Alan crossed his arms, hunching his shoulders.
Staring at his smudged shirt where it bunched up, I tried to decide what part of my comment had made him curl in on himself like that. I probably sounded like a spoiled city girl, dismissive of anything—and anyone—from the country. Taking a deep breath, I softened my tone. “You ought to become a jeweler. Courtiers would flock to your store in no time in the city.”
Alan ignored everything I had said. “I can’t accept that much as payment. Let me go get the gold.”
My words clearly would not convince him. I waited until the shadows from the forge swallowed his muscular form, then walked out of the shop. I couldn’t help but glance back, but I didn’t let myself slow. As surprisingly diffident as Alan had been, I wouldn’t put it past him to chase me down with that gold.
He confused me. With a hammer in hand, Alan had looked competent and confident. When we had spoken the other day, he hadn’t hesitated to give his opinion on how to design the necklace. Yet he tried to run away when given a compliment. He refused to accept a fair payment for his work.
Once I reached the center of the village, I unfolded the handkerchief and inspected the necklace once more. Under the bright light of the sun, it looked even better than it had in the gloomy shop. Absently, I wiped a tiny smear of soot from the chain.
I had gone to the forge today hoping to find answers. I had one answer: Alan was more than competent. But I now had even more questions about Skorsa’s smiths.
A talented journeyman—who by rights should have his master status—who couldn’t accept praise. A stepfather who settled himself into a tiny village with surprising ease. And normally smart, discerning neighbors who noticed nothing out of the ordinary.
I had come to Skorsa this summer with the goal of experiencing life without my title getting in the way. But I had a new focus. Before I returned home, I wanted to solve this mystery.
Four
Mina
???
The next day, I struggled to build an accurate picture of Alan’s role in the forge. I didn’t go back to the smithy, but I listened for every scrap of gossip about the village’s blacksmiths. There was little to hear. The young women of Skorsa, whom I spent the most time around, had little interest in that family.
Their disinterest in Gerald Powell came as no surprise. The fact that not a single one ever sighed over Alan’s broad shoulders when discussing the men of the village, on the other hand, only added another oddity to my list. Every other unmarried man younger than thirty-five was discussed, debated, or dissected.
“His farm is so small, though,” Kayla complained about the latest.
I sat with Kayla and two other women under the apple tree behind the tavern, spinning. My thread consisted of more lumps than usable stretches, but at least I had experience using a drop spindle. I doubted even my charm had enough power to convince the villagers not to look askance at a young woman with no idea how to spin.
Despite the laws granting women the same rights as men, in most of the smaller towns and villages throughout Nemya women stuck to traditional roles. In Skorsa, at least, it seemed to be more habit than ingrained misogyny. Parents wished their daughters wellwhen they decided to seek a career in Haiwella, and no one batted an eye at the woman who ran the apothecary. But those were still exceptions. Most women spun, wove, cooked, and cared for their children.
It wasn’t so different from the noblewomen who spent their days doing embroidery, playing musical instruments, and sketching. They might be able to inherit an estate, but few took the time to learn how to manage one. They knew their husbands and stewards would handle such things. And they debated their choice of husband in much the same way as the women of Skorsa.
“There’s always Phillip,” Hannah suggested hesitantly. “He’s been trying to get your attention for months, and his family has the largest farm.”
Hannah, the youngest in the group, fawned over Kayla. She wanted the other woman’s approval desperately, and Kayla saw it as her due. I knew better than to interfere. Anything I told Hannah would be seen as jealousy. I wanted to push her to break free all the same.
“My pony is more attractive than Phillip,” Kayla said with a toss of her chestnut hair.
“Kayla,” the final member of our group said. “Don’t be cruel. Phillip is a very nice man.”
Gemma needn’t have wasted her breath.
“Nice? Who wants nice for a husband? When I am engaged, I want everyone to praise how rich and handsome my betrothed is.”
“What about smart?” I asked.
Kayla giggled. Her laugh rang out with crystal clarity. “Of course not, Mina. I don’t want to marry a simpleton like Alan, but my husband should look to me to make decisions.”
Normally, I’d have reminded Kayla that she could make her own fortune rather than marrying for it after such a comment. I made it a point to encourage women to look beyond traditional roles as much as possible without dismissing the work they did. But Kayla reminded me of the vipers at court. She didn’t want other options;she wanted to find a man who’d bring her the attention she craved and wrap him around her finger.
Changing her mind wasn’t a battle I’d win in my limited time in the village. Moreover, my interest had snagged on how she spoke of Alan. She had insulted him so matter-of-factly. Her tone had held no hint of a tease as it had when she compared Phillip to her pony. Finally, I had my chance to steer the conversation to the topic I was so curious about. Except I didn’t know how.
It was why I had come to Skorsa with a charm to hide my identity in the first place. I wanted to learn how people behaved around Mina, not Crown Princess Charmina Devaoile. I could barter with a silk merchant or debate philosophy with a priest of the Order of Tsy, but I didn’t know how to navigate this conversation with any finesse. All my experience at every level of Nemyan society—and I had plenty—had been flavored with the knowledge of my rank.
I knew better than to ask directly about Alan. That much remained the same, whether at court or in a small village. Women pounced on any interest an unmarried woman showed in a man—or a married woman, for that matter. I didn’t have the skill to ask about him and feign disinterest. I had always envied my brother’s ability to say a word here and there while projecting an air of boredom. Somehow, he learned everyone’s secrets. The best I could manage was making my interests clear, so that courtiers accommodated me while guarding their secrets.
