Reading Online Novel

Depravity, A Beauty and the Beast Novel(4)



Several hours later, I came back to my traps and found I was lucky to have caught a fat rabbit. Its dull eyes let me know it’d been waiting for me awhile.

With the rabbit slung over my shoulder, I started home. Bryn could make a wonderful rabbit stew, and I knew to look forward to it for breakfast.

At home, Bryn had already cleaned up dinner but had left a plate for me near the stove to keep it warm. She thanked me when I showed her the rabbit, but insisted I clean it before I ate. She didn’t want it staring at her any longer than necessary.

Tired, hungry, and wanting to change out of my stiff clothes, I went to the back and cleaned the rabbit, keeping the skin for the butcher. The butcher, a kind man, took many different things in trade for meat. My luck with snares didn’t often require me to visit the butcher, but it didn’t stop me from helping him when I could. I had no use for the skins, but he cured them and sold them to traveling merchants or anyone else looking for leather or fur. It didn’t amount to much money for him, but it did make it possible for him to be charitable to my family when the need arose.

With the carcass clean and the skin set to dry, I brought Bryn what she needed for the stew and sat down for my own rushed dinner. I hadn’t forgotten the flower and wanted to ask my father about it.

My father, a brilliant man, often fell under the thrall of the books that lined his study walls and didn’t hear me when I first knocked. I knocked a second time to get his attention. He looked up with a smile and motioned me in, setting his book to the side.

“What do you have there, Bini?” he asked.

I grinned at him, liking that he had used his pet name for me. It meant I had his full attention.

“I found this near the wall. Do you know what it is?” I handed the delicate flower to him.

“It’s a primrose, dear. We don’t see them here.” He set the flower on his desk and stood, eyeing his shelves. “Let’s see...” He moved to a section and took a book from its place. Flipping it open, he read for several moments, occasionally turning several pages at a time. “Here,” he said, handing me the book.

In it, an artist had sketched a likeness of my flower. Once common to many places around the world, its numbers had dwindled as ladies, enraptured by its sweet smell, tore it from the ground in vast quantities to make perfume. I frowned at the book then at the flower. I shouldn’t have picked it.

“I would think your sister, Bryn, would like the flower if you have no use for it. She could make a light scent from it. Very small, of course. Fun for her to try, no doubt,” he said as he went back to his book.

I scooped up the wilted flower, replaced the book, and did as he suggested, feeling guilty.



With relief, I tucked the warm loaf of bread into the bag hanging from my shoulder. The crust crackled as I handled it, sending the yeasty smell into the air to tickle my nose; and I couldn’t wait to get back to the cottage to show Bryn.

After two days of patiently waiting, I’d finally had a bit of luck. In need of a visit to the outhouse, the baker had called for his mother and asked her to watch the browning bread.

Mrs. Medunge called another thanks for the carrots and wild onions and waved a farewell from the side door. I spared her a brief wave in return and hurried from the cramped alley between the bakery and the baker’s storage shed.

Konrall consisted of one main dirt road that divided the village north to south. To the north, it led to the next village, Water-On-The-Bridge, some twelve miles away. To the south, it led to farmlands and little else. But here, in the middle of the village, its stone filled ruts lent a clean look, as did the trim grass growing between the line of buildings on each side of the road.

It was a pleasant enough way to walk if it wouldn’t have brought me too uncomfortably close to the blacksmith. I’d successfully avoided Tennen and Splane since our last run-in.

As I neared the butcher, Sara, flanked by Tennen and Splane, left the smithy and headed in my direction. Panicking, I stepped through the butcher’s open door, startling him.

“Ho, there, Bini!” cried Mr. Flune with a laugh. “Are you so hungry to come running through my door?”

“I’m sorry for startling you, Mr. Flune,” I said. “I wanted to see if you found the hide I left at your door yesterday.”

“I did indeed,” he said with a kind smile. “It’s a beauty. We don’t see white fur often, so it will fetch a fine price.” He stepped back from his butcher’s block, away from the meat laid out for slicing, and reached for a small wrapped package. “This is for you, a trifling token of thanks for such a prize.”