The Toll (27 page)

Sloughing it off, I continued with my
ministrations, letting my hair down to dump water over it, using
the small tin cup I’d brought with me.

I’d just finished lathering it with
the lavender scented soap Mamma always favored when I heard the
sound of a door slowly creaking open.

Moving fast, I had just enough time to
pull my towel over my chest and spin around before my door swung
wide open.

Eyes wide, I gaped as Otvla hurried
in, a large, heavy pan held out high above her head in her
hands.

“
Ah-hah!” she shouted,
waving it around like a demented person, her night rail on over a
thick, fur-lined winter cape.

“
What are you doing?!” I
screeched. “Otvla! Get out!”

“
I knew you were-” She
froze and frowned, gazing around the room. Brows pinching in
confusion, she slowly lowered her arms, ignoring my harsh whispers,
huffing at her to leave immediately. “But I thought...” The pan
fell out of her hands with a heavy clink, thunking to the
floor.

“
You thought what?” I
snapped, motioning for her to get out.

“
Well...” She pulled at her
lower lip with her fingers, the same way she used to when she’d
just done something ridiculously stupid and gotten caught. “I, uh,
well...”

“
What is the meaning of all
this?” Papa came rushing into the room in his nightclothes,
blinking in disbelief as he took in the scene before him, his
pistol gripped tightly in his right hand, skinny, hairy stick legs
prominently out on display.

Sharp, shrewd eyes missing nothing, he
took in the pot lying at Otvla’s feet, quickly averting his eyes at
my indecent, barely covered state, and then they went back to my
baby sister. Frowning hard, thick brows pulling down, he scowled as
his eyes strayed to that pan again, and then her attire.

She noticed and tried to smooth down
her hair, sticking up at odd angles around her head in a fluffy
brown mass, more than likely from the way she’d slept.

Walking over slowly, he stooped and
picked up the pan, testing the weight of it in his hand.

I noticed, offhandedly, that what
little hair he had left on his head was also sticking up around the
crown of his head, puffing up around him like frizzy orange cotton,
complementing his befuddle expression perfectly.

Mamma saw fit to come in right then,
rubbing at her eyes as she peered around the room. “Did Trystan
come and fetch you, then?” she asked Otvla, yawning as she
tightened her robe.

“
Fetch me?” Otvla parroted,
dumbfounded.

“
Mm.” Mamma nodded. “Yes,
to have you wait for him as the calf birthed. I told him he might
want to. I know how much you don’t like being alone.” Shifting from
foot to foot, she glanced down at Papa’s hands and eyed him
questioningly. “Nathem, do you need me to boil water or something,
for birthing the calf, perhaps?”

“
Birthing
the...”

She motioned to the pan in his hands
at his perplexed look, and he shook his head.

“
Is everyone up early now?”
A voice called.

My face reddened and I huddled down,
dragging my towel into my bath with me to make sure my good bits
were all adequately covered.

“
Everyone get out.
Now!”
I hissed. When
nobody moved, I groaned, resigned to my fate as Trystan’s head,
towering over everyone else’s, came into view. “Please!”

“
What’s going on in
here...
oh.”
He
stopped the second he caught sight of me, quickly looking away when
Otvla elbowed him in the stomach. With an oomph, he bent over a
little and gave her a dirty look as she glared at him.

I missed it when a hank of my hair
fell off of my shoulder, exposing the Troll’s curse to Mamma’s keen
eyes.

“
Daphedaenya,”
she whispered, hand trembling as she brought it
up to her lips, eyes wide with shock. “What has been done to
you?”

****

It was a very quiet breakfast, as
everyone tried to ignore the big grey elephant in the
room.

Otvla cleared her throat a little and
asked Trystan, “Is the heifer fine?”

“
I didn’t tup it,” he
grumbled, beating his grits with his spoon, “if that’s what you’re
getting at.”

“
I never said you two were
tupping!” she growled out defensively, her face flushing
pink.

Shaking his head, he raised a brow,
motioning to her pot sitting on the stove. “You brought the pot to
what? Make us pudding if we weren’t?”

“
Oh!” Throwing her hands
up, she slapped her spoon down and stormed from the
room.

Once she’d disappeared from sight, he
sighed heavily but didn’t go after her.

“
She’s your wife.” Setting
down my own spoon, I stared at him meaningfully.

“
She does this all the
time.” He didn’t look up.

Knowing Otvla, I believed
him.

“
You should go talk to
her.” I paused and thought about that. “Wouldn’t hurt you to finish
eating first, though, I guess.” Ending it at that, I shrugged and
went back to my food.

I had to question my better
judgment for interfering at all, but I had. I wasn’t speaking so
much for her, in a way, so much as...
Oh,
what the hell do I know? Yes, I am.
The
realization irked me immensely.
It
bothered me because, really,
why am I?
What has she ever done for me?
But then I
sighed inwardly and cringed at myself. It’s hard to listen to
yourself, even if in your head, letting the world turn you so
bitter.

Maybe it’s not bitter, but
better aware?
I mused. My eyes having been
opened, as of late.

It’s hard to just shrug someone off
like that, though, no matter the wrongs they’ve committed, towards
you or otherwise. It’s the curse of family.

No
, I corrected
, it’s the curse of
unconditionally loving—even if it’s not
reciprocated—
something I’ve done for
years—yet never questioned until these past few months.

“
It should have been you,”
Trystan muttered, mumbling it under his breath so no one else could
hear.

“
No one forced you to marry
her,” I bit out, “you could have easily said no.” I couldn’t help
my clipped out tone.

His eyes dropped and he scooted the
bowl closer to him. “No one else would’ve had me but you, and no
one else wanted her after the troll grabbed her.” Eyes still
downcast, he shrugged and took a quick swig of his coffee, gripping
the cup tight. “I never...” lips tightening, he stopped and cleared
his throat, as if he might be choking, giving his head a quick
shake. “After what happened, I never expected to see you
again.”

Snorting, I finished and went to take
care of my bowl. “Life has a funny way of fucking you over
sometimes, doesn’t it?” Rinsing my dirty dishes off and setting
them up to dry, I walked out of the house as they all, Mamma, Papa,
and Trystan, minus the pouting Otvla—who’d probably ran home—stared
after me.

Pining Isn’t Only For Lowly
Sap

“
You’re awfully
quiet.”

It was quiet for a long moment, so I
looked up to see what all the fuss was about.

Everyone was staring at me.

“
What?” My eyes met my
mother’s and she smiled sadly, as if she truly cared for
once.

I was still hard pressed to believe it
was just pity, pity for her troll cursed daughter, but maybe that
was just the pessimist in me.

“
Berthold was just saying
that you’re being awfully quiet.”

“
Oh.” Glancing down again,
I swished my spoon around listlessly in my soup, not really feeling
up to eating. I hadn’t had much of an appetite as of late, and
everything I ate just came right back up. Eating had lost its
appeal to me two days ago, so, other than when necessary, I
didn’t.

“
Are you well, dear? I
mean, all things considered,” Trystan’s mother asked kindly,
smiling at me from across the table sympathetically.

“
I’m fine, just tired.” I
tried to return her smile, but it felt forced, so I gave
up.

I’d been thinking a lot about Troll,
and then myself, things that had happened, had been said—it just
wasn’t making much sense.

Would it ever?

He’d also been trying to invade my
dreams again, but I kept vigilant, making it easier and easier to
block him out, no matter how angry or tenacious he got at my
continued rejection.

There was a part of me that
was dying to let him in, but where has that ever gotten me?
Nowhere good, I can tell you that.
I wanted to growl in frustration.

Would I ever know? And what
would it matter, anyways?
He tossed me
away, just as much a fake and a liar as anyone else.

Papa cleared his throat, noting the
change in me as I clasped my hands together in my lap until they
turned white, quickly changing the subject. “Will we be seeing you
at the festival?”

Trystan’s parents both nodded in
unison, their matched set of dark hair, streaked liberally with
grey, bobbing in time together. If I didn’t know they were married,
I’d have pegged them for brother and sister, they were so much
alike, not husband and wife.

They got along so well I envied them
their relationship, even more so their love for each other. They
truly were devoted to one another—a real love match.

“
Yes, mm-hmm. I’m bringing
a pie to auction off and help raise money for the new church.
Daphedaenya, what about you? Are you bringing anything for the
festival?”

“
Who would want to buy a
pie or baked good from me now?” I asked honestly, my eyes meeting
hers as I slowly lifted my head. “I’d just be setting myself up to
be mocked.”

Natty, Trystan’s mother, blushed and
fiddled with her soup spoon. Much as she tried, she couldn’t muster
up a smile for that. “True, dear,” she mumbled, “forgive me, I
wasn’t thinking.”

“
I’m sorry too,” I
apologized, “that was rude of me.” Licking my lips slowly, I took a
deep breath and offered, “I can make something and you can add that
to your pile, how would that be? It’s not for a few weeks still, a
little over a month, I believe... You could even pick out what
you’d like me to make, if you want.”

“
Oh, wouldn’t be right! Me,
take all the credit, and you do all the work? Oh, no, I couldn’t,”
she shook her head, “I just couldn’t.”

My brow cocked up, “Of course you
can.”

“
No.” Her head shook more
vigorously than before, but her big brown eyes were dancing at the
idea, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “You’re a
much better cook than I, everyone would know, to be sure! I’d be
found out and called out! And at a festival, no less.” She laughed,
and I acknowledged the compliment, reaching over to give her a
little thank you pat on the hand. I could see she liked the idea
very much, but was only holding back for proprieties
sake.

Urging her on, I shook my head. “I
insist.”

“
Only if you’re sure...?”
Eyeing me worriedly, as if concerned she’d offend me by accepting,
she bit her lip and glanced at Berthold, trying to garner his
thoughts on it.

He grinned and gave me a quick,
fatherly pat on the back. “Why, that sounds like a lovely idea, and
I’ll even offer to taste test!”

Thankful for their friendship, and
when I needed friends so badly, I chuckled a little and my lips
curved up at the corners.

“
Oh, you,” Natty tittered,
giving his chest a slapping tease.

The door opened suddenly, heavy
footfalls following, and everyone immediately quieted.

“
Apologies,” Trystan
mumbled, tugging off his hat and setting it on the hook by the
door, sweeping past Otvla, who had her warm cape held out in front
of her, as if she wanted him to hang it up for her.

Lips pursing, she glared at him as he
breezed past her, quickly scooping up a bowl of his own and
scarfing more than half of it down before Otvla had even made it
over to her seat.

“
Hungry, son?” Berthold
joked, ribbing his youngest.

“
Starved,” Trystan grumbled
between bites, giving his young bride a long, censorious
look.

She sniffed and thumbed her nose at
him, taking the seat next to me to give him her back. “I made you
food,” she muttered.

“
Food is edible,” was all
he offered back. “Like to see
you
eat it,
wife.”
Trystan chuffed and quickly doled out another
bowlful and a huge chunk of bread, his stomach grumbling loudly as
he filled a cup of water and chugged it down.

Natty glanced between the two
worriedly, her brows puckering as they both studiously ignored each
other in favor of supper. Face smoothing out, she quickly hid her
expression, pasting on a big fake smile for the
newlyweds.