I often accompanied Sayla when we visited the market in Eastcliff. Arm in arm or hand in hand, we laughed and talked as we passed the day. I’d been with her when she met her suitor, Warren, and was amused to see her so taken with a man. Judging by the frequency of Warren’s visits and the increasing quality of his gifts, he planned topropose soon. Sayla would be thrilled, and I had no doubt she would accept, but the thought left me feeling hollow.
Warren was a silversmithing apprentice with no apparent interest in farming. Sayla had kept me up many nights gushing about her beau’s plans to move to a bigger city, far from home, where he would give her a wonderful life. There would be no more tending the chickens and keeping the garden, no more strolls through the fields or afternoon dips in the pond, no more cheery dinner conversations. She would be gone, and I would be left with Mother, all but alone because my chances of finding a suitor of my own with dreams we could share, were slim.
Rosie pulled me this way and that, flitting between stalls and waving to vendors she knew. Every so often, she would pause and pat my hand to make sure I was paying attention.
“They founded this place twenty-four years ago,” she said. “It’s a safe haven. Perfectly made like it was scooped from the earth by Eeus’s hand. Our numbers grow every year. We thrive in community, after all.”
Kit had told me how things worked here on our way to Eastcliff. Most of the people in the settlement were laypeople. They ran businesses and worked jobs assigned as needs arose. They had the most freedom to come and go, though few ventured past the walls to do more than forage.
“Kit mentioned you get food and goods from members with lives on the outside. Are there people who live elsewhere and only visit here? Bringing supplies and communications?”
I cared more about the idea of sending a letter home. If I was trapped here, and for far longer than the few weeks I'd hoped, I owed my mother and sister some explanation.
Rosie nodded. “A few. And we have evangelists, as well,though they have to be discreet. It's a shame so many people don't understand our mission. It can be quite dangerous to be caught spreading our doctrine.”
She seemed sincere, like there was some innocuous or even admirable aspect to robbing graves in the name of a depraved god that wanted to bring suffering to the world. Kit cautioned me that these people's faith ran deep, but I couldn't bring myself to assign the darkness of Eeus to Rosie's cheerful face.
We carried on through the town while my confused thoughts continued to race. The way Rosie spoke of things, of the cult’s traditions and beliefs, was vastly different from Kit’s renditions. His retellings were full of gloom and darkness, but it was clear Rosie loved this place and the people in it. I’d met plenty of fine folks during my time in the market. More good than bad, though I hesitated to share that with Kit. He would surely deny it, or remind me that the kindest smiles often hid the sharpest teeth.
I wondered again about Merrick and how I hadn’t seen his vicious bite years ago. I’d certainly felt it. More today than ever before.
We passed the local tavern, then the blacksmith shop, which looked vacant and cold in the harsh light of day.
“Kit’s a blacksmith, you know,” I said.
My interruption caused Rosie to pause. She smiled over at me, and her plump cheeks puckered with dimples. “I didn’t.”
We stood in the shadow of the row of squat buildings, looking down the cobbled street until Rosie used her grip on my arm to tug me along to a wooden bench positioned against a shop front just down from the smithy.
Once we were sitting, I pulled free of her and folded my hands in my lap. I wondered if she would mind if I sketched a bit. The sunlight cutting across the squarepainted everything in stripes of warm and cold. The gold tones would be impossible to render with my pencil alone, but the stark lines of shadows drew me in.
“How long have you known him?” Rosie asked, luring me from my thoughts.
“Who?” I asked, then remembered the conversation. “Kit?”
She nodded.
“A few weeks.”
Rosie rubbed her knee against mine. “I’m glad you have someone. My friend Tessa and I have been close for years. I’m so grateful she’s undergoing the Oaths alongside me.” She smiled, and her eyes seemed to dance. “You’ll have to meet her, and perhaps she can meet Kit.”
Her joy might have been contagious, but her words gave me pause.
I drew back, frowning. “Why should she meet Kit?”
Rosie giggled. “He’s unattached, I presume? And with such a handsome face, he’d be quite a catch.”
My mouth fell open, but no words came out. Clearly, I was not the only one enamored by a handsome stranger. But I had no claim to Kit, and hewasunattached, so I held my tongue.
Rosie pulled a brown paper package from her apron pocket. She opened it to reveal a stack of pale, square cookies flecked with gray. She lifted the top one and handed to it me.
“What are these?” I asked.
“Lavender shortbread,” she replied. “They’re quite easy to make. I could teach you!”
I lifted the cookie to my nose and gave it a sniff. It smelled like a meadow. Nibbling the corner found it crisp and buttery and lightly floral, and I finished it in a few hungry bites.
Rosie laughed again. “You like it?”
