Elfhame (Skeleton Key) (5 page)

“Your pardon.” He retracted his claws and sat. “If I were to agree to this plan—which I’m not saying I am—who would the lucky fiancée be?”

Even as he asked the question, he had the creeping suspicion he already knew.

“I understand you’ve always had a fancy for Mireleth Andion, and she has already agreed to undertake the role of your sham fiancée.”

His father’s words confirmed his guess, and sourness settled in Bran’s belly. He took a sip of wine to try and clear the taste of defeat from his mouth.

“Mireleth and I were once companions,” he admitted. “But that affair is long over.”

“All the better—she won’t distract you from your battles.”

Bran’s gaze went to the window, where the moon was now sailing above the trees. Silver light illuminated the pale blossoms in the nearby meadow and filtered through the forest, stitching patterns of leaf and shadow over the mossy ground.

“What if the mortal girl from the prophecy never materializes?” He spoke his greatest fear aloud.

What if, somehow, they had all misread the intent of the prophecy? What if he’d spent his life in service to an empty promise? The thought made him cold.

“Then, according to the blasted thing, all Elfhame will be lost, and it won’t matter
who
you marry. Come now, Brannon. Things can’t continue as they are, you’ve made that clear. We must take charge, and this is the best way to do it. Will you agree to the betrothal?”

Eyes still fixed on the moonlit forest, Bran gave a slow nod. “Very well.”

He could see no use in defying his parents. Perhaps they were right, and such a drastic action would wake the slumbering prophecy. He must take the chance, before everything he cared for slipped into oblivion.

M
ara’s seventeenth birthday dawned sunny and clear. She lay beneath her colorful quilt for a moment, staring at the familiar ceiling of the bedroom she shared with her sisters. The bumpy plaster had always seemed like a miniature landscape, and she’d spent hours imagining herself as a tiny being walking over the ceiling, armed with a needle for a sword, encountering strange creatures and having all sorts of adventures.

Too bad her attempt to leave home had ended in disaster, and she’d nothing to show for it but a thin bag of coins. The blasted key had not rematerialized after all. It seemed to have done its work in ousting her from the castle, then disappeared for good.

She blew out a long breath, pushing away the creeping sense of defeat that shadowed her thoughts. She refused to believe that she would wake to this view every morning for the rest of her life. Surely she must belong somewhere, beyond Little Hazel, or even the country of Raine itself. One day, she’d find that place.

Holding that determination close, she got up and donned her favorite dress. She’d used all her pin money to buy it off a traveling merchant last summer. Clearly some noble’s castaway, there had been enough salvageable material for Mara to combine it with one of her other gowns and make a whole new garment. The sleeves and over-bodice were light blue silk, with bands of gold-embroidered trim, flowing down to the full skirt. It was rather impractical for doing housework, but she didn’t care. She’d put on an apron. Today was her birthday, after all.

When she came downstairs, her mother looked her up and down, then handed her the wooden spoon to stir the porridge.

“Good morning to you,” she said. “Up bright and early, I see.”

Mara snagged an apron from the cupboard, then took the spoon and replaced her mother in front of the cast-iron stove and began to stir the lumpy oats.

“This is sleeping late, compared to the hours at the castle. We’d be up before dawn to light the hearths.”

“A pity your time there wasn’t a success.” Her mother’s voice held questions.

Ones she’d never get the answers to, as far as Mara was concerned. She concentrated on stirring. “I’m sure something else will come along.”

She hadn’t explained why she’d been turned out of Castle Raine. It wasn’t as though she’d
actually
stolen anything. She could try and tell them about the magical key, but her parents were the practical kind. Despite living at the edge of the Darkwood they gave little heed to the old tales, and always had a commonplace explanation for any odd occurrences.

The dancing lights she’d glimpsed that once in the forest? Nothing more than fireflies out of season. The enormous black boar with glowing eyes that roamed the deep ravines? A frightened hunter’s exaggeration.

They did not approve of the book of fanciful stories she’d discovered in a used bookshop during their yearly visit to the city of Meriton, and they certainly did not understand why she wanted to leave Little Hazel.

“Thom the woodcutter’s son is a perfectly nice boy,” her mother had remarked on more than one occasion. “Give up your silly notions and settle down, Mara. I’ll help you look after the children.”

Heavens, no.

“Come with me to market today,” her mother now said. “Perhaps we can find you something nice for your birthday.”

“I wondered if you’d forget,” Mara said, sliding the pot of cooked oatmeal off the stove.

“Forget the day you were born? Not likely. You were a noisy child coming into the world, Mara Geary, yelling to wake the dead. It was a morning much like this, in fact, clear and with a bit of warmth. Now, is our breakfast ready?”

Mara dished up wooden bowls of porridge while her mother called the rest of the family to breakfast. They all gathered around the long table, and Mara couldn’t help smiling. Much as her family might annoy her at times, she still loved them.

In addition to the oatmeal, there were dried apples, honeycomb, and milk from the neighbor’s cow. It tasted much better than the food the servants were given at the castle, and Mara gave a contented sigh as she took a bite of honeycomb.

“Mara and I are off to market after breakfast,” her mother said. “I thought we could take some fresh nettles for barter. Lily and Pansy, cut me some before you go off to school. And Mara, we’ll take eggs along, as well. Mrs. Weir is always happy to give us some good trout in exchange.”

“Don’t cut all the nettles,” Mara’s elder sister, Seanna, said. “We need some for our studies with the herbwife.”

Their mother gave her a sharp look. “Plenty of nettle patches all over. Old Soraya doesn’t need to raid ours.”

Sean nudged his twin’s shoulder. “We can gather some from beside the baker’s.”

The twins had been apprenticed to the herbwife since last fall, in an arrangement that seemed to suit everyone.

Mara’s father, a man of little words, finished his breakfast, gave his wife a peck on the cheek, and departed for work at his small brewery located on the outskirts of the village. He and a good friend had started it up ten years ago, and everyone scoffed at the notion. Little Hazel was too tiny a village to support a brewery!

But their beers and mead had turned out to be excellent, and they now had a nice export business going, with vendors and even a few inns all over Raine carrying Geary’s Meads and Ales.

Mara glanced around their cozy cottage, at her family who all seemed content with the fit of their daily lives. Well, except for Pansy, who had already mapped out her future away from Little Hazel and seemed to have no doubts about it.

Mara wondered, not for the first time, what was the matter with her. Why did she never quite belong? What was the restless itch she’d felt just under her skin ever since she’d been a child?

Swallowing the last of her tea, and with no answers, she rose and helped her mother clear the table.

“Look.” Mara’s mother prodded her in the ribs. “Thom is over there, by the potato seller. Go and say hello.”

Mara glanced up from the tray of silver jewelry she’d been admiring. The necklaces were beautiful, like spun moonlight—and far above what they could afford. When her mother asked, she’d say she’d been looking at the braided copper rings instead.

“Oh look, he’s seen us.” Mara’s mother waved and called a greeting.

Thom saw them and, smiling widely, started to make his way to where they stood.

Too late to escape. Mara dredged up a pleasant smile. It was always difficult, trying to be kind to Thom without giving him undue encouragement.

“Mara!” Thom fetched up before her, his brown eyes shining. He took off his cap and made her a clumsy bow. “You’re back from the castle.”

“She missed you too much to stay,” Mara’s mother said.

“Mother!” Mara glared at her mother, then turned to Thom. “She’s teasing, of course. They found they’d hired too many maids, and I was let go.”

“That’s a pity,” he said. “But I can’t say I’m sad about it, since now you’re home where you belong.”

More than ever, Mara felt as though she did
not
belong—but it was hardly the time or place to try and explain.

“It’s Mara’s birthday,” her mother said. “Seventeen—such a good age to think about starting a family of her own.”

“I disagree,” Mara said, but the damage was already done.

Thom gazed at her, the adoration shining in his eyes making her quite uncomfortable. For the first time that day, she regretted wearing her prettiest gown. While she’d always thought Thom a nice enough boy, if she thought of him at all, she’d never returned the force of emotion he so clearly directed at her every time they met.

“May I come and call upon you soon?” Thom asked, crumpling his cap between his hands.

His intent was plain: he meant to begin courting her in earnest.

“I really don’t—”

“Mara will be delighted to see you,” her mother said. “Come visit us tomorrow after supper, if you’re free.”

“I am. Yes. That would be marvelous.” Thom grabbed Mara’s hand and planted a moist kiss upon it. “I can hardly wait. Thank you, Mrs. Geary.”

“We’ll see you tomorrow then, Thom,” Mara’s mother said. “Have a good afternoon.”

“Oh, I shall.” Thom jammed his cap back on his head and walked away, glancing back at Mara every few steps.

“He’s like a puppy.” Mara wiped the back of her hand on her cloak. “Mother, did you have to be so encouraging?”

“Well, you weren’t.” Her mother shifted her market basket. “Come, we don’t want to be late to Mrs. Weir’s stall, or we’ll miss the best fish.”

“I don’t want to marry Thom.” She hurried after her mother. “I wish you’d understand that.”

“Puppies grow up in time,” her mother said. “And you need to do something with your life, since the castle didn’t work out.”

“I thought I’d travel.”

“Alone? The world is full of troubles waiting to beset an innocent young woman. Besides, you haven’t any money.”

Mara felt she’d be able to handle most difficulties that might arise on her travels, but her mother’s last words were depressingly true.

“Not much,” she said.

“Perhaps you can convince Thom to spend a little time seeing the country, once you’re married.”

“He doesn’t seem the adventurous sort,” Mara said.

“Then he’ll settle you down nicely.” They halted in front of the fishmonger’s. “What do you think of that fat trout there, on the end?”

Clearly their discussion about Mara’s future was at an end. She swallowed back her words of protest and privately vowed that, no matter what happened, she would
never
settle for a life in Little Hazel, married to Thom the woodcutter’s son.