To Bear an Iron Key (27 page)

“But … ”

“Who has been insisting that you are trapped?”

Flustered, Bromwyn replied, “I have been promised—”

“I am not speaking of promises made in your name,” Niove said tersely. “Answer my question, girl: Who says that you are trapped?”

Bromwyn paused. “I do.”

“Then do not be trapped. It is as simple as that.”

Do not be trapped.

She remembered that Midsummer night from long ago, when a pixie had told her how to leave the cottage. She remembered her hand over the doorknob, remembered saying out loud that she was not trying to escape, which would have tripped her grandmother’s spell—she was simply walking out. And so she had. After all of her sulking and screaming and seeking escape, it had come down to declaring her intention, and then doing what she said she would do.

She had decided, and then she had acted upon that decision.

Thoughts whirling, Bromwyn thought back to all of the times she had argued with her mother over the past year. She had constantly told Jessamin that she did not want to marry Brend, that she did not want to be in a loveless marriage, that she did not want her mother to make this decision for her. She had complained and moped and fretted and cried, but she had gone along with her mother’s promise.

Not once had she said she would not marry Brend.

Not once had she actually refused.

“Bromwyn,” her grandmother said idly, “I believe you have something to say to me. I would very much like to hear it before the rain begins.”

Bromwyn lifted her chin. “Grandmother,” she said firmly, “I will not marry Brend Underhill.”

“Finally! Wheel and want, girl, it took you long enough. Whatever else happens, you must always be responsible for yourself. Consider that your first lesson as a journeywoman.”

Bromwyn’s heart raced, and her breath caught in her throat. “Then … you agree? You give your consent for Mother to end the engagement?”

“Yes.”

Grinning like a fool, Bromwyn bowed her head. “Thank you, Grandmother!”

“And look: The girl has found her manners. Wonders never cease.” Niove laughed softly, the sound like autumn leaves scraping underfoot. “I expect you back here tomorrow to begin your work as a journeywoman.”

Still grinning, Bromwyn said, “Yes, Grandmother.”

“And come early. No more sleeping in for you when there is work to be done.”

“Yes, Grandmother.”

“The rest of today is yours. Take it, and do with it what you will.”

“Thank you, Grandmother!”

Niove Whitehair placed her hands on either side of Bromwyn’s head, and then she gently kissed her brow. “Go back to your thief,” she said. “You should run; the stories say that witches melt in the rain.”

THE LORD THIEF

By the time Bromwyn returned to the village, the rain had begun, a shower with aspirations of a summer storm. The villagers were undaunted by the weather; some had put up their hoods, but most simply allowed themselves to get wet as they continued their work of cleaning up after the fey rampage. The rain grew stronger as she crossed through the Village Circle, and the ground, still half-mud from the night before, attempted to grab her bare feet as she walked. The first peal of thunder sounded as she reached the bakery.

A small crowd had gathered outside the shop, perhaps lured there by the mouth-watering scent of freshly made cookies. Mistress Baker stood framed by the ruins of the doorway, and she held a large basket that overflowed with rolls and loaves and pastries. People shouted their choices, and the baker confirmed whether she had a particular item in her basket. One at a time, each customer put coins into the baker’s free hand; the baker examined the coins, put them into a large pocket in her apron, and gave the customer the food just bought.

Bromwyn waited off to the side. Once the customers had all had their turns, a child with a dirty face and large hopeful eyes stepped up to the baker and piped, “Mistress Baker? I haven’t got any money, but the cookies smell really good and I’m awful hungry.” As if he had practiced it, his belly let out a large gurgle.

The baker sighed. She fished inside the basket and pulled out an oversized cookie. “My cookies are good indeed,” she declared. “Best in Loren, and that’s no joke. They’re also the only bakery cookies in Loren, and for that, I’m grateful. Here. And if you tell any of your mudrat friends that I give out free cookies, I’ll deny it loudly. Don’t make a liar out of me.”

The child squealed with glee, stuffed the entire treat into his mouth, and ran.

“And not even a ‘thank you,’” the baker muttered. Then she saw Bromwyn, and she paled. “Lady Witch,” she said breathlessly. She bowed her head and stammered, “Sorry, sorry, sorry. I meant to say, Wise One.”

“Hello, Mistress Baker,” Bromwyn said kindly. “I am still just Lady Witch. Or, if you please, Bromwyn.”

“I wouldn’t dream of being so familiar! I’m just the baker, and you’re … ” She floundered. “You’re the one that stopped murder from happening in the Circle!”

“Your son played just as important a role as I.”

“My son,” the baker said, and color returned to her cheeks as she smiled broadly. “So proud of him! Standing up to the mob last night—did you see him? Of course you did,” she said, smacking her head, “you were right there! That was my boy, not afraid to speak his mind!”

Bromwyn grinned. No, Rusty had never been afraid to speak his mind.

“Before last night,” Mistress Baker admitted, “I feared he’d never grow up. Hiding when there’s work to be done. Dreaming about faraway places instead of being in the here and now. He’s a bit of a scamp, that one. But then he went and did what he did. I’m proud of him, and that’s no lie. My boy’s on his way to becoming a man.”

“He was very brave,” Bromwyn said. “And not just in the Circle. Last night, he held his own with the fey King and Queen.”

The baker pressed a hand to her ample chest. “
My
boy?
He
did that?”

“He did.”

“Oh,” the baker said, dazed. She smiled and blushed and smiled again. Then she frowned. “But look at you, getting soaked. Come inside this very minute. Careful of your step, though—the floor’s still a fright, and the counter’s been destroyed. Damned fairies. A menace, they are. Not the King and Queen, I’m sure, but the smaller ones, common fairies, I suppose you’d call them: nothing but trouble. They all but ruined our store, and they didn’t even eat what we left for them on the stoop. Ingrates!”

She grabbed Bromwyn’s arm.

“Look at those feet! Lady Witch, where are your shoes? Well, the floor’s a mess as it is, so no worries there. Just be careful not to trip. Come inside!”

Bromwyn, who had been struck speechless by the baker’s outbursts, let herself be led inside the store.

As they walked in, Master Baker, who was putting fresh rolls into another basket, shouted, “Kimmie, what’re you doing? No customers inside! You, there, outside! Sorry about the rain, but the shop’s just too much a mess to have anyone … ” His voice trailed off as he recognized Bromwyn, and then he blushed furiously. “Wise One! Here in my shop! And with it looking like this!” He glared at his wife. “Damn me, Kimmie, you want me dead, don’t you? I’m about to die from embarrassment!”

“You’ll die of my strong arm if you don’t shut your mouth,” Mistress Baker shouted back. “Lady Witch here,” she said, emphasizing the title, “wants to see our boy. Go haul him up from the storeroom, will you?”

Master Baker grinned at Bromwyn, then frowned at his wife. “Will you at least feed the girl? She looks like she hasn’t eaten in a year.”

“Charlie! Get the boy!”

“I’m going! I’m going!” And he went, grumbling.

“Forgive him,” said Mistress Baker. “He says things before he thinks. He’s a man. Can’t be helped.”

Bromwyn burst out laughing.

“Here, now, this is for you. Your favorite, if I remember correctly.” From her large basket, the baker took out a sugar cookie and gave it to Bromwyn. “Eat up now.”

“I am afraid I did not bring my coin purse,” Bromwyn said, blushing.

“Like I’d make you pay, after the way you helped that boy and girl last night! I saw you, Lady Witch. You did a good thing. To say nothing of your helping my own boy. He told us a little about it—something about him getting into trouble with the fairies, which isn’t really a surprise, since he and trouble go together like bread and jam, though I suppose the ‘fairies’ part is a little bit surprising if you didn’t know any better. But of course
you
do, given how you were right there. He said he got into trouble, and he wouldn’t have gotten out of it with his skin intact if not for you.” The baker smiled a warm, lovely smile. “He said wonderful things about you, Lady Witch.”

Around her cookie, Bromwyn said, “Thank you.”

“Oh, don’t thank me. He’s the one who said them!” She leaned in closely. “Truth be told,” she whispered, “I think he’s sweet on you!”

Bromwyn didn’t just blush; she felt her entire face go red. “I am sweet on him too.”

“Wonderful!” The baker made as if to pinch Bromwyn’s cheek, then thought better of it. “Lady Witch, if I may: My boy, he’s got a good heart, even if he tends to be lazy. But he gets into trouble, as you know. Would you keep your eye on him? And if he gets in over his head again, would you help him?”

“Of course,” Bromwyn said.

The baker dimpled a smile. “Thank you, Lady Witch. You’ve made this mother very happy. Oh look, here’s my lay-about of a son.”

“Mam,” Rusty said, affronted. “I’ve been working my fingers raw without a break!”

“Only because I threatened to chain you to the stove!” Mistress Baker harrumphed. “Go on, then. Take your break. At least that fool hat of yours will keep the rain off of your head. Hmm,” she said, squinting out the window. “Actually, it looks like the rain’s stopped for now.”

“Thank you for the cookie,” Bromwyn said.

Mistress Baker waved her off. “Go, go, go. The sun won’t be out for long.”

Rusty grinned hugely and nearly leaped out of the store, with Bromwyn close behind. They wove their way around the other villagers, finally coming to the cartomancer’s, where Bromwyn led him up to the roof.

Alone, the two looked at each other, and then they both began speaking at once.

“Winnie, last night—”

“Rusty, I must tell you—”

They stopped, and laughed quietly, and then Rusty said, “I know it’s supposed to be ladies first, but I have to say this now, Winnie.”

Biting her lip, she nodded.

He took a deep breath. “Look, I know I said some things before the challenge yesterday, serious things, and I’d be lying to you now if I said I was lying to you then. But I don’t want you to worry about any of that,” he said firmly. “You’re promised to the blacksmith’s apprentice, and I’m due to wed the bakery, so that’s all there is to it, and there’s nothing else to discuss … ”

In the space between him taking a breath and him babbling, Bromwyn remembered something her mother had told her yesterday, before the insanity of Midsummer had begun.

When you love someone, you give up part of your soul.

But it wasn’t losing anything, she realized, listening to Rusty talk nervously and not hearing a thing he was saying. If anything, she was gaining from it.

Love was a silly thing. A wonderful, powerful, silly thing.

“Rusty,” she said, “shut up.”

And because he didn’t, she decided to shut him up. Her lips fit perfectly on his, and for a lovely piece of forever, they kissed.

After, Rusty said to her, “Well, this makes a right mess of things, doesn’t it?”

“Perhaps not so much.”

“Oh, really?” Hope sparkled in his eyes. “Were you going to say something before you attacked my lips with yours?”

Grinning, Bromwyn told him that she no longer had to marry Brend.

Rusty whooped and kicked his heels in the air, and then he grabbed her hands and shouted, “A dance to celebrate this happy news!”

And so they danced across her mother’s rooftop, laughing and thrilling in the moment. When they were done, they held each other closely. Bromwyn leaned her cheek against his, and she felt his smile against her skin.

“This,” Rusty said, “is very good.”

She murmured, “Very good indeed.”

“You know, until your visit, I’d been having a bad day. I think you need to visit more often.”

“As often as you like,” she said. “Unless, of course, I am studying with Grandmother.”

“Of course,” he agreed. “If there’s one woman I don’t ever want to anger, it’s your granny.”

“Very wise.”

“See that? I
can
learn.” He kissed her again, just a gentle press of his lips on hers. “I have to get back. The shop’s a mess—the fey really know how to leave their mark. Flour everywhere; sugar turned a color that I don’t think exists. Whole thing’s been quite the shock for my folks. They were lost this morning until I got started with the clean up. How they manage when I’m not there, I’ll never know.”

She grinned. “I can hardly believe my ears! Sir Baker, eager to return to work? Who would have thought it possible?”

“Maybe you’ve been a good influence on me.”