enough. He’ll never sleep if you two keep telling him gruesome tales.”
“A little bit longer,” Henry pleaded.
“There’s always tomorrow night,” Mother reminded him as she tucked the sheet under his chin.
“Is it true?” Henry asked, fear flickering in his eyes. “What if Father catches poppy pox?”
“Don’t fret about Father,” Mother reassured him, smoothing her fingers over his rosy cheeks, still flushed with laughter.
Henry furrowed his brow, unconvinced. “What’s he fighting again?”
“The men are pushing back the evil that’s trying to make its way inland,” she reminded him.
“Is it wizards?” Henry murmured. “Avice told me they make bad things happen.”
Mother’s eyes darted to me, as if I had control over Avice’s tongue. “That’s a lie,” she said firmly, gently stroking Henry’s hair. With each brush, his frown softened just a little.
“Sleep,” Mother whispered, then stood. “Now—good night, Finn,” she added as she ushered me out of the boys’ chamber.
Mother guided me over to the fireplace and handed me a mound of warm blankets. “Avice has the same strong views about magical folk as her father, doesn’t she?” she asked.
I nodded. “Sometimes I worry she preaches it louder than him because she craves his approval.”
As she leaned in close, mother mumbled, “You haven’t told her that you’re a—”
“No, of course not,” I snapped defensively.
It seemed Mother could always sense when I was flirting with the idea of doing something she’d disapprove of.
I shuffled into my modest chamber, with Mother following, carrying a lit candlestick.
“Being a young woman’s difficult,” she continued as she placed the candle beside my bedstead. “You’ll never receive the same recognition as your male counterparts, simply because you’re not a man.”
“I understand the order of things,” I replied, recalling my earlier conversation with Finn. It wasn’t a revelation when he said I’d never be a great blacksmith because I was a woman, but hearing it out loud still stung.
Mother laughed softly. “You do not—if you did, you’d be learning how to maintain a household, not aiding your brother in the smithy—”
“Finn couldn’t complete the difficult forging tasks without me,” I interrupted. “I exist to uphold the family name from beneath the shadow of my brother.”
“I’m sure he appreciates your help. He will certainly miss it,” she replied.
“Miss it?” My brow pinched tight as I tried to make sense of her words. “What do you mean?”
“You’re twenty-one. I was married with one child—and I was pregnant with you—when I was your age. When your father and the knights return from the far shores, I suspect he’ll offer your hand to the man who accepts the smallest dowry.”
I flung the blankets onto the floor. “I won’t become the wife of a villager,” I said firmly.
Mother shushed me and pointed toward the boys’ chamber.
Above all else, I was a woman. I knew that the anvil wasn’t my most valuable tool—it was my body. I’d spent my adolescence in defiance of this notion, but as I grew older, I knew I couldn’t escape it.
“I want to be a blacksmith like Finn,” I declared.
“I had wild dreams when I was young and naive, like you,” Mother said, scooping up the bedding from the floor. “But you’ll learn your place. You’ll marry a villager, bear his children, and live a life neither satisfying nor disappointing—like most people.”
“I’m not you,” I reminded her.
“With every year, you’ll learn you’re more like your mother than you could’ve ever imagined,” she said, forcing a half grin.
I sighed and climbed onto my chaff-filled mattress, the coarse straw pricking at the back of my thighs as I tried to find a comfortable position.
“I appreciate the herbs,” Mother said as she passed me the blankets, offering a faint smile that didn’t quite reach her tired eyes. “But don’t go wandering in the forest again. All it takes is one villager seeing you alone to spark an accusation of witchcraft—and that would end your life.”
I nodded, though I didn’t mean it. Dog would need feeding.