HE CHEWED on the meat stick in a way that combined fastidiousness and gusto. I ate more slowly than I would have if he hadn’t been there, and kept my lips together.
I wondered if he delighted in buying goods and selling them as much as I adored healing. “Do you like being a merchant?”
“I love beauty, like that shawl paired with its sheath.”
He gave me an idea. “I have something you may admire.” I stood, though I disliked moving away from him. From my satchel, I took out the bust of me.
He reached for it, and I let him hold it.
“Heavy,” he said. “Made by a greeny?”
“Greeny?”
“An elf.” He looked closely at the real me.
See a resemblance! Guess the truth!
“A pretty face but not extraordinary or memorable.”
That hurt, to be forgettable.
Master Peter went on. “But the artist is extraordinary to have caught the model’s character: lively, intelligent, single-minded. I see humor, too. Do you know who made it?”
“An elf boy named Agulen. I treated his rash, and he carved it for me.” Guess!
“I’ll remember that name. I know some who would love this.” I felt his mood change, become careful. “Mistress Evie, the shawl and the sheath can be yours.”
Even he couldn’t have my memento of me! And he’d get the better of the bargain. I snatched back the carving and returned it to my satchel.
I sensed his regret, and I was disappointed, too, though it would have been a feat of intuition if he’d divined that the not-extraordinary face was mine. Forgiving him, I sat at his side again.
“You asked if I like being a merchant. I enjoy finding the perfect object or bit of apparel for everyone.” He shrugged. “Apparently, the little sculpture already has its ideal owner.” He told me about selling a fiddle to a young man. “When he touched the bow to the string, the noise was worse than six cats caught in a sack, but he wanted it. I came back the next year, and his playing was so marvelous that the six cats would have waltzed along with it. He taught me a lesson.”
Healers constantly learned from our patients. “What did you learn?”
He laughed. “Never discourage a sale!” He added, maybe seeing that his answer hadn’t pleased me, “I also learned that thinking creatures choose the items they need, whether I see the need or not.”
How, I wondered, did he—stuck here with us—manage to look fresh, as if he’d just awakened from a peaceful sleep?
“People don’t choose their illnesses, to be sure.” A surprising thought struck me. “I wonder if diseases choose the people they need.” I used to have this kind of conversation with Wormy.
“Fascinating!” he said, and changed the subject. “You’re a puzzlement, Mistress Evie. There’s something in your eyes.”
Tears. I blinked them away and tried flirting again. “What might it be? Something you alone can see?”
He brushed the hair on my scalp away from my forehead, which also had hair. His touch was light as a leaf.
“What I see in your eyes is tenderness, a sweet spirit. How improbable that we’ve met. How fortunate for me.”
I sensed it. He was feeling love. He loved me!
I gasped out, “I’m lucky, too.”
“Have you visited the many marvels of Kyrria?”
My throat was so tight I could barely breathe. Why was he asking? “I came here from Jenn. I haven’t been anywhere else.”
He smiled fondly, either at a memory or for love of me. “I can show you mountain waterfalls, the lakes, the flower farms, the—”
“I’d be delighted to see them.” With you.
He went on. “I never wanted a companion on my journeys before, but I think you and I would be happy together. Would you—”
The band returned. I’d have heard them if I hadn’t been mesmerized.
Had he been about to propose?
They brought a deer carcass. I didn’t want to leave Master Peter’s side, but hunger won out. I gave him three more meat sticks and feasted with the others.
We had to escape the Fens so he could propose, if that was his intention. If I accepted him here, we’d both be eaten. Tomorrow, when the band left again to hunt, we’d go. I’d fight any ogres who tried to stop us.
Meanwhile, I had to steal meat sticks.
How delicious he looked in the dying daylight, which hollowed his cheekbones and brightened his lips.
“Farewell.” I touched his hand—and stumbled backward as the thrill ran through me.
“Till you return. Hurry back, love.”
The band heard and roared with laughter—except EEnth and SSahlOO, who glared at Master Peter. I rushed at them. “If you so much as sample one of his ears, you will never eat another meat stick, and you will have no chance with this beautiful mare.”
EEnth touched my cheek. “Beautiful but foolish.”
SSahlOO stroked my upper arm. “It may love you. You’re a beautiful mare. But when you learn to zEEn, loving it will seem like loving a puppet.”
I ignored them. “I’ll be quick, Master Peter.” Oh, my. “I’ll race.”
Clouds lowered, but the storm held off. I ran until my breath gave out and I had to slow my pace. Why hadn’t I called him love, too? Did he worry that his love wasn’t returned?
Wormy, dear, I thought, the affection I feel for you can’t compare with this . . . this . . . I searched for the word: blossoming.
I’d never believed love could come so fast. I didn’t even know what books Master Peter liked or where he grew up. He might like puns. He might actually make them. He might admire the word puce!
Didn’t matter.
I hugged his words: I think you and I would be happy together.
A thought slapped my mind. Had he been pretending admiration just so I’d take him out of the Fens?
But he’d still be with me then, and I could overpower him, even without zEEn. He knew that.
I’d sensed his feelings. His happiness could have been at the prospect of leaving, but the love had to be for me. There had been just the two of us.
Finally, after four hours of trotting and running and sometimes, or so it seemed, skimming above the ground, I reasoned I was far enough from the last farm I’d robbed to make my visit unexpected.
The farm I chose was prosperous, the house more manor than cottage, with actual glass and not oiled parchment in the windows. There must have been dogs, but none woke up. Still, my anxiety mounted. I had more to lose now than I had last night.
I trotted to the drying shed, which stood apart from the house. Wealth meant bounty. I would eat some of what I took before I started back.
Mums grew in urns on either side of the door, an unexpected nicety for the entry to a shed. The door didn’t creak when I eased it open. Someone kept the hinges oiled, a well-run place.
I should have paused on the threshold, but I went directly in, reassured by the mums.
Instead of a dirt floor, I stepped on a plank, which cracked.
Bells clanged.
Ohhh! I plunged.