Chapter Three #2
I shift my satchel higher on my shoulder as I weave between the merchant stalls, careful not to jostle the worn crates stacked with end-of-season produce. A cabbage rolls free near my foot, and I crouch to catch it, brushing away a smear of dirt before placing it gently back with the others.
The vendor—Rhenna, who rarely speaks unless she’s shouting—grunts a sound that might be gratitude. I nod in return and keep walking.
I clench my jaw as the resentment pointed at Maggie resurfaces in my mind.
Twenty years ago, Maggie was the hope of our village …
the one they considered our best chance at being chosen as the next queen.
Yet when she returned, deposited with her parents by guards from the northern port, her mind was fractured in ways no healer could mend.
She was ostracized by the village as if she were suddenly the worst we had to offer, not caring what she had sacrificed in being chosen for the selection.
We have no idea of how or why the Queen is chosen from all those offered. All we are told is to offer our brightest and most beautiful for the selection when the High Priestess requests it. The rest is up to her, when she comes down to our lands to meet the selected.
I’ve almost made it to the main path home when Jeren appears, tall, broad-shouldered, and wielding that ever-hopeful glint in his eyes that makes my stomach tighten. Not with excitement, but dread.
“Elysia,” he says, falling into step beside me. “I was hoping to catch you.”
Of course he was.
“Hello, Jeren,” I respond tightly, careful to not give anything more than a polite tone.
I suppose there are still some people in this village I don’t wish to bring joy to.
Mainly the ones who think I might one day belong to them.
“You know,” Jeren says, keeping pace with me as we pass the butcher’s stall, “I spoke with my father this morning. He’s thinking of submitting a new offer to yours—especially now that Persephone’s bridal price has increased. Do you think that might appeal to your family?”
Not this again.
“That’s thoughtful,” I say carefully, forcing my tone to remain neutral, when all I want to do is tell him to bug off and forget my existence. “But I think my father already made his stance on that clear.”
His brow furrows, but he presses on. “You work so hard. You shouldn’t have to do it alone.”
I bite back a sigh as he reaches for my hand before I quickly reach up to brush hair out of my face to avoid it. I think he means well, but this isn’t the life I want, at least not the way he imagines it.
Just as I open my mouth to excuse myself, a shout echoes from the middle of the square.
“Someone get her out of here!”
Another voice joins in, closer this time. “I swear, if she spits on my stall again—”
The irritation in the air thickens like smoke and then I hear her faintly.
Maggie.
Jeren turns toward the sound coming from behind us with a furrowed brow. “What now?”
I already know and I don’t hesitate.
“I think it’s Maggie,” I say, already moving back toward the central square.
“She’s always doing this,” he mutters, falling into step behind me. “She needs someone to keep her indoors.”
“She has no one,” I snap without looking back.
Both of her parents had passed away in the last few years. First her mother from a winter illness, then her father from a fall when trying to repair their home. Since then, Maggie’s been alone in that cottage at the edge of the woods.
My family does what we can, but I know it’s not enough.
We round the edge of the fountain at the center of the square, and that’s when I see her, gesturing around.
I don’t consider myself particularly tall or broad, but the years alone have made Maggie even more frail than her petite frame should be.
Her baggy brown smock hangs off her like it’s borrowed from a woman twice her size, the hem dirty and frayed, evidence of her wandering walks.
Her cheeks are a bit hollow, the bones beneath more pronounced than they should be.
Fine lines mark the corners of her eyes and mouth as she squints and shouts.
They’re not the deep creases of the elderly, but the subtle etchings of a woman who’s carried too much in silence alone.
Her graying auburn hair is pulled back in a loose, tangled knot, and those moss-green eyes are wild with confusion and fire.
“You don’t see it!” she’s yelling now, pointing at nothing. “You never see it until it’s too late!”
A few villagers flinch as her gaze passes over them. One man mutters something under his breath and spits into the dirt.
I pick up my pace, trying to politely push through the gathered crowd.
Beside me, Jeren slows. “She’s really lost it this time …”
“She’s not a problem to be stared at,” I say under my breath, barely holding back the words I really want to yell at him.
Maggie’s breath hitches when I touch her shoulder. Her eyes flick to mine, blinking fast, like she’s trying to place me through a fog.
“It’s alright,” I murmur, gently curling my hand around her thin arm. “Let’s get you home, hmm?”
She doesn’t resist. The fire drains from her eyes, leaving her small and shivering.
The onlookers begin to drift off, but their muttering stays behind. One woman clutches her shawl tighter and hurries away. Another vendor shakes his head, voice low and pointed. “Someone ought to keep her out of town.”
“She’s not hurting anyone,” I say loudly, enough to carry. My fingers tighten around Maggie’s arm, my voice softening as I add, “She just needs someone to help her.”
I glance back at Jeren, who still stands a few paces behind, awkward and unsure, hands stuffed into the pockets of his pants. His posture screams discomfort, but he hasn’t walked away yet.
Perfect.
“Jeren,” I call gently, pitching my voice just enough to turn heads and put him under scrutiny, “would you mind walking Maggie back to her cottage? I need to run home to get her something warm to eat.”
He blinks. “Me?”
I keep my expression open, calm. “She knows the way, but I’d feel better if she wasn’t alone. Just until I catch up. It would mean so much to me.”
There’s a pause of hesitation, but then he straightens, shoulders pulling back like he’s being measured and might change my mind about his proposal.
“Of course,” he says. “Yes. Of course.”
He steps forward, carefully placing a hand on Maggie’s elbow. She stares past him like he’s no more solid than a shadow, and directly into my eyes.
“Be careful with your kindness, girl. It’ll make them choose you next.”
Jeren grimaces at me before gently guiding her away. I watch them for a few moments as they start down the road toward the edge of the woods. Maggie walks slowly as her head turns slightly toward the clouds.
I try to shake off her words, but her voice lingers as I make the trek home.
It shouldn’t mean anything, and yet with the Dromin’s voice still lingering in the back of my mind, and the fear from the nightmare’s echo still etched into my memory, it doesn’t feel like nonsense.
It feels like a warning and a reminder.
I was thinking of speaking to Maggie anyway. Now, I’m sure of it.