Keyholder, page 2
“You’re the best!” she called, already halfway up the stairs.
When she got to her room, she peeled off her clothes, tossing them to the floor by the foot of her bed. It was a modest space, but roomy enough. The only things in here were a bed, a small dresser with three drawers, and a wooden chair Papa had made. It was simple, but perfect. Papa liked it that way, and so did she. Octavia had always admired Papa for his rustic approach to life, even with their wealth. He made things with his hands and worked hard to provide for his family. The Fletchers were not above anyone else just because they had money—and it was that sentiment that Papa had instilled into her and Bowan.
Octavia gave a longing look toward the bed. She yearned to cocoon herself into the blankets and pass out, but she was too hungry to sleep.
After dunking a rag into the pail of water so she could mop up the grime coating her skin, she pulled on clean trousers and a new tunic, cinching the fabric around her waist with a belt made of old leather. Then she shoved her feet back into her leather boots.
“Mama?” Octavia called in a soothing voice, walking down the short hall.
She poked her head into her parents’ bedroom. Mama was sitting up, tucked under a large handmade patchwork quilt, and she looked exhausted. Dark bags hung under her brown eyes, and her thin black hair was woven into a disheveled braid. Her face, once so full of life, was now hollow and empty most days, and since falling ill, she had lost a lot of weight.
Octavia walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge, grabbing Mama’s hand.
“How are you feeling, Mama?” she asked softly. “Do you want me to bring you a bowl of stew? Bowan is heating some up over the fire.”
She stirred, looking up as if just now noticing Octavia’s presence.
“You look lovely today,” she murmured. “Do you think you could . . .” She paused, locking eyes with her daughter, and then a delighted smile lit her face. “I have to tell you something, Sissy. I simply can’t keep it in anymore.” She clasped Octavia’s hand tightly. “But you have to promise not to tell Mother, okay? She wouldn’t approve.”
Octavia felt a lump building in her throat. Mama thought Octavia was her sister again . . . She fought against the desire to cry, stuffing it down as deep as it would go. Since the onset of this illness, Octavia had learned to play along with Mama’s failing mind, because trying to coax her back to reality in the past had only ended with Mama dissolving into hysterics.
“I promise,” Octavia said with a smile. “I won’t tell.”
Mama’s face gained the smallest tinge of pink. “There’s this man I met at the marketplace a few weeks ago. He’s lovely, and I have seen him every day since. I can’t stop thinking about him, Sissy. He’s the kindest, most handsome, most amazing man I have ever met!”
Octavia’s chest felt hollow as she gazed into Mama’s excited face, but she maintained a cheerful expression. “He sounds wonderful.”
A giggle passed Mama’s lips. “This is going to sound crazy but . . . I want to marry him, Sissy! And he wants to marry me too. We’ve talked it all out. He’s going to build us a farmstead and grow wheat. Wheat!” Her voice was giddy. “Oh! I can’t wait for you to meet him. I know you will love him!”
“I’m sure I will.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t told you about him yet, but I wanted to know first. And people might say a few weeks isn’t enough time to know, but for me, it is.” She peered into Octavia’s face intently. “You’re not mad I didn’t tell you sooner, are you?”
Octavia shook her head, squeezing Mama’s hand. “I’m not mad. I promise. I’m really happy for you.”
Abruptly, Mama’s eyes seemed to take on a slight surprise, but then they appeared to cloud over. She sat there without saying a word.
“Mama?” Octavia whispered.
But she didn’t reply. She simply stared past Octavia, her gaze fixed on the far wall of the bedroom. Octavia dug her fingernails into the flat of her palm and took several deep breaths.
Every time Mama became like this, the episode would last longer, and Mama would slip further away. It was only two weeks ago that Mama had started asking who they were when she wasn’t lucid, and that was the first time Octavia felt truly afraid.
With a heavy heart, she leaned over to kiss Mama’s forehead. “I’m going to bring you some stew.”
She rose from the bed and walked to the door, feeling like a lead weight was pressing down on her chest. She felt so helpless . . .
“Octavia?” Mama whispered.
Octavia froze with her hand on the doorknob. Then she turned around to look Mama in the face, now noting the clarity that filled her eyes.
“Could you go into town tomorrow to get me more of that herbal tea? The one with lemongrass and chamomile? I think it also has cinnamon and hibiscus in it. That one helps me . . . it helps me feel better.”
She nodded. “Of course, Mama. I’ll go first thing tomorrow morning.”
Mama closed her eyes, breathing deep. “Thank you, my love. I think I’m going to rest now.”
As Octavia closed the door, a deep sadness clung to her, burrowing into the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t imagine losing Mama, but she also understood that it was going to happen. Octavia didn’t know how much time Mama had left. All she knew was that she had to cherish it.
2
Tea and Trouble
The next morning, Octavia woke up later than normal. The sun was already well above the horizon, peeking through her window slats to light up her bedroom with bright orange hues. She silently reprimanded herself for not rising earlier, even though her body must have needed the rest. Getting tea for Mama was Octavia’s top priority today, and she didn’t want to dawdle for fear of Mama losing her senses again. As she got dressed, she sent a quick prayer up to the gods that Mama would remain lucid today.
When she got downstairs, she was greeted by Bowan and Papa, who were both seated around the dining room table—and already done with their bowls of porridge.
“Hey there, sleepy head,” Bowan teased.
“Good morning, Octavia,” Papa said.
“Morning.”
She skirted around Bowan to grab an apple from the bowl that sat at the center of the table. She took a bite, and the sweet juices ran over her tongue. Then she moved to the door. “I’m going into town,” she announced. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”
“Hold on a moment, Octavia.” Papa eyed her with a stern countenance. “Don’t you think you should take a few days away from town? I don’t think it’s wise for you to be around any Rustwick guards right now, considering what happened yesterday. And I can’t imagine Heston Creevy would be pleased to see you if you were to run into him.”
“Mama wants me to get her some tea,” Octavia explained. “She asked me last night. Plus, I already promised I wouldn’t hit anyone again. I will control myself.”
Papa considered her for a few seconds and then said, “Take Bowan with you.”
She huffed, slightly exasperated. “Do you really not trust me? I won’t get into trouble, Papa. I’ll keep my head down, get the tea, and come straight back.”
“I trust that Bowan’s presence will keep you out of trouble more than your promise will,” he replied knowingly.
Bowan flashed Papa a playful grin. “Don’t worry, Papa. I’ll make sure she behaves.”
Octavia stuck her tongue out at her brother, who returned the gesture, and when Bowan hopped up from his seat to join Octavia at the door, she hooked her arm around his neck and dug her knuckles into the top of his head.
“Hey!” Bowan yelped, squirming. “Cut it out!”
“Alright you two,” Papa chuckled. “Be civil.”
Bowan wriggled free, tugging himself from Octavia’s grip. “You know, I’ll be bigger than you one day, O.”
“Not today!” she said with a smirk.
“Straight home after grabbing the tea,” Papa insisted. “You really need to lay low and let the situation with Mildred Creevy die down.”
“Yes, Papa. We’ll be quick.”
Fifteen minutes later, after saddling up Billa and Bugs, Octavia and Bowan began their ride to town. The brisk morning and the comforting scent of the evergreens gave Octavia a boost of energy. Today was going to be a good day. She could feel it.
When they arrived at town, bustling activity filled the cobblestone streets, and a waft of smells hit Octavia’s nose. Gregg’s Bakery filled the air with hints of sourdough, sugar, and spice. Just past that, the Lawson’s Butcher Shop storefront was open, and their selection of salted meats was tantalizing. As far as the eye could see, the town was vibrant with life. The Treeta Tavern across from the bakery was overly boisterous as usual, the sounds of laughter and chatter seeping from its depths. Octavia had never gone into Treeta to drink in the morning—her tastes were better suited to an occasional evening drink—but she could see the appeal. Rustwick’s beer was one of the most sought-after beverages in all the lands due to the quality of wheat that the Well of Bountiful Harvest allowed the earth to produce.
“Where’s the tea Mama wants?” Bowan asked, nudging his horse to walk alongside Octavia’s.
“Quite a ways down,” she answered. “Here, let’s tie Billa and Bugs up in front of Treeta and walk.”
She dismounted, leading Billa to a horse post just outside the noisy tavern. Three other horses were already out front, dipping their heads lazily into a trough of water that sat underneath the long horizontal wooden post.
Bowan followed suit, sliding off Bugs and leading him to stand next to Billa.
“Remember, O, we’ve got to be quick.”
“I know . . .” She gave him a devilish look. “Need anything else while we’re here?”
“Octavia.”
“Kidding! Lighten up.” She hooked his neck again and pulled him into a wrestle-like hug. “The tea is at Powders and Plants, right next to the Apothecary.”
As the two of them took off down the long cobblestone street, they passed a myriad of storefronts, all nestled together into a cramped but cozy marketplace. There were vendors selling fresh produce, their stands full of tomatoes, corn, onions, garlic, potatoes, peppers, and squashes. Other vendors provided a selection of fruits, including apples, berries, apricots, pears, plums, grapes, and a large, deep purple fruit called yatchka, known for its tangy-sweet flesh. The brown outer rind of yatchka was sour, but inside the rind, the pods were as sweet as honey.
The bounty of the marketplace was magnificent. Every possible crop of the earth could be found in Rustwick, thanks to the Well’s incredible blessings. And there was just about every kind of pickled fruit a person could imagine at Peachy Preserves—one of Octavia’s favorite shops. She liked it particularly for the candied cherries.
There were also shops that had a more eclectic feel to them. Madame Trinkets sold talismans meant to help the wearer garner the favor of the gods. It was a popular shop in Rustwick because the materials used in the talismans were imported from the Kingdom of Xadia, which oversaw the Well of Costly Metals. There was another shop called Classically Quaint that was quite popular as well. It sold all kinds of antiques, from jewelry boxes to porcelain plate sets to hand-carved decorative furniture pieces.
Octavia and Bowan continued at a brisk pace until they came upon the frumpy and posh storefront of Powders and Plants. The doorway was a stark pink—almost offensively so—and when Octavia crossed the threshold into the small shop, an overpowering wall of perfume accosted her nostrils.
“Octavia!” a stout, curly-hair woman called cheerfully. She was standing behind a counter, rustling through a cabinet mounted against the back wall, and she was wearing a vibrant lilac apron. “Oh, hello, Bowan! Good to see you, dear.”
“Hi,” Bowan said with a wave.
“Back again for more tea?” the woman asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” Octavia replied. “Mama loves it.”
“Oh, you don’t need to ‘ma’am’ me, dear. Makes me feel much too old.”
“Of course, Mrs. Putnam,” she said with a nod.
“How is Tabitha?”
Bowan and Octavia exchanged quick glances. While the townspeople knew of Mama’s illness, the Fletchers had kept quiet about how bad it had gotten. Papa had decided that it was best for them to deal with their circumstances in a private manner—at least, as private as possible given their status in Rustwick—and Octavia agreed.
“Some days are better than others,” Octavia offered in a measured tone. This wasn’t a lie, but it was also vague enough to not give too much away.
“The poor dear,” Mrs. Putnam murmured, her eyebrows creasing together. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen her out and about in a spell. I should come visit.”
“I’m sure Mama would love that,” Octavia said.
“Well, let’s see here,” Mrs. Putnam muttered, now turning back to her cabinet of glass bottles filled with herbs and powders. “I believe Tabitha enjoys the hibiscus herbal blend, yes?”
Octavia nodded. “That’s the one.”
Mrs. Putnam rose all the way onto her tippy toes to grab a glass bottle that was on the top shelf. She then slipped the bottle into a small fabric bag and cinched it shut, handing it to Octavia. Octavia fished in her pocket for the coins she had brought with her, but Mrs. Putnam shook her head.
“My gift to Tabitha.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course, dear. Tell her I said hi, and that I’ll come visit soon. And give Theodin my regards as well.”
Octavia clutched the small bag tight. “I will. Thank you.”
“I look forward to trying more of Tabitha’s yatchka cream pie at the harvest festival this year! That woman sure knows how to bake.” Mrs. Putnam gave them both a warm smile.
“She sure does,” Octavia replied. “Thanks again.”
She pocketed the tea and then joined Bowan’s side, steering him from the shop back onto the busy cobblestone street.
“That was nice of her,” Bowan commented.
“Yeah, that was.”
Now out of the stifling atmosphere of thick perfumes, Octavia took a deep breath. She couldn’t wait to brew the tea leaves over a fire and tuck a hot cup into Mama’s hands. Maybe they could sit together on the porch and get Mama some fresh air—if she was feeling up to it.
Bowan took off back the way they had come, and Octavia followed him, weaving through the crowded marketplace, but just as the two were coming upon Gregg’s Bakery, Octavia stopped in her tracks, her heart jumping up in her throat. She grasped Bowan’s shirt near the back of his neck and tugged.
“Hey! What the—”
Octavia pulled him into the cramped space between the bakery and the butcher shop.
“Octavia!” Bowan protested. “What are you doing?”
She pointed out to the cobblestone street, and Bowan’s gaze followed her hand. A dozen Rustwick guards were standing outside the Treeta Tavern, and with them, adorned in rich taupe fabrics, was Heston Creevy.
“Mildred’s father,” she whispered.
Bowan paled and then poked his head out from behind the bakery a bit further. “How are we going to get to our horses?”
“We’re not,” Octavia answered. “Not right now, at least. Papa’s right. I don’t want to run into him.”
Bowan gasped, whipping his head back from the edge of the bakery and retreating further into the crevice between the shops. “He’s walking over here!”
“What? Did he see us?”
“I don’t know!”
Octavia’s pulse spiked, and she shuffled back a few steps, drawing closer to her brother. The two of them stood silent, the chatter from the townspeople filling their ears. Footsteps padded closer to the spot where they hid, and a nasally voice cut through the air.
“Havka, darling, did they have those little cakes Mildred likes?”
There was a scrape of rusted hinges as the wooden door to Gregg’s Bakery opened. A woman’s voice answered him.
“I got two dozen of them. She deserves it, my poor baby. Being attacked like that! And unprovoked too! That horrid girl!”
Octavia’s anger boiled over, and she clenched her fists. Unprovoked? Mildred was a liar! Octavia’s actions were far from unprovoked. She felt the urge to launch herself around the corner of the bakery to tell them as much—even though she knew that would be foolish—but Bowan’s hand clamped over her wrist before she could take a step. He shook his head furiously, pulling her back.
“Theodin’s feral brat of a daughter didn’t even spend the night in the jail!” Heston growled. “I stopped by to talk to the guards earlier. It seems Theodin’s money persuaded them to free her.”
“How wretched!” Havka sighed, sniffling slightly. “What has this town come to? Letting someone like that go with no consequences!”
“If I could, I would stop parceling out the waters to that family to teach them a lesson. But the king would have my head if I did that. The Fletchers oversee too many workers and cultivate too great a crop to deny them the blessings of the Well. All of Rustwick would suffer from a decision like that,” he grumbled. “Still . . . the girl won’t go unpunished.” Heston Creevy’s voice turned sinister. “I’ve thought of something much better than denying the Fletchers their parcel of waters. It’s all been taken care of.”
“Oh?” Havka probed, intrigued. “And what’s that?”
But before Heston could reply, there was a shuffle of footsteps and what sounded like half a dozen people exiting the bakery.
“Pardon me,” a girl’s voice sounded.
In the heavy foot traffic, the Creevys wandered off, moving too far for Octavia to hear the rest of their conversation . . .
She and Bowan both stared at each other for a moment, and Bowan’s mouth parted.
“What did Mr. Creevy mean?” he whispered. Octavia could hear the unease in her brother’s voice. “What’s he going to do to you?”
Her stomach twisted into a knot. “I don’t know.”
“We better tell Papa.”
