“We have. You were such a treat.” She drinks me in, head to toe, lingering on my red hair. “Are you eating properly? You look wan.” Reaching over the table, she touches my chin with a bony finger. “Who must I kill to avenge this?”
My heart thumps hard against my rib cage. She addresses me with too much familiarity for this meeting to have unfolded by happenstance. “That won’t be necessary,” I croak, easing out of range. A few patrons give the creature a wide berth, but most people are too focused on their shopping to notice. “When did we meet?” I press. “I was inan accident and don’t remember much. Were we… I mean, are we friends?”
“Not friends, but we were friendly in the months leading up to the tithe.” Then she smiles, showcasing rotting gums. “You were so innocent then. It was the most irresistible allure.”
A chill pricks my body despite the heat. The fair folk cannot tell a lie. What have I forgotten? What, exactly, did I lose?
“Were you there?” I demand, low and urgent. “Did you witness the tithe take place?” Mother Mabel has claimed I didn’t participate, but I wonder if that is true.
She has opened her mouth to respond when Mother Mabel suddenly materializes, jostling the curious creature aside. “If you aren’t buying,” she snaps, “move along.”
The girl-woman—I don’t even know her name—glares at the abbess. Her long, crooked fingers pet the fabric of her dress, black eyes dull with suspicion. “As a matter of fact, I was inquiring about this blade.” She points to a recent design. It took me weeks to complete.
“That dagger is pure iron,” Mother Mabel states. “How do you expect to wield it?” When the girl-woman does not respond, Mother Mabel inclines her head. “As I suspected. Move along.” A not-so-gentle nudge sends the creature out onto the road.
I’m frowning as Mother Mabel whirls toward me. “Brielle.” Her waspish tone carries over the crowded lane. “You must be careful with the fair folk. I do not want to see you fall to one of their scams.”
My attention shifts to where the girl-woman vanished into the crowd. “That girl—”
“You cannot trust every traveler you meet.” Grabbing my upper arm, she steers me through the bustle of the market, dodging carts with expertise. “People will say anything to gain your trust.” When we reach a less congested area, she slows, turning to me. “I am only looking out for you. The world is not safe.”
A strange sensation passes through me. I do not believe her. Neither do I trust her.
Pulling my arm free, I respond, “I appreciate your concern.” The words taste unpleasant. Bitter, even. “Next time I will be more vigilant.”
The skin around Mother Mabel’s lips tightens. “Very good. We will return soon, so I suggest you begin packing up. Meet me at the gates within the hour. Do not be late.”
As she wanders off, I think,When am I ever?
The queasy feeling has not abated by the time we reach Thornbrook. I think of that girl-woman, a creature from the depths of Under. It is my belief that Mother Mabel knows of my connection with her and purposefully sent her away. The only question is why.
I head to my room to change for dinner. As I gather clean clothes for my bath, I spot my journal tucked alongside my garments. I haven’t written in it since… Actually, I cannot remember. There was a time when I wrote daily. This journal was my mother, my father, my friend. Unwrapping the twine holding the cover closed, I crack the spine to my latest entry.
I suppose there’s not much to say. I’ve tried to fight this feeling, but I cannot deny my heart. The truth is this: I love him. I do not know what to do.
The entry is dated five months ago.
My heart pounds so forcefully I fear it will crack a rib. This cannot be right. Me, fall in love with a man? I can count on one hand the number of interactions I’ve shared with men, and they were always in the presence of Mother Mabel. I promised my heart to the Father, yet these words suggest otherwise.
I trace the messy scrawl marking the rough parchment. If this is true, where is the man now? What is his name and what qualities did he possess that would make me rescind my vows? Weeks I have searched for answers, yet here lies a clue. I’m ready to learn what happened, though I wonder how high the cost will be.
Girding myself for what will come, I flip back to the last point in time I remember—early spring—and begin to read.
I do not know where this man has come from. I am not sure of my way forward.
I frown in puzzlement. Sparse information—too sparse. Perhaps I met him during one of our visits to Kilkare? I flip the page.
His eyes are inhumanly green, like light shining through colored glass. There is a darkness beneath the surface I sometimes glimpse. I wonder what pains him.
And the next page.
After visiting Under, I cannot trust the West Wind’s intentions. Unfortunately, I do not have a choice. Not if I want to become the next acolyte.
A breeze stirs the leaves beyond my open window. Then there is my heart, twinging with a combination of fear and inexplicable longing. The West Wind. Could this be the man I claimed to love?
Lowering myself onto the edge of my cot, I read ahead, breath held.
I am very ill. I do not know if I will survive the night.
