“Your clients speak of my sisters?” I didn’t like that at all. Yes, I knew Blye could be a bit vain and jealous and Bryn a bit selfish and harsh, but they were my sisters. I loved them regardless.
“A few. They or their wives must see your sisters in the market district during the day,” Aryana said on her way to fetch two pails of warm water while I discarded my underclothes.
Water cascaded over my head, and I raised my hands to wipe the water from my eyes. The touch of a hand on my back and another on my legs jarred me from my thoughts of a gossiping market street and to the reality of bathing with two relative strangers. My eyes widened a moment before Aryana slid her soaped hands to my shoulders. Her firm fingers melted my objection.
The past week of fetching, cooking, and cleaning had caused knots and strains, which had helped inspire the visit to the sisters to soak in one of their tubs.
“You’re still considered new in the village, so people will talk about you. They’ve commented on your good trading skills, too. Many wonder where you find out of season produce.”
In that moment, I was very glad I’d hidden the sugar under my mattress at home. Perhaps I needed to alternate where I traded and ask the beast for more common items. What was I thinking? Was I going back?
A hand slid over my breast, distracting me. A tingle of awareness prickled my skin. It felt odd, but not painful, just wrong. I’d washed myself plenty of times and never gotten such a reaction before.
“Here,” Ila handed me the soap, having reached my upper thighs. I was thankful she let me wash myself instead of continuing upward.
“You have more tension than most men,” Aryana commented as she worked her way down my back. “Perhaps after a soak, you’d like us to soothe your muscles.”
I recalled how Gen had reacted and politely declined. I caught Ila’s knowing smirk, but ignored it. They rinsed me, and the three of us walked to the tubs, picking three close together. We didn’t talk much. Too soon, Ila was insisting we get out before we made ourselves sick. We went to rinse with cool water, and they worked oil into my hair again after I dried by the fire.
When I returned home, the lingering smell of eggs and bacon tinted the air inside the cottage. Bryn stood before the wash pan, scrubbing the dishes.
“How did you get more food?” I asked excitedly, my stomach grumbling and eyes wandering, looking for what my nose smelled.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said.
“Eggs. Bacon. I can smell it,” the words took on a harsh tone as they tumbled from my mouth.
“Oh, yes. There wasn’t enough to share. Sorry,” she said airily as she set a pan aside.
“Did you at least give some to Father?”
“Please. He sits all day. I’m here cleaning, cooking, running to the market. I needed the food so I wouldn’t collapse,” she replied irritably.
She refused to turn and look at me. I frowned at her back. We had no food and no coin. Again. Trading away the sugar would be dangerous, but Father wasn’t eating again. I went to the mattress and felt for the sugar, but pulled out an empty hand.
“Don’t bother,” Bryn said. “I found what you were trying to hoard selfishly and traded it for the food.”
My mouth dropped open.
“A handful of sugar for only enough bacon and eggs to feed one?”
“Just go and get more,” she said with a shrug as if I had come by the sugar easily.
I thought of the beast and his last, frightening appearance over a week ago. In all likelihood, I would not be welcomed back.
“I can’t,” I said desperately. “That was the last of it.”
“Every time you leave, you come back with something new. Don’t tell me that’s the last of it. Go.” She picked up a bag and threw it at me, her face twisted with anger and her eyes filled with tears.
I took the bag and left with nowhere to go. The sisters were now accepting customers, and I wouldn’t enter the estate again.
Walking to the outskirts of town, I found a new patch of grass near a tree and sat there until the sun started to crest the horizon. Stomach cramping, I started the walk home.
Bryn looked up expectantly when I entered. I set my empty bag on my bed and went to the well to drink my fill of cool water. It stopped the hunger pains, for now.
When Father came home and saw no dinner waited, he grabbed a book from his shelf and left again. He returned a long while later with some grain. Bryn divided it and cooked half for our dinner.
In the morning, Bryn boiled the remaining grain for our breakfast and, looking truly concerned, insisted Father stay to eat his portion.
As we sat at our table, quietly appreciating the meager breakfast, a sharp rat-a-tat on the door interrupted the silence. Father rose to answer it while we all spun in our chairs to watch. No one stood at the door, but a piece of parchment lay on the porch just outside. Father retrieved it and brought it back to the table after looking up and down the street.