I’ve just gotten somewhat comfortable on a pile of hay, and I’m drifting almost peacefully when an idle thought crosses my mind. What if Flink sneezes, and he sets the entire building ablaze with us in it?
I’m pondering this when I hear a noise outside the barn. I go still in the dark, listening intently. It didn’t sound like an animal shuffling outside—not a fox or even a bear. I heard footsteps; I’m sure of it. Still wrapped in my blanket, I pull my dagger from my discarded sheath, slink to the open window, and peek outside.
The air is cold this late in the season. Already here in the mountains, the leaves are in full color, the landscape a bright orange and red. In the night, the trees look purple. Soon we’ll have our first snow. The smell of wood smoke and pork is in the breeze. The Eidelman’s, our closest neighbors, must have butchered this year’s pig.
Father, too, has several fattening up—one he’s raising for an elderly neighbor couple and two for us. We’ve never had so many pigs. He says the boys eat too much to only smoke one. Anderson and Erik built a new pen this summer, just past the barn. It’s sturdy and straight, and it baffles me that my little brothers were able to accomplish it.
I scan the property below me, watching for movement. After several moments, I give up. It must have been a deer or other animal after all. Yawning out those strange gold sparkles again, a copper-colored Flink sidles up next to me and lays his head in my lap. I stroke between the two finger-width ivory horns he grew about a month ago. His scales are no longer velveteen as they were when he was a hatchling, but are smooth and strong. As if lit by an internal fire, he’s warm to the touch, nothing like a lizard or snake. I pull him closer, grateful for him in the cold hayloft.
Flink stretches his legs out in front of him, sitting like a dopey puppy. He makes a churring noise of contentment, similar to a cat. He’s grown so much since he hatched, but in the last few months that growth has slowed. I think he’s almost to his adult size now.
The lights finally go out in my parent’s bedroom in the house. Despite how early they rise, Father and Mother have a bad habit of staying up late into the night. Father whittles and Mother quilts. Still, it’s later than usual for them, close to midnight. Maybe now that the boys are older, they linger in bed later than they used to.
As I’m yawning, thinking about dragging Flink back to the original spot I picked for a bed, a shadow catches my eye.
It’s a man. He walks with stealth, pausing every so often to listen. I drop my blanket and pull on my boots. As silent as possible, I sneak from the window, down the ladder, and out into the night. Flink’s behind me, walking with the stealth of a panther.
I grip my dagger and follow the shadow around the house. I realize it’s Sebastian long before he knows I’m behind him. He wears the cloak his grandfather gave him when he was eighteen, and he’s all but hidden. He stops outside the window that used to be mine, the window that now belongs to my sister. It must be nice to be the only girl still at home. The lucky goose has a room all to herself.
He hesitates outside, likely debating how he’s going to get my attention without waking Kirsten. Just as he’s about to knock lightly on the dappled glass—a little luxury Mother’s quite proud of—I press the point of my dagger between his shoulder blades.
Sebastian goes unnaturally still, and he holds up his hands to show me he’s unarmed.
“Imagine if it had been my father who caught you and not me,” I whisper.
His hands fall, and he turns, no longer concerned with the blade. He grins, but he looks a bit embarrassed that I could sneak up on him. “What are you doing out here?”
“I was in the barn. I saw you slip from your hiding spot.”
Flink, elated, rubs against Sebastian’s leg and nearly knocks him off his feet. Idly, Sebastian pats the dragon’s head, and then he pulls me away from the house, toward the barn I just left.
“What are you doing here?” I ask once we’re safe in the hayloft. Shivering, I reclaim my blanket and wrap it around my shoulders.
Sebastian lowers his hood. “I wanted to talk with you.”
He’s handsome, Sebastian. So perfect. Even in the dead of night, his doublet looks newly-laundered, and the undershirt peeking from the leather-laced neckline is crisp. Self-conscious, I push my hair behind my ears, hoping there’s no hay in it. Refusing to wear a nightdress in the barn, I’m in an old pair of trousers and one of Erik’s outgrown shirts, one that’s still a bit too large for George. It hangs off me, making me look ridiculous.
I’m sure Adeline’s just as tidy as Sebastian, sleeping on her silken covers in a beautiful nightgown, her hair perfectly splayed over her pillow like a princess in a minstrel’s song.
I cannot pinpoint the moment I became jealous of her. I’m not sure there is an exact time for such things, but it’s been building over the last few months. I look at her and Sebastian, and whether I like it or not, Avery’s words from our trek into the Grenaldian wildlands this summer nag at me. Sebastian and Adeline do look good together. They fit.
Sebastian and I, though we have known each other forever, though we have the potential to work in some peculiar way, do not look as if we belong. It’s like pairing a noble-blooded wolfhound with a farmer’s mutt. Sure, the mutt might be pretty enough, she might be capable of performing any task set in front of the wolfhound…but the wolfhound should be with his own kind.
“Well, talk then.” I settle on the hay.
Sebastian shifts and takes his dear sweet time before he begins.
“About Adeline—” He pauses when I let out a low groan. “I think she should stay here for the winter.”
“We said a week, Sebastian,” I argue, my chest already tightening, already feeling trapped. “It will be another six months before the weather warms again. We’ll never find Avery if we wait that long.”
He grunts a soft affirmation. I’m beginning to think Sebastian would rather let Avery go. There are times I would as well, but those plants are Adeline’s ticket home. Without them, I’m stuck with her forever.
“We don’t have enough money saved to linger here,” I argue.
Not after he bought me back Flink when I relinquished the dragon to the shopkeeper after I found out Avery had paid the man to charm him with a tracking spell.
“I didn’t say we were staying.” Sebastian sounds frustrated. “I said Adeline should.”
I don’t answer right away, wondering if there’s some catch. “So…she’ll stay here…and we’ll go after Avery?”
He nods, the action barely visible in the dark night.
“Where will she stay?”
“I’ve already arranged that with grandfather. She’ll live and work in his shoppe, and he’ll pay her a small sum each week.”
“And she’s all right with that arrangement?” Something tells me she won’t be keen on the idea of Sebastian leaving.
“After the goblins we ran into last month, she’s more open to it than you might think.”
I try not to smile—I really do. That was a mess. In an attempt to make a little extra money on the way here, we took a job in the Yill mountains, off to find an antique tea set that had apparently been swiped by an imp. Needless to say, it wasn’t an imp we found.
“When do we leave?” I ask, hoping he’ll say first thing in the morning.
“You promised your mother a week.”
“No…you promised my mother a week in that lovely letter you sent her.”
I love my family. They are dear to me. But they are dearer when we’re separated by a good hour-long carriage ride.
“They miss you, Lucia.”
Exasperated, I let out a long sigh. “Is that all you came here to tell me?”
“That and…” He looks conflicted, and my chest tightens.
“Yes?”
“I wanted to see you.”
My mouth goes dry, and a warm sensation builds in my stomach. We’ve had dozens of these moments since our trek in the Moss Forest, but they never go a
nywhere.
“I’m right here.” It’s an invitation if I’ve ever given him one. And a challenge.
I won’t make the first move. It’s me who will look like a fool if Sebastian turns away, and I cannot risk finding pity in his eyes if I’ve misread the occasional smolder in his gaze.
He stands there, undecided for several moments. Then he clears his throat and looks away. “How is your family?”
Disappointed, I settle farther into the hay. “Fine. Loud. In love with Adeline.”
In the dark, I can barely see the little smirk that toys at his lips. “Aren’t we all?”
I narrow my eyes. I know he’s teasing me, perhaps hoping I’ll give myself away. “What’s not to love?”
“Indeed.”
“Your grandfather is fond of her.”
He crosses his arms, unable to hide his smile any longer. “Let him think what he will. My life is easier when he’s not hounding me.”
“You should go.” I look away, unable to bear his close proximity in the dark. “I’m tired.”
“Tomorrow, then?”
Somehow, he says the words as a promise. I shrug, just a little angry with him. Still smiling, he pulls me to my feet, making me walk him to the ladder. Before he leaves, he catches my hand. He looks so serious, I forget how to breathe for a moment. The smell of newly-disturbed hay surrounds us, as does the stillness of the night. Slowly, he raises my hand to his lips and presses a whisper of a kiss to my knuckles. “Goodnight, Lucia.”
Breathless, I nod. Once Sebastian is gone, I fall into the hay and try, but fail, not to fantasize about the solitary kiss we shared outside a tavern in Grenalda.
***
“Carry these, Lucy.” Mother shoves three towering crates of eggs into my arms. Even with the jostling, the eggs lie safely inside, tucked into their nests of fresh straw. “Take them to your father and then come back for more.”
I yawn as I walk to the front of the house. It’s too early to be awake. The sun’s barely risen, yet we’ve already had breakfast and Father is loading the wagon. I don’t miss these early mornings. The rooster cries out again, proud of himself for rousing us all from blissful slumber. I smile as I walk, imagining the troublesome fowl bubbling away in a pot with carrots, potatoes, and maybe just a pinch of parsley.
“You’re looking jolly this morning,” Father says as he relieves me of my load.
I respond with a noise that’s something between a grunt and a sigh. He laughs and yells at my brothers to stop fighting and help Mother. Kirsten lingers next to our big draft horses, feeding them her share of apples from breakfast. They nicker their thanks, and she pets them solemnly.
“If Mother catches you, she’ll give you an earful,” I whisper as I take the long way back to the chicken coops.
Kirsten only smiles and turns her back to hide a little more efficiently.
After we have the wagon loaded, Mother informs the men that it will just be her, Kirsten, and me at the market this morning.
“Free afternoon,” Erik says, grinning.
“Hardly.” Mother adjusts her shawl, trying to block out the cool air. “There are potatoes to be dug, and I need you to start on the fences before winter.”
“Fences?” I ask.
Father turns to me. “We’re buying a pair of cattle from the Hillbrights.”
“Cattle?” I ask, surprised. First more pigs, and now cows? Look at us, moving up in the world.
Mother puffs up, proud. “The last few years have been good to us.”
“No doubt thanks to the money sent to us from our successful daughter.” Father wraps me in a one-shouldered hug, crushing me against him.
I hold up a finger, ready to ask him what he’s talking about, when Mother points right at George, her expression fierce. “You will watch over the beast. Keep him away from the chickens, do you understand?”
That “beast” is underneath the apple tree, sniffing clover. Flink looks up, somehow knowing he’s being talked about, his eyes droopy and innocent. George, elated to be on dragon duty, swears he will vigilantly stand watch over the creature.
He’s quite the valiant knight, my baby brother.
We bid the men goodbye, and I climb into the driver’s seat. Mother crawls up next to me, shooing me over. Without a word, she takes the reins and clucks the horses on.
I bite my tongue. It’s not that I want to drive—it’s that I’m twenty-one, and she still doesn’t think I’m capable. I’ve slain a cottage-sized frog beast in the heart of Grenalda’s wildlands; I can drive a wagon.
Thankfully, Kirsten chatters incessantly about anything and everything from her seat in the back, and the hour ride to Reshire goes quickly. The city is far larger than Silverleaf. We pass through the main square, past Lord Thane’s shoppe. I crane my neck as we pass, looking through the glass, wondering if Sebastian and Adeline are there right now. All I see is the window display and the street’s reflection.
They’re probably still in Silverleaf, just now sitting down for a light breakfast made by one of Lord Thane’s many maids. Perhaps they’ll have scones and pastries.
My stomach grumbles at the thought of it. We had eggs and the dark brown bread Mother’s made every day for as long as I can remember. Not that I should complain about that. I know many in the village aren’t as fortunate as we are, but still. Every single day.
You would have been more than grateful for that meal when you were starving four months ago.
I frown at the thought. There was a time, not long ago, right after I lost all our business savings to a con artist posing as an investment banker, that I would have savored Mother’s eggs and bread. My conscience, that annoying thing I try to ignore, prickles. Perhaps Sebastian’s right; maybe I am being a bit ungrateful.
As if sensing my turmoil, Mother takes the reins in one hand and squeezes my arm with her other. “I am so happy you’re back, Lucia. I’ve missed our mornings together.”
I find myself studying her, really looking. She’s a pretty woman. I’ve always known that; even when I was little, I could tell. She’s a tiny bit taller than I am, and her hair isn’t as dark—more of a winter blond than brown. Her skin is tan from her hours in the sun, and her cheeks are rosy. But time is wearing on her. It’s the little changes I notice now, tiny things really.
Her once bright blue eyes have subtle wrinkles at the edges, and there are some at the corners of her mouth too. Where her brow used to be smooth, she now has soft lines. None of these things detract from her beauty, but they make her look a little too human. Fragile, maybe.
And that makes me feel…something. I’m not sure what, but it’s uncomfortable.
“You’re doing all right, aren’t you? You said things are going well?” I blurt out.
She gives me a funny look, the kind where one brow raises a bit higher than the other. “Didn’t you hear your father? We’re buying cows.”
Because that is the measure of success.
Before I can press the question further, we arrive in the market square. Already, it’s bustling. Upon seeing me with Mother and Kirsten, dozens of faces I’ve known my entire life surround the wagon as soon as Mother reins the horses to a stop.
“Lucia!”
“Look who’s returned home!”
“It’s the adventuress herself!”
“Where’s Sebastian?”
Before I have a chance to respond to any of them, I’m swept right off the wagon by a pair of sturdy hands and crushed against a chest that smells like spices, wood smoke, and vinegar.
CHAPTER THREE
You Could Do Worse
“Hello, Connor,” I mumble against the broad chest of a man I can only say was a childhood friend—though friend might be a tiny stretch. Companion, perhaps, but even that sounds too intimate for our relationship.
“Connor!” Mother exclaims in a ridiculously rehearsed way. “What a surprise! I had no idea you’d be here this morning.”
She pronounces each word far too slowly,
and her tone remains the same through the entire sentence. I glare at her from the crushing hug Connor has locked me into.
“Lucia,” Connor says, finally drawing back, holding me by my shoulders so he can take a good long look at me. “It’s so good to see you.”
Connor’s huge, but not in a rotund way. He towers over every man in Silverleaf, including his minuscule father. He’s not handsome, but he’s not necessarily bad-looking either. He’s just…Connor. Right now, his cheeks are ruddy and his brown eyes bright, and he wears a perpetual smile. A smile he’s bestowing on me at the moment.
I pat his brawny chest twice, hoping if I give him a tiny bit of attention he’ll release me.
No such luck.
He shakes his head, drinking me in. Then, as if he simply cannot believe his eyes, he says again, “Lucia.”
A few of the spectators begin to laugh and smirk. Poor Connor has no idea how ridiculous he looks with his big sappy eyes and wide grin…especially considering our history. It makes me feel bad for him, makes me want to shoo the spectators away before they say something stupid and embarrass him. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“Help us with the crates, Connor?” I ask, knowing he won’t be able to refuse, and he’ll have to let me go to perform the task.
As expected, he jumps into action. Kirsten watches him, both amused and a bit disgusted. We load up our usual stall—a large wooden structure that’s stood here for years, just for us. When I was a little girl, I sat behind that counter, just where Kirsten is now. The chaos of the market makes me recall hundreds of mornings, not all of them bad.
I have memories of fifteen-year-old Sebastian here. Some days he would pester me, but on others, he would bring little pies or candies. My family could never afford such frivolities.
Further back, there was a seven-year-old boy—shy and quiet—simply sitting next to me, hurting from losing his parents to illness.
My heart aches from that memory, from the pain I know still haunts him at times.
“You be nice to Connor,” Mother whispers to me through a stiff smile.
Greybrow Serpent (Silver and Orchids Book 2) Page 2
