A Turn of Light Page 4

  It was likely. The reversal of fortunes that left her brother penniless and exiled wasn’t something discussed, nor was the ultimate use of her gifts. Wisp was right; her aunt didn’t lack kindness.

  Or resolve. When Jenn finally looked directly at her aunt’s face, the lift of one shapely eyebrow made it clear their earlier discussion of the day—be it hems or husbands—wasn’t over. She gave an accepting nod. Being dignified and adult probably included listening to all of a lecture, not just the part she couldn’t avoid.

  Radd helped his sister sit and took his place. As he cut thick slices of bread, steam rising from inside, Peggs placed a full cup at each setting, doing her best to avoid the rose petals on the cloth.

  Having put down her own tray, with some relief, Jenn put a bowl of stew in front of her aunt, from the left, with a spoon. She served her father, then put out her supper and Peggs’.

  The sisters sat, hands neatly folded. No need for a lantern or candles yet; the late afternoon sun shone through from the kitchen and played its beams over the table, picking out the deep red of the petals, embossing the simple cloth. Their aunt’s keen eyes studied them, then lifted to regard Jenn’s nose.

  Jenn froze in place.

  Aunt Sybb’s brows began to draw together.

  Slurp!

  Her glance flashed to her brother, who halted his spoon halfway from his lips to return the most innocent look possible. “I expect poor manners from these deprived children, Radd Nalynn, not from you.”

  Jenn focused on her bowl, doing her best not to smile. There was nothing—beyond rust, according to their aunt—wrong with their father’s table manners. After all, he’d grown up in Avyo, and once owned six of the city’s great mills, as well as a tannery.

  “Of course. My apologies, Sybbie.” He put the spoonful of stew back in his bowl. “Please say the Beholding for us.”

  “I’d be honored.” Aunt Sybb brought up her hands, beringed forefingers and thumbs touching, the rest of her fingers spread wide, then brought them down to frame her heart, or rather the delicate clockworks pinned to her fine lace shawl. “Hearts of our Ancestors, we are Beholden for the food on this table, no matter how plain, for it will give us the strength to improve ourselves in your eyes. We are Beholden for the opportunity to share this meal, for as you know it’s impossible to keep certain young people from running wild outdoors when they should sit still to listen and learn from their elders—”

  Jenn sank in her chair.

  “—We would be even more Beholden for the opportunity to find certain young women husbands to help them in their future lives before we’re spirits ourselves.”

  Her sister gave a faint “meep” of protest; her father shook his head. “Sybbie . . .”

  “Please let me finish. Hearts of our Ancestors, above all we are Beholden for this time we’ve spent together, as family. It’s never—” her voice wavered. “It’s never long enough.” Radd’s eyes softened and he touched her sleeve. She blinked fiercely as she said, “However far we are apart, Keep Us Close.”

  “‘Keep Us Close,’” Jenn echoed with the others, exchanging a worried glance with Peggs. They all shed a few tears the night before Aunt Sybb left for the winter, but that was weeks away. It had to be. “Aunt Sybb,” she began, “you aren’t—you can’t be leaving yet. You’ll miss—” to say her birthday, her very special, coming-of-age birthday, would be selfish. “You’ll miss the tinkers,” she finished lamely. Their arrival and the harvest marked the high point of the year, as far as Marrowdell was concerned.

  “I—” Aunt Sybb looked to her brother and Jenn’s heart sank. They’d talked about this, her father and aunt, and the decision was made. It was on their faces.

  “What matters is your birthday, Jenn,” he said firmly, “We’ll have our own party before your aunt leaves. Now. Let’s enjoy this excellent supper.”

  He didn’t want a fuss, that meant. She struggled to be calm and reasonable, but this was the worst news and her voice cracked shamefully. “How soon?”

  “Jenn—”

  “It’s all right, Radd. Dear Hearts, I leave the day after tomorrow. Horst will bide with me in Endshere while my escort travels from Weken.”

  In such haste? “But why?”

  “Because it’s started.” Peggs, usually the quiet one, leaned forward with a troubled frown. “You’ve stopped sleeping, haven’t you, Aunt?”

  “Peace, child.” Their aunt’s hand fumbled at her cup. “Eat your suppers.”

  Jenn looked more closely, seeing what she’d missed. Powder muted, but couldn’t hide the dark circles beneath their aunt’s eyes. “Is it true?”

  “The Hearts move us at their whim.”

  “It’s this place,” she countered, furious at everything. “You know it is. Why won’t it let you stay?”

  An astonished silence fell over the table. The roses on the windowsill turned in their jar to face her. Peggs, who noticed, made a point of trying her stew.

  Jenn flushed and bent her head. The sun on the cloth moved from petal to petal. The ones it deserted grew dark and dull, like stains.

  No one talked about Marrowdell. About how the valley rejected some and chose others. About the dreams that drove the unwanted away.

  “Jenn. Look at me.”

  Reluctantly, she lifted her eyes to meet her father’s.

  “Don’t make this harder for your aunt than it already is. Our home’s here. Hers is in Avyo, with your Uncle Hane.”

  Her aunt nodded, eyes too bright. “I miss the city, child. Don’t worry. I’ll be back next year.”

  “Let me come with you.” The words fell out of her mouth before she’d thought them.

  If the silence before was astonished, this was worse. They gaped at her, Peggs included, as if she’d lost her mind. Jenn pressed on. “For the winter. I’d be no trouble.”

  The roses withered as one, brown petals dropping to the floor.

  Jenn refused to look at the now-gaunt stems. Why should it matter to Wisp or Marrowdell where she was? Others came and went. Just this spring, Anten Ropp had taken his stepsons all the way to Endshere to trade their extra bull.

  Flowers hadn’t died with drama over that.

  “Uncle Horst helps more than me in the mill. I’d be home by spring plant—”

  “Enough!” A roar. “No more of this—this nonsense, Jenn.” Their father thrust away his bowl of stew, slopping its contents on the cloth. “Marrowdell is your home. High time you both grew up and took husbands!” He stood before either daughter could protest, turned, and stormed out of the house.

  The three left exchanged shocked looks. Jenn couldn’t remember her peaceful father leaving the table during a meal—let alone like this.

  Aunt Sybb coughed delicately, dispelling the stunned silence. “He wants what’s best for you.”

  And it didn’t matter what she wanted? Jenn’s flash of rebellion faded under her aunt’s too-knowing gaze. “I’ll apologize.” She gathered her courage. “But I did mean it, Aunt Sybb. I want to go with you. I’d listen to lectures every day.”

  Distress etched lines across their aunt’s face. “I wish you could, child, to the depths of my heart. I wish it were possible for you both to attend university, the theaters—”

  “Why not?” Jenn sat straighter in sudden hope. “My name’s not on a bind. Hettie said her father wants to send Cheffy and Alyssa to the university when they’re old enough. I could go—”

  “Jenn, don’t,” her sister whispered urgently.

  Too late. The petals on the table shriveled in their pattern, starting with those near Aunt Sybb’s hand. She might have missed the rest of their misbehavior, but this she did see and was transfixed; her face lost all color beneath its powder.

  “Aunt?”

  She started, then covered her eyes with a trembling hand. “You must stay. I can’t. Not here. Not in this place . . .” her voice choked.

  Peggs nudged Jenn and mouthed, “Behave!” Out loud, “Let me make you some
tea, Aunt.” As she rose to go to the kitchen, her fingers closed on Jenn’s shoulder, pressed gently. Look after her, that said.

  Much as she longed to shout at Wisp to behave, if indeed the petals and roses were his fault, Jenn quieted. Aunt Sybb never grew used to what she called Marrowdell’s “eccentricities.” Only yesterday, she’d taken refuge in the kitchen from the house toad, as if there was anything harmful in the creature with its soulful brown eyes, so like those of the puppies she described. Most of the time, the toad acted as a doorstop, ably keeping mice from the house. Unfortunately, it had decided to yawn and show its needle teeth when Aunt Sybb was sitting on the porch.

  Whenever she visited, it was her nieces’ duty to ensure nothing upset her. Which wasn’t easy, Jenn thought with some frustration, when they didn’t know what would.

  Was the outside world so different?

  She’d find out, Jenn vowed again.

  Her stew cooled in its bowl. She didn’t dare taste it, no matter how hungry, not with her father and sister fled the table, and her aunt sitting there, quivering, trying to be blind.

  All she could think to do was sweep the offending petals from the cloth into her hand. They were crisp and dry, dead as if this was late fall and well past the frost.

  No thistledown for Wisp.

  Peggs arrived with tea, her lips pressed together in an unfamiliar line of disapproval. She’d cut thin slices of warm pie, topping it with strips of pale cheese, already melted. Normally, Jenn approved of going straight to the sweet course, but having missed lunch, she’d wanted her stew. She swallowed any objection. Supper had been disrupted by her selfishness, making Peggs’ efforts in the kitchen for naught.

  Everyone was upset, when she was the one being put upon. Jenn didn’t see the fairness in that at all, but it was as it was. How did a simple request to visit Avyo for the winter mean she wasn’t mature? They could have refused and that would have been that. What she’d said to Wisp had been in fun. How could she hide in Aunt Sybb’s coach? Besides, their aunt would turn right around and bring her home.

  The aunt who must pack and leave, through no fault of her own. Their father worried for good reason; his sister’s will was stronger than her body, and sleepless nights quickly took their toll.

  The aunt who was still trembling.

  Jenn sighed, deep and long. Only one sure way to take Aunt Sybb’s attention from the dying rose petals. She swallowed and plunged. “I won’t marry Allin Emms. He’s more interested in the mill than me. Besides, he’s like a brother. An annoying one.”

  Aunt Sybb, who’d roused to grip her cup of tea with both hands, giving Peggs a murmured thanks, looked over in pleased surprise. “No one said you should, my dear.”

  “I won’t marry Tadd either. He’s moony over Peggs.”

  “Jenn Nalynn!” Peggs sank in her seat, having put the abandoned bowls of stew on the tray.

  “Well, he is.”

  Her sister took refuge in her tea, cheeks pink.

  As Jenn hoped, her new willingness to discuss marriage revitalized their aunt. “The Morrills come from excellent family.”

  Now she was well and truly stuck with it. Jenn felt her own cheeks flush.

  Riedd Morrill had been a baron in Avyo, with a seat in Rhoth’s House of Keys. That power and influence hadn’t outweighed the heritage of a Mellynne bloodline, forcing him and his household into exile with the rest. It hadn’t mattered to the horse who caved in his skull either, leaving his family to find a new life. Which they’d done, with varied success. Covie Morrill had raised her sons, then married widowed Anten Ropp and cheerfully begun raising his three children. Riedd’s cousin, Riss Nahamm, took on the care of their great-uncle, Wagler Jupp, who refused to bend his ways one iota from his former life.

  The grown sons, Devins and Roche, remained in the Morrill home. Both had their mother’s thick brown hair and green eyes, though Devins, being tall and lean, was said to take after their father while Roche was compact and sturdy.

  “Devins likes you,” Peggs offered, a mischievous gleam in her eye. “Remember how he’d pull your hair when Master Uhthoff was reading to us?”

  “Devins talks about udders all day,” Jenn retorted. “You can have him.”

  “I don’t want him.”

  Aunt Sybb’s regard shifted to Peggs. “Whom do you want, my dear?”

  The pink in her sister’s cheeks drained away. “There’s no—I don’t—”

  Taking pity, Jenn stepped in. “I won’t marry Roche Morrill either.” She had no intention of elaborating.

  Roche, when he could avoid helping his brother and stepfather in the dairy, hunted with Uncle Horst. When he wasn’t hunting, he was spying. He’d followed her once, as far as the empty farm. It hadn’t been a good feeling, like playing hide and seek in the hedges. She’d turned back, passing where he lurked in the shadows without a sideways glance.

  The fierce wind that bent the trees behind her had done no more than fling leaves and dirt at Roche, but she’d smiled at his shout of fear.

  He hadn’t followed her since.

  Like Wisp, Aunt Sybb was not to be denied. “Peggs, dear. You can tell us. Who has caught your eye?”

  Peggs jumped up. “I should put Poppa’s supper back in the pot before it’s cold. Please excuse me.” She grabbed the tray of bowls and almost ran to the kitchen.

  Leaving Jenn alone with her aunt.

  “I don’t know,” she said hurriedly. Who hadn’t been moony over Peggs? Not that her sister offered any encouragement.

  Her aunt touched the tip of her napkin to the corners of her mouth. “I wouldn’t ask you to betray a confidence, child. However, unless more settlers with eligible sons arrive or you somehow conjure a prince from that vile toad of yours, if you want a husband you’ll have to pick one from here sooner or later.”

  “What did you say?”

  A faint frown. “Pardon me, Aunt.”

  “‘Pardon me, Aunt,’” Jenn repeated quickly, blood pounding in her ears. “What did you say?”

  “I said you shouldn’t waste time hoping for more settlers to arrive. It’s been over six years since the last, and they stayed but a night.” Aunt Sybb gave a delicate, unfeigned shudder. “I can’t blame them.”

  “No,” Jenn corrected. “Not that. About the toad.”

  Rarely was Sybb Mahavar rendered speechless. She took a too-hasty swallow of tea, color rising to her face. “It was nothing. A bit of nonsense from an old story. My point is that you and your sister have four healthy men of the right age, right here. Allin and Tadd. Roche and Devins. Any one—”

  “You forgot Wainn Uhthoff.”

  “I did not.” Jenn watched her search for words. “Wainn is a kind and gentle person,” Aunt Sybb said at last, “but an unsuitable husband. He is—disadvantaged.”

  The Uhthoffs, arriving too late to join the others at Endshere, had taken the Northward Road alone and been chased by bandits. In their desperate flight, their wagon had overturned, crushing Wainn’s mother and sister, injuring young Wainn. He’d grown up with wide brown eyes ever puzzled by what they saw and a mind slow to understand. He helped his Uncle Kydd with his bees and stayed with the cows during calving.

  “I’d rather Wainn than the rest,” Jenn assured her aunt. But she was thinking about toads.

  While on the windowsill, had she looked, she’d have seen a jar full of pickles.

  And not a rose petal in sight.

  Progress, of a sort.

  Efflet had borne Wisp over the kaliia fields, to the hedge that bordered the village. Unseen, of course. They, like dragons, concealed themselves with light. Unheard would have been better still, but efflet couldn’t help but talk among themselves. Fortunately, the villagers thought their raspy little whispers came from crickets.

  He’d arrived ahead of the girl, as he’d planned. Heard her shocking request. Done his utmost to express an opinion. The aunt had listened, he thought.

  Now, to get home.

  Unfortunate
ly, while he’d been occupied with pickles and roses, the efflet had abandoned him. Some sound in the field must have caught their attention. A grasshopper. A bird. A foolish mouse. Though efflet were the most peaceful of creatures otherwise, whatever small life threatened the growing kaliia would be torn to shreds and fed to the soil. Larger threats? Oh, those were torn to shreds and left as reminders of the value of well-tended hedges.

  Wisp hurried as best he could along the strip of dirt the villagers called the Tinkers Road. It was nothing like a road, or was much more than one. At its end was the turn-borns’ crossing. Its length? Were he on his side of the edge, he’d be wading though a shallow river of the purest mimrol, its thick silver warm and far more comfortable than that chill, damp, and muddy stream he’d had to cross to leave the village. Water. Bah!

  There’d been a time he could have used the air itself, or taken the solid paths of earth.

  The time might come again. Or not. He’d been as he was long enough to no longer care. What mattered was his duty, what remained of it. He no longer led his kind, but he would protect them with his last breath.

  From what he could. Just ahead, the Tinkers Road was forced sharply west by the massive Bone Hill the villagers called the Spine. The narrow path to the upper meadow met the road where it bent, a path hidden until one was right beside it.

  Wisp cringed and twisted to keep that dreadful opening in sight until safely past. Because nothing bled through by the light of Marrowdell’s day didn’t make it safe. It was never safe.

  Not for those aware.

  The villagers, in their blissful ignorance, could walk there unharmed if they chose; not so on his side of the edge, never so. There, the Wound showed its true nature. Ugly, stained. A trap with no escape.

  But a place, nonetheless, easy to avoid. Wisp continued on, consumed by greater concerns. He had allies near the girl. The father held his daughters close, for love’s sake. The aunt, who might have belonged in Marrowdell if not for heartstrings pulling her elsewhere, protected her brother and his family against the outside. The old soldier watched the road, for guilt’s sake and a promise. Each helped in their way. Could they prevail against the girl’s growing will? Not alone. That was the crux of it.