r

t I came to understand love

ed to put food on the table for the farm. In some ways I was an orphan, in others not; there were second cousins and other distant relations, I suppose. But the village priest made one assessment of my scrawny, wee

tice it was a cold, dusty nook in the attic be

voice to be barked at to go to the well. My recollection of that house is of thankless, grinding l

ce for raising my voice or throw hot soup if it didn't please her. And Gasher, her husband, a fat man with a red nose and a mean streak, would have n

nd his mother's guile but neither of their wits. He would waylay me in the pantry and make off with my bread, or c

fter dusk. I would be on my hands and knees scrubbing until my knuckles were raw, or washing their clothes in water so cold my fingers went n

ouse, but a window pane or the brass of a door handle would show me what I was: a pale, thin thing with hau

l," was the

e street," Mertle would tell me, putting a finger to my chest. "You a

a spiteful little spark that wouldn't be put out, a whisper in my head telling me

see to the porridge for breakfast. The work of the day had left my wrists chafed from all the scrubbing, and there was a dull throb in

n her Sunday best, a dark blue wool dress with lace at the collar, and wore an e

the name. "Come here, girl. Le

s folded before me and my

A man these days wants a slim bride. Your skin is pale enough to be considered refined. And y

nake. "The Baron?" I heard myself sa

ket for a young woman to warm his bed and give him an heir. He was pleased with what he

through me. "You

is bottle, his shirt tight across his belly. "We are making an arrangement. A marri

o put one foot in front of the other. He

be cursed, incomplete. There were stories about the Baron's line ha

hand. One thousand, Feyra. With that I can settle the farm, get a new plow, or drink myself under th

rted out. "I am not some c

g a coppery taste in my mouth. "Ungrateful wretch!" she spat. "After all we have put out for you? Yo

ntable. Try to make a run for it and I will chain you to a post until he is here. Then

I looked at them: the leering Boris in the doorway, Mertle's smug face, Gasher's greed. For the fi

Very well, ma'am. I