In the Shadow of a Wish, page 2
Buteress continued, “It’s to the south, near Fulstrom.”
His gaze swept over each of them, taking in not only their faces, but skimming the bodices of their gowns. His eyes lingered on Auri, and lifting his gaze to hers, he smiled with yellowed teeth. Auri wanted to rush home, lock the door, and bathe. The fact he was looking for another wife and had just offered for all three of them sent disgust rolling through her body. This man was probably the deviant sort. He could have gone to the Fulstrom market but had probably over shopped his welcome and was now forced to the outer kingdom markets.
She shuddered.
“Now, come man,” Crossbie said, his voice as sharp as his gaze. “We agreed this would be done civilly. Three of us. Three of them. One for each.” His gaze jumped back to Auri. “I’m nearing the arrest mark,” he told Auri. “I need a woman, and I need her with a child. I don’t want the older one.” His head tilted in Tarley’s direction. “I need a younger one.” He pierced Auri with that disturbing gaze before looking at the men next to him. “You have children, Buteress, and you have two years, Gromley. I’m in a hurry, here.”
Auri’s face opened with shock at the man’s bluntness. Perhaps his pragmatism would have spoken to her normally practical nature, but there was a difference between being a realist and just being rude. She was right in her assessment that she was nothing more than horse flesh to this man.
Tarley cleared her throat, pressed her lips together, and narrowed her eyes, a tell of her impatience. If there was a queen in Sevens, then frosty Tarley would take the office, that is, if women were allowed to do so.
“Let us be clear, gentlemen, we are sitting here in compliance with the law. Nothing more.” She looked down her nose at each of them, and Auri loved her sister’s spirit despite the circumstances.
Auri wanted to be more like Tarley: brave and bold. She often found that she imagined she could be brave, but then wilted when faced with something she was afraid of, like these men.
“We haven’t deigned to agree to any one of your suits, nor are we obligated to, so perhaps you should be on your best behavior rather than your worst,” Tarley concluded.
Buteress’s gaze jumped from Auri to Tarley and assessed her in a new way. His smile indicated he liked something he saw in her. “Ah. Miss Fareview.” A lecherous glow lit his pudgy face. “I’m delighted by your spirit.” He interlaced his leather-gloved hands in front of his heart and bent slightly at the waist. “But you are nearing collection, are you not? Perhaps you would consent to my suit.”
Auri watched Tarley blink slowly, but nothing else gave away the disgust she knew her sister felt at the prospect of marrying this man. Auri could see the wheels spinning in Tarley’s head. She was twenty-six. Did she take the gamble to be collected and possibly assigned to a birthing house, or consent to marriage with such a man? Knowing her sister, she’d stand up, walk over to Cobble’s booth, and tell him they were about to marry, hightail it out into the woods to hide there, or run herself through with a weapon from Mr. Dennig’s table.
“Do you have a wife, Midlord Buteress?” Tarley asked.
His smile deepened. “I do, Miss Fareview. I am acquiring a fourth.” He said this with pride, as if it was in his favor because he had the economic means to support all of them, which would be the only way he’d be allowed to marry repeatedly. He looked well fed, which revealed he had enough to provide, but Auri knew that didn’t mean he did. She’d overheard stories told between trappers and traders of things they’d seen and heard.
Tarley tensed. Auri could sense her sister’s disgust as clear as if it were stewing in the bottom of her own gut. It was as she thought: a deviant. This man was a collector—not the same as the spring collector, but a collector of women. And he had the means to do it legally in Kaloma. There were rumors about these kinds of men and how they treated their wives. The dark things they did to them behind closed doors, and sometimes even to their children.
Auri shivered.
The clanking sound of the marketplace bell rang out, signaling the close of the day—and of the horrid ordeal. Auri leaned to scan the corridor for her father and brother, who should be along shortly to escort them home. Though Sevens didn’t get dark—it hadn’t since Auri’s childhood—it was far safer to have an escort. One couldn’t predict what sorts of unsavory characters or dangers were lurking in the woods.
“Perhaps I could call upon you next market day?” Gromley asked Brinna. “Will you be here then?”
“I don’t have much of a choice, now do I, Mr. Gromley,” Brinna replied.
“Lowlord.”
Brinna glanced at Auri, who squeezed her sister’s hand with frustrated understanding.
Brinna turned back to the stoic man, who to Auri, now just seemed austere and unfeeling. “Forgive me, Lowlord Gromley, for my mistake.”
His face turned hard and grim, and his eyes flitted from Brinna to Auri as if trying to measure their complacency. His already thin lips tightened and puckered before he said, “I don’t like mistakes, Miss Fareview. I want propriety in my wife and offspring. They will need to know their place, and I would discipline them when necessary.” He slapped his leather gloves against his thigh.
Brinna squeezed Auri’s hand harder.
“Daughters.” Their father’s voice interrupted with a congenial shout as he entered the building. It was his usual greeting on market days. Usually there weren’t any suitors.
Auri turned her head to watch Tomas Fareview stride up the wooden walkway with their brother a pace behind him, their steps loud and even. Safety seemed to settle into the space with their arrival, and Auri relaxed—slightly.
Both were large men, imposing, even if their personalities weren’t. Her father’s brown beard was full, his dark coat covering a dark homespun shirt, stretched across a broad back built from years chopping wood, woodworking, and farming their small patch of land. He had a dark hat on his head and a walking stick in his hand that he didn’t need, but always carried when he wasn’t holding an ax.
Mattias, the youngest Fareview at eighteen, still had many years before he had to worry about this endeavor. He resembled their father, with his build and his brown hair, though his eyes were lighter like their mother’s. Mattias would have had a beard if he could grow one, but as it was, it looked rather patchy. The sisters teased him incessantly for it. He, too, had on his dark winter coat, with his hands shoved into his pants’ pockets, and his hat pulled low over hair that needed a trim.
“Are you ready?” their father asked, then paused.
Auri watched her father’s warm molasses gaze jump between his daughters to the strangers outside the booth. His smile faded, eyes narrowing as the sugar glaze inside of them hardened—a Tarley-look if Auri had ever seen one.
Mattias was also frowning. He pulled his hands from his pockets and took his hat off his head.
Their brother had once expressed his desire to go to second school in New Taras to study law and repeal the Marriage Law for his sisters. As sweet as the sentiment was, Tarley had pointed out, “While the thought is noble, brother, it’s not like it will do much good for us by then.”
Buteress’s greedy gaze sweep over Mattias, and Auri shuddered.
“Mr. Fareview? You have lovely daughters,” Buteress simpered. “And a son? He looks strong and like a good worker.” He licked his lips.
Auri wanted to jump over the table and stand in front of her brother. There were rumors about these kinds of men, too. Those who would pay the poor for their boys and girls for servitude to their land—only that wasn’t what became of those children. Using children in such a way was against the law, of course, but Kaloma officials did an excellent job of looking the other way when enough coin was involved.
Mattias tightened his grip on his hat, and his knuckles turned white. “Come on, sisters.” Instead of speaking to the older man as rules of propriety required, Mattias ignored him. “Let’s get home.”
“Now, wait a moment,” Crossbie said, stepping closer to the rail. “I need a wife. I’m going to have one of these women. I want this one,” he said and like a striking snake, he snatched Auri’s wrist before she saw what was happening, yanking her toward him.
Her hip slammed against the handrail; it creaked and wobbled, threatening to topple. “Unhand me!” she snapped, wrenching her arm from his grasp and scurrying backward away from him.
Mattias—stars bless him—placed himself between Crossbie and Auri on Crossbie’s side of the rail. Crossbie had her brother by several stones, even if Mattias had height and youth on his side.
“Try and touch my sister again, you prick,” Mattias said, his voice low and dangerous.
Tomas stepped between Mattias and Crossbie. “It doesn’t work that way, and if it did, I wouldn’t allow you to take my daughter,” her father said. He was seething, his jaw tight as he spoke. The diplomacy he usually employed in situations that involved bartering was now nonexistent.
“It does. Law says so. I get the wife of my choice,” Crossbie said.
“As long as she accepts your suit,” Gromley added. He was very in tune with rules and regulations.
“Why wouldn’t she?” Crossbie peered around Tomas and Mattias to look at Auri. “She’s unlikely to find a better prospect up here in the boonies.”
She had the horrible feeling he would toss her over his shoulder, run, and rut her like the bull she’d seen with the cows if he could. The thought reminded her of a story her mother had shared with them once after a home visit in the outer region. As they had waited for the delivery of a babe, the women told the story of a poor girl who had been found attacked and left for dead in the river. The victim had been returned to her family, but then forced to marry her attacker.
Her father lifted his walking stick so it rested on his shoulder. “The law provides for a woman’s choice.”
That wasn’t exactly true, but it didn’t seem prudent to correct her father. Auri rubbed Crossbie’s touch from her wrist and checked the ribbon, surprised to find it still there.
Mr. Cobble shuffled over from his booth.
Auri liked that the old man cared enough to see what was happening but didn’t think he’d be very effective help if it came to it. She glanced at Brinna, whose eyes were the size of cream saucers, then at Tarley, who was frowning. Tarley glanced at Auri, at her rubbing her wrist, and shook her head in disgust.
Two of the other men they knew in the marketplace wandered over as well, standing to the side should her father and brother need assistance.
Midlord Buteress, recognizing the odds had shifted, offered a nod of his head, and reached out to block Crossbie from stepping any closer. “Please, accept my apologies for Mr. Crossbie. He’s not familiar with the marketplace, given this is his first attendance. I shall endeavor to help him with his approach for tomorrow’s visit.”
“See that you do,” her father said, his affability still a winter’s day. “The market is closed.” He lifted his chin toward the exit. “See yourselves out.”
Two of the three men—the lords—bowed, but Crossbie stabbed Auri with one more stare before turning and walking away.
When the sound of their footfalls on the wooden walkway had disappeared altogether, Auri shuddered another breath of relief.
Her father turned to look at them, his face drawn and bleak as he ran a hand over his face. “Gods.” He looked up and glanced at the other men, nodding with gratitude for their support. “I’d hoped for more time,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
Auri didn’t understand her father’s strange comment, but then, he was prone to random thoughts at strange times. Perhaps he was referring to Tarley’s coming deadline?
“We’ll see you folks out,” one of the men from the marketplace said, interrupting Auri’s curiosity. “Make sure there isn’t anything unsavory beyond the doors of the marketplace.”
“I’d appreciate that.” Their father paused and took a deep breath. “Come. Let’s get you safely to the cottage.”
Led by their father and guarded from behind by their brother, Auri and her sisters started from the market house flanked by the village men.
“That was rather dramatic,” Brinna said as they moved down the walkway. “I can’t wait to tell Mother and Jess.”
“They aren’t home. Mrs. Grenden’s baby is coming,” Mattias said.
“Pray for sons.” They chorused the common blessing upon learning of a pregnancy or a birthing.
Her father glanced around. “Let’s get home before the sun falls. Don’t need to be traveling in the woods without the sun.”
“It won’t get dark,” Brinna said. “We should see anyone coming.”
“There are clouds,” Father said. “Storm coming. It will be dim enough in the woods to hide in the shadows. We won’t be safe until we get to the cottage.”
Once they were settled in the wagon, they started toward home. The trees thickened the further they traveled from the village, the bushes, brambles, and trunks outlining the snowy roadway. When they were beyond the village, their father said, “None of you will go to the market tomorrow.”
“What will we do?” Tarley asked.
“We’ll stay close to home. Work about the cottage.”
“Not that. About the marketplace. The men. The collection.” Tarley worked the ribbon around her wrist.
“Isn’t there anything we can do?” Mattias asked.
“Got a magic spell that can whisk you all from Kaloma?” their father asked. He snapped the line to get the horse moving a little faster. “We’ll figure something out. Mama and I always do.” He looked over his shoulder at them, then refocused on the rutted road ahead. The wagon lurched over a divot but rolled onward. “I promise.”
But what could be done? Auri looked up at the dark, gray sky, wishing she could change things, though she held no illusions that that such magic existed to change their circumstances.
“Auri?” Her father’s voice drew her from her wishes.
“Yes, Father?”
“You’ll be in the woods collecting tomorrow. Jessamine and Mother will be with the Grendens a while, I think. Mattias and I will be in the woods with you, cutting.”
“Yes, sir,” she said. Maybe she was supposed to hate that he’d given her a tedious chore, but rather than being a drudgery—like sitting in the marriage marketplace—foraging for winter herbs felt like being granted a wish. Freedom.
The next day, Auri tucked one hand into the pocket of her coat, and pulled on the cart’s rope with the other, listening to the slice of the sled’s runners through the snow. As she high-stepped through the fresh fall, her wool skirt dragged, collecting snow, and she groaned with frustration, yanking the fabric, wishing she could don pants like her father and brother. Despite the cold seeping into her clothing and boots, she was warm with the exertion of walking and grateful to be anywhere else other than the marketplace where she and her sisters were stuffed like jarred fruits waiting for some suitor to come along and select one of them from the shelf.
A flash of sunlight on the fresh white powder caught her eye. It was beautiful, as if the sun dropped dollops of golden syrup on the trail making the snow sparkle a moment before fading. She didn’t ponder the fact that sky was overcast, and the snow wasn’t melting under the heat as it should. Content, she hummed as she continued through the forest.
A noise—something subtly different from the slice of the sled runners through the packed snow—captured her attention. She stopped and looked about the woods. It was quiet. No animal sounds. No tree-falling from her father and brother, who she knew were also out in the woods. The thwack-thwack of their axes in a syncopated rhythm resounded in the distance. The stark white of the new snow against the black, leafless branches of deciduous trees mixed with the evergreens obscured her view of what might be out there.
She squinted at the shadows, imagining she saw a play of golden sparkles in the dark recess. But when she blinked, it was gone. Nothing new caught her eye. Nothing moved but snow slipping from a low hanging branch, causing it to snap back into place. Her imagination. She continued forward, unable to go home yet with so few supplies, and blamed the unnerving shivers that danced up her spine on the incident with Crossbie and Brinna’s stories.
Brinna loved to tell stories about the Whitling Woods. Roaming monsters hungry for flesh, wizards and witches trapping people’s souls in flora and fauna or using them for sinister spells, crazed men on the run from the government, pirates, thieves, and sometimes saviors bent on saving the women of Kaloma. But that was all they were: stories.
Auri suppressed a smile at her sister Brinna’s insistence that magic had once led her to a meadow “...full of kindling and cleared of snow as if it were spring. Touched by magic,” Brinna had whispered to Auri in the dark.
“Why didn’t you bring any proof home?”
“I blinked, and it vanished,” Brinna had said, her whisper just a touch louder in her exuberance. They’d been squished together in the bed they shared, in the room they shared with Jessamine and Tarley, where no one could have a thought without the other one knowing.
“Oh hush,” Tarley had said from the dark. “Don’t be daft. Magic isn’t likely to touch the lot of us, just like love. Neither of which will ever find us in this gods-forsaken hovel.”
“Be nice, Tarley.” Jessamine’s sweet voice contrasted with Tarley’s acerbic one. “It’s okay to dream, Brinna.”
“Easy for you to say, Jess. You don’t have to marry at all,” Tarley had replied. Their oldest sister Jessamine had chosen to be their family’s one unmarried female and would care for their parents. Tarley’s bitterness was at their circumstances rather than Jessamine’s decision.
“We should go to Sparrow City,” Auri had offered. “Or Fulstrom.”
“With what coin?” Tarley had asked. “And in the middle of winter? Beggars can’t be choosers, now can they?”
Leave it to Tarley to offer a heavy dose of reality. Auri understood Tarley’s pessimism, even if she longed for optimism. And she knew she couldn’t let herself get caught up in her imagination like Brinna might. Allowing herself a place to dream and imagine, wish and hope was too painful when their only options for a future were the likes of Crossbie or Gromley or Buteress. With Jessamine, Tarley, Brinna, Auri, and Mattias all still unmarried and at home with their parents, there were a lot of mouths to feed and very little income to do it. It left little room for dreaming.
