Lindy told me the curse couldn’t be broken. Although I suppose she was wrong about the ice blockingallemotions; there are still some that manage to break through to the surface. But if it can be broken, how?
As it had the day before, the conversation flowed easily around her without her participation. Norva and Mormor seemed to make an effort at first to include her, but after her third one-word answer, they left her in peace. Once breakfast was cleared away, Norva hauled a spinning wheel to the middle of the room, and Mormor procured a basket of wool and some carding brushes from one of the overstocked corners.
“Come, sit,” Norva called, patting the stool she had set up before the spinning wheel. “We’ll start with the fun part.”
Lizzie did her best to absorb all the information as Norva instructed her how to use the treadle and draft the wool fiber. It seemed simple, but as soon as Lizzie attempted to do it on her own, the wheel spun too fast, or too slow, or she drafted too much, and the yarn was too thick. Too little, and it was too thin.
“It takes time for all of us.” Mormor gave her an encouraging pat on the shoulder as she examined Lizzie’s work. “Just keep trying.”
Her legs soon found a rhythm and her hands learned the feel of just how much wool to pull at a time. The fibers caught on her already chapped fingers, but she pushed through the discomfort at the satisfying sight of the skein slowly growing thicker. The morning hours had nearly passed when a loud knock on the door startled them all.
“Were you expecting anyone, Norva?” Mormor asked as she pushed herself from her rocking chair and slowly crossed the room with stiff steps.
“Not today. Bjorn doesn’t bring the milk delivery until tomorrow.”
Lizzie kept her eyes on her task. She heard the door swing open behind her with a creak. “Good morning,” Mormor greeted the knocker cheerfully. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for a young woman.”
Lizzie’s eyes widened at the man’s voice. It seemed familiar, somehow, yet she couldn’t place it.
But the fact that he’s looking for a young woman can’t be a coincidence. Father must have sent him.
“There are a lot of young women in Schnebel, young man. You’ll have to be more specific.”
Thank you, Mormor.
“Oh, right.” The man chuckled. “She’s not from around here, if that helps. She’s tall, nearly my height, with hair like gold and the most beautiful blue eyes you’ll probably ever…Lizzie?”
Lizzie froze.
Turned.
And suddenly recalled where she had heard the man’s voice before.
Thrushbeard was standing in Norva’s doorway, his tall frame and broad shoulders taking up most of the space. A gray knit hat was shoved down over his head, causing the dark hairs to stick out at messy angles that mirrored his shaggy beard. His blue eyes—how had she not realized before just how blue they were? —were wide, staring at her as if she were some sort of apparition. He whispered her name again.
“Lizzie.”
Mormor cleared her throat, stepping between them as if her tiny, aged frame could somehow block Lizzie from sight. “Who are you? And just how do you know Eliza?”
Thrushbeard blinked and shook his head, then smiled down at the old woman. At least, she assumed he smiled, based on theway his eyes were crinkled at the corners. She couldn’t actually see his mouth through the beard.
“My name is Malakai. Eliza is my wife.”
Chapter Ten
Freddy
Freddy had imagined a number of different scenarios for the moment he finally found his wife.
None of them had involved being threatened with knitting needles and carding combs.
But despite the intimidating glares and threats to his personal well-being being leveled by the somewhat frightening little grandmothers who had forced him into a wooden rocking chair before peppering him with questions, Freddy could honestly admit he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Because he had finally found her.
When he knocked on the door to the little sod house, he had expected to be sent on yet another chase. Though he hadguessed that Lizzie was traveling to Norditch, after leaving Shea behind in his home kingdom of Cabriole, Freddy had followed a number of false leads before finally spotting the horse tack with the Nedran crest hanging on the wall of a blacksmith’s shop. The blacksmith had pointed him to the ferryman, who was able to recall—with the help of a silver coin—a young woman traveling alone who had been dropped at the docks near a town called Schnebel.
