by Wren Handman
Darren, she knew, had abandoned dreams of his own father long ago. He had told her about times when he was younger, when he would pester his mother with questions that were never answered. He imagined a knight in shining armor, slain in the heat of a dangerous battle. Or a pirate, perhaps, still sailing the sea with a feather in his cap and a sword strapped to his side. A spice merchant from the far north, stopping in Miranov before going on to Sephria, who had stolen his mother’s heart and then ridden away before she knew what was what. But he had grown up, and he had left the dreams of childhood far behind. A father who left his young wife husbandless was not a hero to be exalted in fantasy and praised in dreams. He was either a scoundrel, who had left his family when they needed him most, or else a fool, who had gotten himself killed through some fault of his own. Or so Darren said, though Taya had found this stance rather harsh. In all likelihood he had been a simple fisherman, killed in Ashua’s grief. No fault of his, nor of his family’s, simply a cast of the dice.
But here they were. Darren’s father was no simple fisherman. He was no knight, true, nor a pirate either, but the truth was far more strange.
A flash of color in the doorway distracted her from her circling thoughts, and she saw David and Ryan walking past. They were silent as always, and she doubtless would not have known they had left had she not been facing the door in the moment they passed it. It galled her slightly, to have men in control of this house she had given so much to own. They could at least do her the courtesy of letting her know when they came and went, she fumed to herself, but a moment later she was already chiding her own self-indulgence. These were no usual guests, and their purpose here was not to smooth her own ruffled feathers. She was an adult, though still a young one. She should have the maturity to know when something was far above the normal, and to accept life as it had been dealt to her.
With his two “mates” out of the house for a moment, it seemed a good time to check in on Darren and assure herself that he was all right. Knocking on his door proved awkward with two mugs in her hands, but she managed to do both that, and to open the door in response to his call to enter.
She frowned when she saw him. They had not given him enough rest. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he seemed barely able to lift his head to watch her as she came inside. His smile was his own, though, and there was a light to his eyes that was unmistakable.
“Taya, I wondered how long they would be able to keep you out of here,” he told her with an impish grin.
She glared at him. “Aha, so it was a plot, was it?” She hooked a foot around the leg of one of the chairs next to the bed and pulled it closer, sinking gracefully into it as she did. “I knew you were busy, or they wouldn’t have been able to keep me out at all, I assure you. But I saw them both leave a little while ago, and figured you wouldn’t mind the intrusion.”
“For you, never. I was finished, anyhow—been drafting letters an’ such, but Ryan’s gotta write ’em for me, what with my side an’ all. We been tryin’ to get an old army general on board. Jeremy is there now, making agreements and arrangements and goddess knows what else. I’d sure be lost without that man, Taya, I swear I would be. He sure knows this business.”
“He sounds like a true friend,” she told him with a smile, though in truth she had doubts. He seemed more like a fanatic than anything else, and she wished she could meet him and judge for herself.
“That he is, for sure. A true one. Sorta like a gal I know,” he told her with a wide smile, and she forced herself to return it.
Friend. Lovely. Just what every girl wants to hear, you git.
“You always were a sweet talker. Let me help you up, you should drink more. They haven’t been taking care of you.” She helped him sit up, careful not to pull on the sore shoulder, and held the mug as he took a grateful drink.
“Too much work to do, to be takin’ much care.”
“Oh, I doubt that tune will be the same when you keel over dead! What kind of a revolution will you have then, you great sot?” she scolded, and he grinned.
“You sound like my mam, Tay. I’m fine.”
“Yes, well, you always have thought far too highly of yourself,” she joked.
“I’ve thought a lot of things…but y’know, I think I’ve changed my mind on a few?”
“Have you? Like what?” she asked, curious despite herself, and he gave her a guarded look, as if worried of what her reaction will be.
“Now, don’t be makin’ fun of me, yeah? ’Cause this is what I think, and I know you don’t feel the same, only it’s different for me, and I know you’ll call me soft and all those things we always call people, but…Well, you and me, Tay, we got together ’cause we thought the same thing, didn’t we?” He was watching her with an earnest expression, and her breath caught in her throat. Perhaps he was talking about why they first met, or about what had kept them laughing at each other’s jokes. But most likely, he was talking about…
“About…marriage?” she asked, trying to keep the quaver out of her voice.
He heard it, but seemed to misinterpret, for his face grew defensive. “See, I knew y’ad only laugh at me. Well, I s’pose talking as I did for so long, I’ve best take my kicks now. It’s just, I think I was wrong. I think maybe marriage ain’t such the prison we always thought it were. Was. Were?”
“Was,” she answered, but her voice was barely a whisper. She thought the room was going dark around her, was sure this couldn’t be happening. He was a king now, was further from her than he had ever been. Surely he saw that, surely he knew that even if he had changed his mind, even if he had grown feelings for her as she had for him, surely he knew they couldn’t be together. Not anymore. Oh, god, she would lose the shop if anyone found out. And how could they not?
“Right. Was. Well, maybe it ain’t. I mean, sure, you gotta be true to just the one girl, and I wasn’t so good at that with the sailoring, but as a king? I could do it. Know I could. ’Specially if…well, if it were the right girl. A girl so special you didn’t need nobody else, s’long as you got the one your heart were happy with.”
“What made you…decide this?” Her vision was spinning, but she forced herself to stay upright, to keep her eyes locked on him. Oh, you foolish, foolish boy. How can you not see how impossible this is? She felt a joy building up in her heart, something she had fought since she had admitted to herself what she felt for Darren. It was too much to hope for, too much to dare. But…what if? Perhaps she couldn’t be his queen, but they had always found a way to each other, even if it wasn’t the traditional relationship everyone else seemed to want. What if they could find a way to be together? There were no insurmountable barriers, not to love. It could be. They could be.
“I found her, Tay. Her name’s Nicola.”
The words took a moment to process. The only outward sign of her distress was a twinge to her jaw, so great was her control, but she felt a bleakness stealing over her shoulder, a sick feeling like eating meat that’s gone off. She prayed that this was some joke, some cosmic joke the universe was playing. That he had not just said…
“Or I s’pose I oughta say Princess Nicola, what with her bein’ daughter ’a the duke, an’ all. Well, a duke, anyway. One of the loyal ones, y’know? Allied with the old king, and whatnot. Jer introduced us, after we’d found out about me an’ all. Oh, Tay, you’d love her too! She’s just like us, just like what we always say. She’s like…like…like springtime. Goddess, that’s stupid. Not springtime. I sound like a lout. I blame the arrow an’ the not sleepin’ an’ all.
“She’s real smart, Tay, you’d love her for that. Really knows her words, but she don’t ever make me feel bad for not knowin’ mine. You’d just love her, I just know you would.”
She mumbled something, some expected response. The words had barely passed her lips, and she had already forgotten what they were. It couldn’t be—it wasn’t right. This was not the way it was supposed to be! For him to finally fall in love, oh goddess, to fall
in love and have it not be her! What a fool she’d been to think that she was anything but what she had always known she was. She had gone into this with eyes wide open and had no claim to him, no right to the hurt, but goddess how unfair it was, that he had fallen in love. Fallen in love, and not with her.
“We’re t’be married, once I’m crowned an’ all. I know you think I’m daft, but a king, well—that’s different than a sailor, ain’t it? I can’t just be married to the sea, an’ all, an’, well, don’t laugh, Taya love, but…would you be Maidie Fair? I asked Nicola; she laughed an’ said we’d cause such a fuss, you bein’ not a noble an all, I thought you’d like that, and she would too.”
“Let’s not plan for a future so far away,” she said. “Brings bad luck, you know that.” She tucked his blankets in tighter, dipping her chin to hide her face. He was hurt, she knew, and likely still muddled with the medicines to combat the pain and fever. She was counting on that to make him blind to the despair on her face. Be the Maidie Fair at his wedding? Could a man be such a fool? Only a man could.
“I can’t wait for you to see her, Tay…” he murmured, his eyes drifting closed.
She felt herself trembling, and told herself it was exhaustion, as if she could lie to her own mind. He was so close, she might have reached out and touched him. But what would be the point? It would only be aggravating a fresh wound. Better to put it from her mind, put him from her mind, and get on with the business of her life. He wouldn’t be part of that now. Maidie Fair at his wedding! What a git. When he left this home she doubted she would ever see him again.
“I need to go the market…for dinner,” she said, her voice still half a whisper.
He didn’t open his eyes, assuming, no doubt, that she was keeping her voice low so as not to disturb him. She hated the weakness of her emotions in that moment. She had always been so rational, so sure, and this felt like an added betrayal. First him, now her own heart—nothing would obey her as it should. She got to her feet, hoping some distance and fresh air would help calm her nerves.
“Jer’s on his way…Big ’portant meeting…I’ll just shut my eyes…just a quick…for a sec…” he murmured, and she left him to his dreams. She wondered if they had changed, if he still dreamed of salt and spray, or if memories of the sea he would be leaving behind were as painful to him as the sight of him was to her.
Chapter Four
SHE LEFT THE SHOP by the front door, closing the shutters and latching the door behind her. Luckily the weather was fair today, for she brought neither coat nor cloak, and needed neither. Her steps were aimless, her path unchecked. She walked, trying not to think, incapable of anything but. It was her own fault, she knew, for allowing herself to hope.
She spat to the side of the road, trying to rid herself of the taste of desperation, and earned an angry yell from a passing man. Her mother’s words came back to her. Grace and beauty, that’s what you’re lacking. You need to tame this wildness in you, or no man will think you want marriage. Grace and beauty, indeed. No doubt the beautiful princesses at court had it in spades—and were taught not to have a brain between them.
So she wasn’t what every man might consider a suitable spouse. She certainly didn’t dress like someone hoping to climb the social ladder. She dressed at least a station below herself, ran about in pants, yes, and wore her hair in a tight knot at the back of her neck. But to wear it down as her friends did was ridiculous—two hours spent brushing hair every morning was two hours’ worth of work that wasn’t putting food on the table. And skirts! Corsets! They were abominable. She couldn’t breathe in the damn things, let alone carry bolts of fabric up and down stairs. She was better off the way she was. So what if well-bred girls snickered behind their hands when she passed? They would never know independence. They would seduce some poor man, thinking themselves grand for catching a prize, and do nothing but build a family like the children of Ashua taught them to, earning larger houses and better jobs as their families grew, until they were nothing but slaves to the family name. She had earned her independence, and Ashua turn from them all! The price was worth it. Damn his gray eyes, anyway. He wasn’t so perfect. He had faults. And she could catalogue each and every one.
She ran a hand over her hair, smoothing down non-existent bumps, and took several deep breaths. It’s ridiculous to be so upset, she chided herself mentally. Nothing has changed but how it’s all laid out. I knew he didn’t love me. He never would have married me. So he still doesn’t love me, and he still won’t marry me. Exactly the same situation. Nicola…well, she’s nothing but an addendum. An “ah yes, I almost forgot.” Nicola probably knew what addendum meant. Nothing like the other girls Darren had known over the years—they had been no real challenges. He used to come home, laughing, and tell her stories about his silly exotic girls. Still. Just because she’s educated doesn’t mean she’s wise. Maybe she’ll be daft, she thought, and it brought a smile to her lips. There was always hope.
She hadn’t brought a basket with her, so she couldn’t do any serious shopping, but she decided she had to pick something up. It wouldn’t do to come back from shopping empty-handed. She would strain her purse to bursting before admitting she had left the house due to wounded pride and an aching heart. With those thoughts foremost in her mind, Taya veered toward Spice Spoke. She could pick up a small packet of herbs which would complement dinner nicely, and which she could easily carry in one of her pockets.
Novosk was a bustle of streets and alleyways which, to a foreign eye, was nearly impossible to navigate. Streets had been built at cross sections and strange angles, and they rarely stayed in the same direction for more than a block. Locals learned to navigate the tall and temperamental maze, and when in doubt there was a network of street urchins who would find any place you needed for a gold nobble or a heel of bread.
One of the only exceptions to this haphazard planning was the Wheel. The city’s main market, the Wheel consisted of one large hub and six straight streets, known as spokes. Each spoke ran true for at least four blocks before surrendering to the chaos of the city. The spokes were Venison, Vine, Baker, Tinker, Tree, and Spice, and here the wealthiest merchants owned stores. They were renowned for their quality, and also for ensuring quality stayed high by forcefully removing merchants of lesser pedigree. Everyone knew the story of the vegetable merchant on Vine Spoke who had decided it might be nice to carry some fruit. His store had been ransacked in the middle of the night, all his wares smashed on the sidewalk, except the new shipment of fruit, which had been deposited without a scratch at the mouth of Tree Spoke. The message was clear, and no one since had tried to defy the separations of meat, vegetable, baked goods, pots and pans, fruit, and spices.
Most of the stores in the spokes were too expensive for Taya’s taste—they didn’t worry about clearing out all their merchandise before the end of the day, unlike the farmers who set up daily in the Hub, so it was harder to get those last minute deals. There was, however, a spice store near the mouth of Spice Spoke that Taya and Annelle had taken to frequenting. Annelle claimed it was because their nutmeg was of a higher quality than anywhere else in the city, but Taya suspected it had more to do with the merchant’s son. He was a few years older than Annelle, and always seemed to be there at just the time the women came shopping. Taya had considered slipping Annelle a hint that he was pining, but had decided against it. The two of them would make their moves when they were ready, and not a moment before. Rushing it would do no one any good.
She reached the store and walked inside, blinking and squinting against the bright lights. The lamps outside had not yet been lit, but the inside of the shop was awash with a warm light that momentarily blurred the contents of the store. Taya wiped her eyes, watching as the store slowly came back into focus. The counter along one wall was similar to that in Taya’s store, its huge expanse left bare and polished to a bright sheen. Along the far wall there was a line of boxes, clearly drawn pictures proclaiming which spices rested within. The floor was c
overed with a warm printed carpet, a rare luxury that Taya had entertained for her own shop but had decided was too expensive to keep clean. There were several groups of customers standing about, gossiping and dealing with the merchant and his son. As Taya rubbed her face again, willing away the last of the spots in her eyes, she thought she heard one of them say her name. She looked toward the sound, wondering who would have call to speak her name in such a shocked, hurt voice, and as the person came into clear focus she felt a pang of guilt. It was Annelle. She was standing beside the merchant’s son, a basket slung over one arm and a heartbreaking expression on her face.
“You—you said you couldn’t come,” she said, her voice the quiet sweet sound of an innocent. There was a slight tremor, as if she was holding back tears, and she looked like she was desperately hoping for some explanation that would make her understand why her friend was here without her.
Taya froze. That was the only explanation—she simply froze. She was too tired, too overwhelmed, too exhausted, and her mind simply had nothing to say. She couldn’t say she had fought with Darren and left to get some air, because Annelle would want to know what the fight had been about. She couldn’t explain the things swirling around in her heart, because Annelle didn’t even know the engagement was a scam!
She opened her mouth before she was ready to speak, and the awkward pause made it look like she was trying to phrase a delicate lie, which, in fairness, she was, just not for the reasons that Annelle assumed.
“If you didn’t want to go out with me or you were tired of me, you might have just said!” she whispered, and then in a burst of speed she ran from the store, tears already welling in her eyes.
“For Oblivion’s sake, Annelle,” Taya snapped, strained emotions making her fierce instead of kind. The girl was so thrice-Oblivion sensitive. Anyone else would have assumed the best, but not Annelle, no, she had to think the world was falling down. Taya took a step after her but stopped herself on the threshold. She didn’t have the energy to soothe Annelle back from the edge, and even if she did, what would she say? She could pile more lies onto a teetering tower, but she wasn’t in the mood for lies today. And the truth? If Annelle knew that, if she realized how long Taya had been lying to her, even her great capacity for forgiveness would be stretched. And how could Taya do that to a friend? How could she tarnish Annelle’s silly belief in the rightness of the world? Better to let things cool off, go and talk to her the next day. She’d bring a cake and refuse to discuss the incident at all, let Annelle draw her own conclusions. They would no doubt be kinder than whatever lie Taya could concoct.
