Jillie pulled her hand away as if it were being burned again. “I don’t need your witchcraft!”
“You two be nice, you’re sisters.”
Jorie almost retorted that she wasn’t the one being a brat, but she took a deep breath instead, then said as calmly as she could, “At least run some cold water over the burn area.”
Jillie went to the butter dish, took a pinch, and rubbed it on her hand. “I know how to take care of myself, thank you,” she huffed as she stormed out through the back door.
“She’s been taking the death of your father rather hard,” Mom explained as she sat at a chair at the table and began measuring out sugar into the bowl.
“She was always his favorite,” Jorie found herself saying, even though she knew it was childish.
“Now, you don’t know that.”
Jorie was fairly certain she did know but then realized it didn’t really matter. She was here to pay her respects, assist Tobin if needed, and make herself available to anyone who needed healing.
“Are you hungry?” her mother finally asked as she finished measuring.
“Very. Do you mind if I make up two plates and feed Tobin before we talk?”
“Tobin?”
Jillie came back inside. Her apron was wet, and Jorie realized that her sister had probably used the outside pump to cool her burn. Typical.
“Herald Tobin is with me, remember, Mom?”
Her mother seemed to look confused for a few moments. “Oh, dear, I completely forgot a Herald was coming with you.”
“He’ll have to sleep in the stable or somewhere else—he isn’t staying in the house, and there isn’t any room at the inn,” Jillie snapped.
“She’s right, we’re full up—” her mother started to say.
Jorie interrupted, “He can share my room then.”
Her mother looked a bit shocked.
“I’ve put you in the attic room, sweetheart. There are quite a few boxes inside, mostly filled with your and your sisters’ old things, and it’s a rather small bed.”
“He doesn’t mind a bedroll on the floor; in fact he prefers it, and we’ve been sharing a room all the way up here.”
“Well, isn’t that just like you,” Jillie said haughtily.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re unmarried and shacking up with one of the almighty Heralds. The rules never apply to you, do they?”
Jorie was about to launch into a full-blown sister fight, but she heeded the advice of one of her Collegium teachers instead by taking another deep breath, shielding her emotions, and assessing the situation.
And then she saw it all, as mundanely as the writing in a book. Her sister was upset because she still felt abandoned by her husband, then by Jorie, and finally, by their father. Jillie was in pain, and she didn’t want anyone else leaving her, like her only daughter. Something about Jessa was bothering Jillie.
“How’s Jessa?”
“None of your business.”
“You never did like change,” Jorie found herself saying. Not what a Healer should necessarily say, but the thing an angry sister who knew more about a situation because she had more power would say if she was being petty.
Tears started to slip out of Jillie’s eyes.
“Girls, be nice.”
“I’m going to check on my horse,” Jorie said, and she left the kitchen.
She stomped into the dining room, angry with herself for being the same stupid girl she’d been when she was fifteen instead of the smart woman she was now. Then she realized she hadn’t closed off her Empathy. From the crowded dining room, she sensed that familiar feeling of contentment that came with a belly full of good food and the lazy beginnings of drunkenness from those who’d skipped the pie and gone straight for the beer. There was also a black vein of greed and lust coming from the far corner.
At the bar nearest that corner, her younger sister Jemma was filling tankards and handing them to the barmaids as quickly as possible. She had a tipsy smile on her face, and Jorie assessed that her sister was tipping back the beer as freely as she served it—just as their father had.
She didn’t want to think about that right now, so she returned her attention to the pocket of greed and lust and traced it to the owner, or owners as it were, because at the table nearest the bar was a circle of men dressed as merchants.
The loudest man there had a lovely red-haired woman sitting next to him. Just as Jorie realized who it was, the woman’s gaze found her, and then looked away in shame. It was Evie, her best friend from childhood, and she was radiating that same illness Jorie had sensed earlier.
It was all too much for her right now. She closed her Empathy and continued to the door leading to the stables. She would seek out Evie later and find out what was going on.
• • •
Jorie found Tobin talking to Jaren, her older brother by two years. She and Jaren looked very much alike, except he was a foot taller and his brown hair was short and curly.
“Jorie!” he said warmly as he gathered her in his arms. “Welcome home. Have you had the requisite sister fight yet?”
“I walked out before that happened,” she said as she hugged him, then stepped away and looked him over. He had a few extra laugh lines but otherwise didn’t look any different, although he did seem to have something wrong with his elbow again. She touched it with a quick pulse of healing, and he took the elbow back and bent it back and forth with a smile. “Thanks, Sis.”
Tobin patiently waited for them to acknowledge him.
“So, how are you two getting along?” Jorie asked.
“Very well. Your brother has saved me quite a bit of investigative work,” Tobin replied.
“Oh?”
“Yes, it seems that a merchant named Alphon Deriadne has a major stake in the mine, and may be involved in some of the troublesome reports we’ve been getting.”
Jorie looked at Jaren, then back to Tobin.
“You’re the contact, aren’t you?” she asked Jaren in a low voice.
His smile widened as he said to Tobin, “I’m surprised she didn’t figure it out sooner.”
Tobin just smiled his inscrutable smile.
“Does anyone else in the family know?” she whispered.
He shook his head. “Not even Mom.”
“Now that’s impressive.” Jorie let Jaren have his moment of glory and made a mental note to tease Tobin later about his ability to keep secrets. “Listen, I saw Evie inside, she was sitting with a man—”
Jaren interrupted, “That’s Alphon. Whatever you do, don’t talk to her where he can see, where anyone can see.”
“Why?”
“I’m going to check on Gaela,” Tobin said as he politely walked away.
“Jemma’s been drinking quite a bit lately,” Jaren continued. “It started last year, when her husband Micah was killed in a landslide on his claim. It’s gotten worse since Dad died—the only thing he left her was a share of the inn, and that’s only if she gets sober. She doesn’t want a share, she wants money to open her own tavern. That’s why Micah was working a claim. Dad wouldn’t lend them the money.”
“I see,” she said. “Is that why Dad started drinking again? He blamed himself for Jemma’s husband dying?”
“He did indeed.”
“But what does that have to do with Evie?”
“You know Evie’s my wife Clary’s sister, and she’s been close to Jemma since you left for Haven. You also know how gossip travels here, and I can’t risk Alphon knowing that I’ve been talking to officials from Haven.”
“I can definitely understand that. I promise I’ll be careful.”
• • •
After dinner, Jorie had a long, hot soak in the bathhouse—her favorite part of living and working in an inn—then dressed in a clean set of Healer
’s Greens and put her medical kit bag back on.
Going back down to the kitchen, she filled a small basket and returned to the stables to find Tobin, who was bedded down in the loft her brother used to sleep in before he got married. She climbed the ladder and stopped at the white piece of tent canvas that had been rigged as a wall on the loft’s open end. It let light in, but gave anyone sleeping up there privacy.
She could see the Herald’s silhouette—he sat on a simple straw mattress, writing in a small book. Jorie cleared her throat. “I brought pie and milk.”
He poked his head around the canvas and took her basket.
Tobin was wearing his Whites including his boots, with his jacket hanging on a hook next to the mattress.
“Come in,” he said as he put his journal away, set the basket on the mattress, and patted the spot next to him.
She sat down, took the bottle of milk out and placed it on the floor between them, then retrieved the pie plate covered with a napkin and handed it to him. “I brought some of my sister’s famous brambleberry pie, in case you were still hungry.”
“Did you have to go through a gauntlet to get it?”
Jorie handed him a fork. “Not exactly, I washed the dishes and apologized for being blunt. She even let me heal her burn.”
“Oh? Good for you,” he said and then ate a bite of the pie. “This is delicious.”
They ate and took turns drinking milk, then licked the forks clean. It reminded her of when she would come up here and hang out with her brother at the end of the day.
“So, what’s the plan?” she asked.
“I spoke to your brother a bit longer while you were making peace with the your family. There are rumors that drugs are being used to control the workers. It might also explain those ill men we passed earlier.”
“Evie seems to have the same illness.”
“Hm.”
“Will Alphon be meeting you at the mine tomorrow?”
“Yes. Do you want to try to get Evie alone while I have his attention?”
“Yes.”
• • •
Jorie bid Tobin goodnight and headed back to the kitchen to put the dishes and basket away. As she entered the main room, she was surprised to see Jemma and Jessa sitting at the bar talking quietly. As soon as they saw her, both their faces lit up.
Jorie put the basket down on a table and went over to them. They hugged and greeted her, and Jorie was surprised at how much they looked like one another; dark hair like Dad and green eyes like Mom. Jessa was thirteen now, and Jemma twenty-two, but they looked like sisters.
Jemma still had a bit of alcohol in her. “Would you like a beer?”
“No, thanks, I’m on my way to bed.”
She nodded. “I can’t sleep unless I’ve had a few first.”
“I could give you a good recipe for a sleepy tea?” Jorie said.
“Jorie, we both know it goes deeper than that. I’m sure Jillie and Mom have gossiped plenty about me already.”
They had, but there was nothing she could do about it, so Jorie said the only thing she could, “I’m sorry, Jemma.”
“Aunt Jorie, do you remember when you promised me that if I practiced my music and did well at school, you’d take me to Haven to be a Bard?” Jessa said suddenly.
This must be what Jillie’s worried about, Jorie realized Her arrival meant Jessa was quite possibly going to leave with her. “I remember telling you I’d take you to try out for the Bardic Collegium. I’m not in charge of whether you get in, though.”
“I want to be a Bard. I’ll get in,” Jessa replied with a big grin. “I’m good. Everyone says so. Ask Auntie Jemma.”
“The girl isn’t just good, she’s the best I’ve ever heard. And, she’s had offers to sing and play at every tavern here and in Riverbend.”
“What does your mom think?” Jorie asked.
“You know what she thinks,” Jemma said.
Jessa looked down at her feet and sulked, “She doesn’t want me to go. She wants me to stay here and work at the inn forever.”
“Listen, Jessa, if you’re as good as everyone says, and I hear it too, I’ll do it.”
Jessa hopped off her stool with excitement. “Really?”
“Shhh, people are sleeping above us. Tomorrow night I’ll listen to you sing and play, and then we’ll talk. Now off to bed with you. I need to talk to Auntie Jemma.”
“Thank you, Auntie Jorie,” Jessa said, and she took her fiddle off the bar and went off through the kitchen doors, slamming them behind her. “Sorry!” she called out from the other side.
They both laughed softly; it was something they had both done throughout their youth.
“She really deserves to get out of here,” Jemma said, then sighed and drank more beer. “I’m stuck here till the day I die.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Seriously? Jorie, you already know why. I don’t have any talent, and I lost the love of my life to my own greed.” She stared down into her beer. “All I have now is tending this bar and listening to Mom and Jillie nag me and everyone else till the day I drink myself to the grave . . . just like Dad.”
Jorie was a little stunned. It was an honest assessment of the situation, but her little sister had never been one to spare anyone’s feelings—including her own. “Well, if you weren’t tending bar, here what would you do?”
“I’d have my own bar.”
“And if you couldn’t do that?”
Jemma seemed to think for a few moments. “I have no idea.”
“You think about that, and we’ll talk more tomorrow. Where are you sleeping?”
“I’m back in the house, in my old room. I’m renting my house to one of the merchants. Hopefully I’ll have enough by next year to get a tavern up and running.”
“Which merchant?”
“Alphon Deriadne.”
Jorie saw her chance. “Did I see Evie in here earlier with a merchant?”
“Yes, that’s the one,” she said, her tone icy.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t like him, and I don’t like her with him.”
“I’m listening,” Jorie said as she scanned the mostly empty room to make sure no one was eavesdropping.
“Have a beer with me and I’ll tell you all about him.”
Jorie pulled up a stool and leaned forward. “Pour.”
• • •
The next morning, Jorie told Tobin what she’d learned, and then she waited for the breakfast crowd to clear so Jemma could bring Evie up to her attic room as soon as Tobin notified her that Alphon was at the mine.
Jorie gave her childhood friend a big hug and was struck by how thin she was; but she was happy to see the girl had packed a bag. It meant she had agreed to the plan.
“How are you feeling, Evie?” she asked while escorting her to the only chair in the small room. Jemma stayed at the door and listened for anyone coming up the stairs.
“I’m . . . not well . . .” Evie replied. “Jemma told me you could help me.”
The girl wouldn’t look up at her, so Jorie sat on the bed near her and opened her Empathy. Evie had a darkness holding her, and it did indeed feel like an addiction to something like the sedatives they used for surgery in Haven. “I’ll help you in any way I possibly can.”
Evie slowly looked over to Jorie like a beaten puppy, and the tears started to fall.
It took several minutes of weeping and hiccupping for Evie to tell her story. Her grandfather owned the land where the original gold vein was found, and he’d gone to his old friend Alphon for financing to start a mining operation. Now her grandfather was missing and she was engaged to Alphon, even though she never agreed to be; but she was deeply dependent on a milky white elixir he gave to her one tiny spoonful at a time. She got one in the morning and one
at night, and she was sure he was giving it to the miners as well. She hadn’t known at first, as it had originally been slipped into her food, but she’d figured it out over time. When she tried to confront Alphon about it, he told her if she ever told anyone, it would be the last thing she ever did.
It was all pretty much the same thing Jemma had told her last night. “Did Jemma tell you what I want to do?” Jorie asked.
“Yes . . . she said you could kill the craving with your hands.”
“Yes. Now listen carefully. I can lay hands on you to help the craving, but you’ll have to do the rest. I want you to stay here and not go anywhere. I’ll do whatever I can to relieve the pain, but you have to not give up.”
“I won’t give up, Jorie, I trust you.”
Jorie tried to choke back her tears but then let them fall as well. She had forgotten how close they had been and now felt ashamed for abandoning her.
• • •
By the time Tobin got back from the mine inspection, Jorie had done a gentle healing sedation on Evie three times, and the poor girl had thrown up their one attempt to get food into her. It was going to be hard to keep it quiet, but the poor girl refused to go to the family house next door. Apparently Jaren, Clary, and Jillie had believed Evie was willingly prostituting herself to Alphon and his merchant friends, when in reality she was a prisoner to addiction, and he was the only man allowed to touch her.
Jorie had to bite back quite a bit of anger upon hearing that, but after speaking to Tobin about the events of the day, she felt less like rounding up her entire family and teaching them the difference between choice and coercion.
“I’m sorry, what did you say about the inspection?” she asked again as they sat in front of the door of her attic room. Jemma was tending bar, and from the rising hum of conversation below, the dining room was filling quickly.
“I found nothing that looked overtly bad, but I can tell that the men they showed me weren’t drugged. Alphon says he employs twenty men on his claim, but the gold they’re pulling out is more than what the other fifty men are pulling on the other claims combined.”
Crucible Page 28
