For The One

by Brenna Aubrey

  She's looking down now, fiddling with something in her bag. I know she's brought her Tarot cards to do fortune readings for people who pay her. I wonder if she believes they are true. Maybe she follows what the cards tell her. Maybe they are what make her move on. "Is it the cards?"

  She looks up at me. "What?"

  "Do the cards tell you to move along? You've attended two different colleges, and you just dropped out of your Physics program without finishing. According to Alex, you've never spent longer than three or four years in one place. And you are leaving again soon. So if you aren't running away, then why do you move on?"

  She shrugs and I start pulling items out of the back of my truck. Everything is meticulously labeled so that it's easier to deliver the goods. Shovels here, buckles there, gardening implements for Anita, our herbalist. She loves to use period-authentic gardening tools.

  Jenna has her head turned, looking out over the park, when she begins speaking to me between clenched teeth. "I'm not running away. Maybe I've made it my life's goal to continue challenging myself to experience new things."

  "Maybe? So you aren't sure?"

  Her eyes close and she's muttering under her breath. It sounds like she's counting. Her face blotchy, she spins around and walks away, calling over her shoulder that she'll see me later when she doesn't feel like hitting me.

  I doubt she could hit me very hard, or even that she really wants to. But I frown at the thought that I've angered her. As usual, I have no idea how I did it.

  Once I've gathered all my items, I make my rounds, finding my friends from RMRA at various booths where they've spread out their wares. Among others, there's a spinner, a weaver, a seamstress, a woman who makes authentic woolen stockings and a silversmith who designs jewelry. Ann, an international student from Somalia, has ordered some new buckles for the leather belts she makes and sells. I'm still a beginner so it took me a few tries to get them right, but I'm pleased with the final results.

  We've gotten permission from the city to spread our items out on tables in one corner of the park. The public wanders by to look at the booths, as do members of other RMRA clans in the area, who bring their own wares to sell or barter. I don't sell my items, since I don't need the money. I do it for the fun of learning how to craft things in an authentic manner. It makes my fellow clan members happy, and I don't have many friends so I take this seriously. They are friends I don't want to lose, so I try not to think about the possibility that if I lose this duel, I will lose them.

  I see Doug in the distance. He's using a whetstone to sharpen weapons and tools. Like me, he doesn't need the money, but he charges anyway. He's stated many times that people won't value his work unless they pay him for it.

  As I move from table to table, people ask me about the duel. Word has gotten around that I'll be banished from the community if Doug wins. Many are upset with him for demanding such unusual terms. But I've accepted it, because if I lose again, I won't count myself worthy to be among them anyway.

  "Sir William!" says Thomas, our miller and baker, who has freshly baked artisan bread at his booth. He hands me a roll of sweet bread. "Break your fast with me."

  "Good morrow, Thomas. I don't have time. Lots of deliveries today."

  He nods and looks at me for a long moment. "Is it true what they're saying about the terms of the duel with Sir Douglas?"

  I nod, unsurprised, as this is the third time I've been asked a variation of this question. "It is."

  He begins talking and his words start to hit like waves on the beach, because I've just spotted Jenna's bright blond hair in a booth across the way. She's speaking with Agnes, our master seamstress, and admiring the gowns hanging at her booth. There are many beautiful, bright fabrics, but the dress that seems to have caught her eye is various shades of blue. It's the color of the sky at the top then gradually darkens into a deep cerulean, and eventually to midnight blue at the bottom. It has laces up the back and long, flowing sleeves in the style of a medieval lady's gown. The wind catches the skirt in the breeze, and I watch as Jenna runs a hand reverently over the fabric.

  I picture her wearing it. How the cornflower shade at the waist of the skirt would match the blue of her eyes. How the sky blue near the neckline would make her skin glow. She's already beautiful, but in that gown she would look like an angel...or a fairy princess. I could paint her portrait as if she were wearing that gown, but it would be better to see her wearing it in real life.

  She's laughing along with Agnes before she turns to walk away. After I finish my conversation with the miller, I make my way over to the seamstress's booth.

  "Sir William! Well met," she says, giving me the typical medieval-style greeting.

  "Well met, goodwife."

  "I'm afraid I don't have any requests for you today. Those hangers and hooks you made for me a few months ago are working quite well. I think your craftsmanship is getting so good, you'll work yourself out of business soon."

  Her words surprise me. "I would never do less than my best."

  "Of course, of course. Now what can I do for you, Sir William? Are you looking for new garb? A doublet perhaps?"

  I look at the exquisite dress that Jenna was just admiring. "I want to purchase this gown."

  "I don't think it would fit you." Agnes smiles.

  "No, it's not for me. I'd like you to tailor it so it fits Mistress Kovac."

  Her facial expression changes, but I have no idea how to read it. "I'd love to do that. Would you want it to be a surprise? I could find an excuse to get her measurements."

  I reflect on that for a moment. I don't like surprises at all, but I know that many do. And it might be nice to see what effect this surprise would have on her. Perhaps it might convince her to stay. Because ever since last night and the long hours I spent awake remembering the feel of her against me, I know that this is what I need. For her to stay. For her to be mine.

  And I'll do whatever it takes to make that happen, even if I have no idea right now what that will be.

  "I would like for her to have it in time for the Beltane Ball at the Festival. Is that possible?"

  Agnes smiles widely. "More than possible. I could even make you something to match."

  I think about that for a moment, unsure how Jenna would interpret such a gesture. Wearing matching clothing might make her think I'm claiming her. Then again, I want to claim her.

  If she's going to try to run away and never come back, then it's up to me to make that decision impossible, or at least extremely difficult.

  "Yes, that would be fine," I tell Agnes.

  "Sounds wonderful. I'll take your measurements at the next meeting." I pull out my wallet and hand her two hundred dollars as a down payment. "I'll bill you the balance on delivery."

  "Yes, ma'am." Before I leave, I remind myself to say, "Thank you."

  I look down toward the end of the row and see that Jenna is now sitting at a table with her friend, Caitlyn, who traces people's silhouettes for a small fee. Jenna is flipping through her Tarot cards, but her eyes are on something else. I follow her gaze and see that she's watching Doug, who is speaking with a new member of our group, a dark-haired woman named Glynnis.

  I wonder what Jenna is thinking. Is she angry to see her former boyfriend talking to another woman? Does she still have feelings for him? How strong were her feelings for him?

  I decide that I don't want to find out--and that I will do everything in my power to make her forget him. Even if it means wiping him off the face of the Barony of Anaya. I won't risk losing her again.

  With purposeful strides, I make my way toward her booth, sink down on the hard, wooden stool in front of her table and plunk down a twenty-dollar bill. I don't believe in fortunes at all, but I do believe in watching Jenna's every move and listening to her every word as she tells me mine.

  Chapter 13

  Jenna

  "What is it you wish from Mistress Jenna?" I asked, trying not to smile.

  William's face was express
ionless, but it also held somewhat of a challenge, as if to say, "Do your worst."

  "I seek the answer to a question," he answered without hesitation. My brows twitched a little with surprise. He'd mentioned the night before that he was skeptical about this, and I was certain my brief answer explaining that the cards functioned as a meditative device didn't dispel his doubts.

  I pulled out one of my older decks--the Rider-Waite. It was a classic, with bright colors and beautifully rendered pictures. It was one of the oldest and most well-known Tarot decks around. And something about William just screamed classic to me.

  "Take this and handle the cards for a few minutes while thinking about your question. You can shuffle it, cut the cards, whatever. Just generally manipulate them and focus on what you want to know about."

  I almost laughed at the expression on his face--clear and obvious disbelief--but he humored me and did as I asked. "Do I tell you my question?"

  "If you want. But you don't have to."

  After he'd shuffled the cards for a while, I took them back from him and laid out a classic Celtic Cross spread. The results were...extremely surprising. Hardly any Minor Arcana cards.

  William's eyes glided over every card. "This is fine artwork." He reached out and traced the edge of one of them--The Hanged Man. A trump card. "Beautiful detail," he breathed.

  "The deck is designed around a journey. It tells a very intricate story, but each part of the journey is marked by archetypes. It can be complex, but you can just look at them as...cues for things to think about in your own life. As you make your own journey through life."

  His finger tapped the corner of the Hanged Man, which depicted exactly that--a man hanging from a tree upside-down by one leg with the other hooked over the branch, his hands behind his back and his hair hanging loosely toward the ground. "And what does he represent?"

  "The Hanged Man is stasis, a rut, a need for change or to learn something new. In Norse mythology, the god Odin hung on the world tree for nine days in order to gain knowledge."

  "So you're saying I need to learn something new?"

  I shrugged. "Well, actually these should all be read in order, which I can do. But first, I want to point out that the only Minor Arcana card you drew is the King of Cups."

  "There are suits? Like with playing cards?"

  I nodded. "Yes, but instead of hearts, clubs, spades, et cetera, they are cups, wands, swords and pentacles."

  "And why is the King of Cups significant?"

  "Because in this spread and in that spot, it represents the querent. That's the person seeking the answer. You. And the King of Cups represents a man of emotional stability, a man who lives by honor--quiet, kind and trustworthy."

  It was bizarre, really, that this card would come up in that exact spot, too. Was it Fate? Was She or He whispering something to me? "Goddess," I murmured at the realization that maybe this reading was as much for me as it was for William. The card might represent him, but right now it was speaking to me.

  I reached out to touch the card at the exact same time William did, his mouth open to ask another question. Our fingers met and that electric jolt sent a shivering thrill up my arm again. Slowly, deliberately, William moved his hand over mine, not looking at me but trapping my fingers under his large, callused ones.

  I could barely force a swallow through the heartbeat thrumming in my throat. "I take my honor very seriously," he said.

  I drew in a shaky breath, unable to tear my eyes from the strong column of his throat where it extended from his period-style shirt.

  "You take many things very seriously," I rasped, thinking again of my determination last night to get William into my bed. If possible, I wanted it even more now than I did then.

  I trembled like I was cold, even though we were both sitting in the sunshine. "Oh goddess..." My eyes squeezed tight.

  "Do you believe in a goddess?" I opened my eyes when he asked the question. "You say that a lot."

  I cleared my throat. "If there's a higher being, I'd prefer to think of her as a female. Mother Nature. Mother Earth. I was raised Catholic and always thought very highly of the Virgin Mary. She was someone I could relate to, so when I grew older and felt the need to pray, I prayed to her. As my beliefs strayed from the patriarchy, I kept thinking of deity as a woman. And mythology has always fascinated me. So my beliefs about a higher power kind of parallel the beliefs about the cards. Archetypes. Models and stories to look to for inspiration, courage... strength."

  His eyes narrowed. "You have your own strength."

  I blinked and sat still, thinking. I didn't know what to say to him in response, and even if I did, the sudden emotion clutching the base of my throat wouldn't have allowed it. By the time I was able to, I realized we were no longer alone.

  "Sir William! Mistress Jenna," Caitlyn said. She smiled before grabbing a stool from her table, where she had been taking orders for silhouettes earlier. This time she had Ann with her. "What do we have here?"

  "It's a run-of-the-mill reading," I lied with a shrug. I was still shaking off that weird feeling that those cards were speaking to me every bit as much as they were speaking to him. But what were they saying? What was my heart trying to tell me?

  "So William," Caitlyn said, fluttering her dark blonde eyelashes at him. "How's your sword?"

  "I didn't bring my sword. No fighting today."

  "It's a nice, long sword though, isn't it?" She threw a playful glance my way. "Did you notice, Jenna? That William's sword is quite long? I bet it's longer than Doug's."

  I sent her a death glare, which she handily avoided by fixing her gaze on William. Ann, however, was valiantly fighting laughter behind her fist.

  "I'm taller than Doug so, yes, I wield a longer sword. They are custom made for us based on our height and the length of our arm span."

  "Hmm. I bet you have a longer sword. Maybe I'll get to see how you wield it someday."

  William looked at her like she was a Martian. "You've seen the sword. Both the long sword and the shorter one I use with the shield--"

  "Then maybe you could explain the parts to me. There's a shaft, right?"

  "Caitlyn--" I warned.

  "Yes, the shaft is part of the blade." He nodded. "There's also the hilt, the cross-guard, the pommel--"

  "And that knobby part at the very end... the peen?"

  Ann doubled over, tears streaming down her face.

  "Enough, Caitlyn!" I snarled. "I'm in the middle of a reading."

  "Maybe Jenna has a sheath you can put your sword--"

  I stood up and pushed her shoulder. "Go away before I have someone lock you in the stock and throw tomatoes at you."

  "Well, well...so this is where the party's at," a familiar voice said just behind my shoulder. "Who'd have thought Sir William would be at the center of it?"

  I refused to turn and look at him, but the other two women greeted Doug with cool politeness.

  "Hey, Doug," said Caitlyn.

  "Sir Douglas," Ann inclined her head and gave a very respectable curtsy.

  There was an awkward silence, and I presumed Doug was waiting for me to turn and say something to him. I didn't.

  "So what's up, Jen? Are you not speaking to me now?"

  I folded my arms across my chest, still refusing to look at him. "Are you still holding my tiara hostage? If so, then you're correct. I'm not talking to you."

  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught him gesturing dramatically with open palms. "Hey, we have a perfectly fair agreement. I think we can all be adults here."

  "Too late for you," I ground out.

  Doug stepped closer to me, and I detected more movement from the other side of the table.

  "C'mon, Jen, do you have to be like that?" Doug's hand landed on my shoulder and I jerked away from the touch, rounding on him. But William was there first.

  "Step away from her," he said in a quiet voice that was deadly as poison.

  "Chill, Forrest Gump. I'm not hurting her. I have a right to t
alk to my girlfriend."

  I stiffened, trying to keep a lid on the rage I was suddenly feeling. "Ex," I corrected. "So very ex. And if you call him that again, I'm going to start talking about the real reason you need to overcompensate by acting like an asshole all the time." I held up my thumb and forefinger about an inch apart while both Caitlyn and Ann laughed.

  His mouth thinned. "Whatever. So you've traded down I see. Hanging out with the Rain Man."

  Caitlyn flushed beet red. "Fuck off, Doug. You're an asshole."

  "I call it like I see it. And maybe I'm just concerned that Jen is making a big mistake."

  "I already made a big mistake when I agreed to go out with you," I muttered. "Now go away."

  "Wow." He held his hands up in mock surrender. "I see how it is. Treated you like gold for months, and now you just turn around and act all heartless. Believe it or not, I do have feelings that you seem to enjoy stomping on." He shifted his attention back to William. "Let that be a lesson to you, because she'll do the same to you. She'll lead you on like some small dog until she's done with you."

  William looked him up and down.

  "You do act like a little bitch, so why not treat you like a small dog?" William delivered the biting comeback so calmly that he sounded like he was discussing sword techniques.

  Doug flushed dark red and opened his mouth, then shut it again like a fish. He turned to say something to me, but William pointed a finger right in his face before he could get a word out.

  "Do not talk to her. She doesn't want to talk to you. And don't talk to me, either. Don't breathe my air."

  Ann and Caitlyn both started laughing and Doug's head jerked in their direction. But instead of backing off, he crossed his arms over his chest and stared defiantly at William.

  William did not meet his gaze, but he did take a threatening step toward Doug. I was this close to getting in between them and stopping the pissing contest when Doug stiffened, startled by William's threatening posture.

  Doug stepped back, a distinct look of fear in his eyes, before waving a hand and saying, "Whatever. You're all a bunch of losers." Then he turned and walked off.

  "Wow," Caitlyn said. "He's nutting up."

  Fists clenched at his sides, William watched Doug retreat, his eyes following the douchebag's every movement. "Wil? Are you okay?" I asked.