Evidently, Stavros had a limit. And his eldest daughter had just reached it. He looked up from the tool he was polishing. “Enough, Pagona. We are very aware of your feelings. Unless something changes, keep them to yourself.”
Chara expressed her feelings about the confinement by being more boisterous than usual. Despite Tasia’s attempts to occupy and entertain the little girl with quiet games and books, she still found herself cleaning yogurt-y handprints off the ceiling andshaking cutlery out of the laundry. If any of the older Galanises had moved themselves to assist with childcare or chores, Chara wouldn’t have been able to pull off her mischievous feats.
Instead, Tasia found herself counting down the days until she could play errand girl for an evil old woman. Not a sentiment she had ever expected to hold.
Time plodded on, and rest day arrived shortly before Tasia gave in to the impulse to tellMotherAnthi how to parent her children, or to serve everyone dinner burnt beyond recognition. Toiling through the rain and mud to the “apothecary” that provided the filemu helped clear away the angst of the week.
Grateful that the deep hood kept the rain out of her face, Tasia eyed the dubious hut. It looked different now. Maybe it was just the knowledge that horrible things were prepared inside. As she waited for Markel to refill the basket, she realized what the heavy rain had obscured. A large number of the mushrooms sprouting from the walls were missing. She tried to remember its former appearance.
By the time she had the loaded basket in hand, she had concluded that a dark-colored, horse hoof–shaped fungus and a knobby, black, coal-shaped one were absent from the walls. The bare patches were quite large. Perhaps the dwarf thought now was a good time to start fixing the place up. He didn’t seem the type, but Mitch was waiting for her and she didn’t care to wonder about the faery’s home maintenance when her thoughts could be more pleasantly occupied.
Mitch and Tasia refrained from speaking until they were well away from the village. Then they checked that the contents of her basket were indeed filemu.
“I am not confident in my ability to light and maintain a fire in these conditions,” Mitch said, glaring up at the sky and getting multiple raindrops in his eyes.
Tasia offered the dry dishcloth that she had smuggled into her pocket. He thanked her and wiped at his face, then returned the cloth. She watched him pull his own hood farther down over his face as she tucked the dishcloth away in the same pocket that housed their lunch. It made her dress hang oddly, but she wanted nothing to get in the way of the knife in the opposite pocket. It probably wasn’t necessary with a wolf at her side, but she wasn’t taking chances.
“We could let it get soaked naturally,” she suggested. “It’s pretty damp already.”
Mitch reached into the basket and tugged off the covering. “Here,” he offered, “I can carry it for a while.”
He carried the basket on top of his head, making sure to walk under every waterfall-hosting branch. When he felt that the filemu had absorbed sufficient water, he handed the basket back to her and shifted into his wolf form.
After several sneezes, he transformed back and reported that it smelled stronger than it did dry. Tasia was inclined to fret about that, but Mitch reminded her of her tea analogy. This calmed her, and when he checked on the filemu several times during the walk, he was able to confirm that the scent was losing strength. By the final time, Mitch assured her that the drug didn’t smell like much.
Trepidation did funny things to Tasia’s heart as she walked up the path to Grandmother’s cottage alone. She knocked and waited. A quick glance at the basket eased some of her worry when she saw that—apart from the saturation—it looked exactly how it had left Markel’s place.
Grandmother opened the door and scowled at the weather. Then she looked down at Tasia’s basket and scowled harder. The lines in her face were deep enough to misplace a coin or two.
“Why is the basket soaking wet?!”
Tasia took an involuntary step back. “It’s raining?” Her voice squeaked. She coughed.
“Why didn’t you keep the basket under your cloak?” the old woman demanded. “Didn’t you notice that your cloak is waterproof?”
“Uh—” Tasia was stunned. Shehadn’tnoticed, actually.
Grandmother rolled her eyes and held out her hand.
“I’m terribly sorry,” Tasia apologized, hoping her insincerity wasn’t showing. “Is your medicine still good?”
After rustling under the cloth, Grandmother pursed her lips. She eyed Tasia for a long moment. Cold sweat began gathering on Tasia’s lower back.
“I have enough to get by for the week,” Grandmother said. “Be sure to use your cloak—and your head—next time!”
Not trusting her ability to speak, Tasia settled for several emphatic nods.
“Bah. Stay here, I’ll get your pay.” The crone disappeared behind the door, saving Tasia from blurting out her surprise about still being paid.
She wasted no time taking her leave after receiving the basket and her coins. The rain and mud refused to let her hurry down the path, but Tasia did her best. Like last week, Mitch planned to stay behind and eavesdrop. Tasia had worried that the rain would make it impossible for him to scent her out.
In the end, she was only alone for about fifteen minutes. Mitch claimed that there was no point staying when Granny didn’t have any visitors. Tasia thought that was an excuse to stick close to her because he worried she would get lost or hurt. This didn’t bother her in the slightest. The woods had stopped feeling scary weeks ago. Until the discovery of the filemu.
Chapter Thirteen
In Which Practical Steps Are Taken, Finally
The second week after Frank left on his mission to find aid, Tasia’s relative, Pig-ola (or whatever her name was), got her wish. Sort of.
