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Authors: Rachel Rossano

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BOOK: Wren (The Romany Epistles)
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“Dardon was right.” He appeared particularly pleased about
it, too. “She works fast and well.”

I glanced off after her willowy form as it stepped with
fleet, sure footing over the rows of plants. By the time I looked back at
Svhen, he was gone, moving after Wren in a more lumbering, but no less certain
manner. I couldn’t help being appreciative. In less than two days, this woman
earned the respect of two of my closest friends. Kat liked her. It was at the
very least an encouraging beginning.

I peered over to where Wren worked swiftly down the bean row
and realized why Dardon requested they move on from helping him. If I didn’t
get moving, I was going to be left behind. I bent my protesting back and
attended to the nearest plant.

 

 

Wren

My back complained. The familiar ache brought back memories,
happy memories from home that I hadn’t dwelt on in years. As my hands and arms
repeated the motions of pulling up turnips and placing them in the wooden
buckets provided by the limping farmer and his painfully thin wife, I reveled
in the clean smell of rich earth and the way it crumbled between my fingers. If
I concentrated very hard, I could hear Ilara’s humming as she worked and Sam’s
syncopated thuds as he bumped the turnips against the side of his barrel.
Somewhere overhead a falcon cried and the smell of freshly baked bread wafted
on the breeze coming from the kitchen. My mouth watered at the thought.

“Ho, here comes trouble.” Dardon’s rich bass brought me out
of my daydream. I straightened under the guise of easing my back muscles and
peered into the setting western sun. We had only an hour of sunlight left and
two rows apiece to finish before completing the turnip patch.

“Who is it?” I asked, shading my eyes to focus on a trotting
cluster of horses coming over the rise from the village.

“Orac’s enforcer, by the crest on his livery.” Dardon swore.
“Best keep your head down. And you should probably hide this.” He plucked my
sheathed knife from my hair. My heavy braid fell down my back with a soft thump
as he offered the knife back to me hilt first. “He will have his men confiscate
it if he sees it.”

I nodded. Stowing the knife, one of the three I brought with
me, in my boot, I pulled my trousers over the hilt, hiding it from sight. Then
I returned my attention to the task. I listened to the creak and groan of the
leather horse tack as the small party approached. When they came parallel with
the edge of the field, I cautiously stole a glance at them out of the corner of
my eye.

“You, woman,” a voice called out. I lifted my head to find
the men stopped on the road and a tall, lanky man beckoned to me.

“Yes, sir?” I set down my bin and proceeded to cautiously
cross to the road. I purposefully made my movements slow and weary. It wasn’t
difficult to do considering that was how I felt. Finally reaching the side of
the road, I studied the man’s knee. A lowly serf of the land wouldn’t look her
master in the eye though Wren, the bounty hunter, would have no problem doing
so. I would play the part. Tourth and the rest of the men’s survival depended
on it.

“Why don’t you wear a skirt, woman? Do you not know that
trousers are indecent?” The red satin of the man’s own trousers shone in the
sunlight. Cloth so fine demanded a price that would have paid for a dozen of
the rough practical kind I wore.

“I am sorry, sir.” I bowed my head lower. “I haven’t had
time to patch my skirt with the harvest coming in, sir.” I thickened my accent,
mimicking Old Alec from the tavern. “I’s had to wearn my brother’s trousers,
sir. It won' happen agin, your lordship.”

“You see that it doesn’t.” He surveyed the field behind me.
“I don’t see Farmer Ruther out there in the field. Why isn’t he there? He has a
half day’s respite to harvest his fields today.”

I swallowed my anger. The only reason Ruther received a half
day’s rest from fulfilling his work quota to the enforcer was because he
twisted his leg and he couldn’t stand. A masoner incapable of standing and
climbing ladders would produce little work.

“We’s friends of his from the next valley, sir. We’s helping
bring in the crops, Milord. I thinks he is up at his house, taking a small
rest.”

“Very well,” he replied. Then he kneed his mount forward,
knocking me out of the way. I landed a safe distance away as his cohort
followed in his wake, kicking up a cloud of dust that clogged my mouth, coated
the inside of my nose and stung my eyes.

“Are you well?” Dardon asked, rushing to my side as soon as
it was safe to do so. “You didn’t…?”

I spat in the dust at my feet and swiped at my face with my
sleeve, not that it was much cleaner. “He is bound for Ruther’s house. I don’t
think he is particularly suspicious, but I would recommend that we leave for
the night before he makes a return trip.” I beat my pants with my hands. Clouds
of pale dirt billowed from them.

“What did he say to you?”

I grimaced. “He asked why I was wearing trousers instead of
a skirt.”

Dardon’s eyebrows rose. “What did you tell him?”

“That my brother let me borrow his because I ruined my only
skirt. He said I should make sure I have a skirt for tomorrow.” We walked
companionably back toward the field where Tourth and Svhen waited.

“Do you even own a skirt?” Dardon asked. His tone hinted
that he suspected I didn’t. As much as I wished I could shock him by saying I
did, I honestly didn’t. He must have read it in my face because he laughed.
“Don’t worry. I am sure Kat will lend you one until you can purchase the fabric
for one of your own.”

I grimaced. I didn’t have anything against the idea of
skirts. I wore them for years. However, I tossed them aside when I left home. They
proved woefully impractical for a bounty hunter who is constantly climbing
trees, running through dense woods, and hunting for food. “I hardly think it
will be necessary. It isn’t as though I am going to be wearing it every day.”

However, I discovered, I would probably be doing just that
for the next few weeks at least. Tourth pointed out I would attract more
unwanted attention if I continued to work in the fields in trousers. I
reluctantly admitted his point, much to Dardon’s amusement. So, when we returned
home, Dardon announced it loudly to Arthus and Kat that I would be requiring
more feminine attire.

“Of course, you may have one of mine,” Kat immediately
offered. “I have plenty of frocks left from when times were better. They aren’t
all appropriate for working in the fields, but I am sure we can find something.
We can go searching after supper.”

“Just don’t get her too gussied up.” Dardon grinned. “We
might forget that she can kill us as easily as she can curtsey. Perhaps more
easily.”

I was sorely tempted to stick my tongue out at him, a
childish gesture I indulged in when I was seven and Arnan teased me about my
braids.

Kat lugged the large stew pot to the table, and the
organized chaos of dinner began. I leaned in to claim my portion. As I claimed
a spoon, I caught Tourth studying me. His dark eyes openly scrutinized my face
for a moment before Arthus bumped my elbow and jarred me out of their power. I
focused on my meal, but the back of my mind rubbed awkwardly over his
attention.
It is just that I am the newcomer, the unknown element,
I
theorized. However, when I glanced at him as I crossed to a quiet corner to
eat, he still watched me. His gaze wasn’t particularly intense, just mildly
observant. I tore into the bread and tried to follow the quick banter going
back and forth between Dardon and Arthus.

 

 

Tourth

She was a mystery, a complex puzzle that nagged me. An
appealing woman, though very unconventional with the skills of a huntsman, a
scout, and a farmer, she hardly fit any mold I knew of. She consumed her meal
with measured bites, watching and listening to the animated conversations
around her. I was certain she remained quite aware of my scrutiny.
Occasionally, with practiced nonchalance, she would lift her head and run her
gaze over my location. She never paused to show she saw I still watched. Then
she focused on Kat, sitting beside me, and smiled at her in a friendly way. She
knew how to watch people without being obvious.

“Why are you staring at Wren?” Kat laid a hand on my knee to
ensure I heard her. “If you keep it up, you are going to make her
uncomfortable.”

I smiled down at my sister. Her fair hair curled around her
face, drawing my attention to her features, delicate and lovely, just like our
mother’s. “I was just wondering where she came from.”

“Well you should wonder that while eating your food. It is
getting cold.” She patted my knee in a motherly fashion. “I don’t want you
getting sick. The farmers need our help. Besides, Svhen says she works fast in
the fields. You don’t want to drive her away when we need her most.”

I glanced over at Svhen in surprise. Even unapproachable,
unflappable Svhen fell under Wren’s spell. If I didn’t figure out something
quickly, I might lose any authority I had over the woman. At least Arthus was
untouched. For the moment.

 

 

Wren

After dinner, Kat and I left the current makeshift quarters
in search of clothing for me. I was surprised when Kat, lantern held aloft, led
me in the direction of the ruined keep.

“I thought it was useless,” I commented.

Kat shrugged. “It is ruined as a place to live. However, it
is a good place to store things that we don’t need or use often. I keep all my
extra clothing here. Dardon has a chest full of things he brought back from the
wars. Arthus stores a crate or two of books. He does not have time to read
except in the winter months. With the first snows he brings the crates into the
living quarters and reads out loud to us on the days we are all trapped
inside.”

Memories of Taerith’s low soothing voice filling my ears was
enough to make tears press against my eyes. With the sensations of Aquila’s
thin, small form pressed against my side and the steady rasp of Zoe’s fretful
pacing across the rushes on the floor, I was suddenly remembering the winter
that Aiden and Arnan were missing for three days during a winter storm. The
younger ones’ fear, sharp and keen, filled the air for those three days. Even
Taerith’s outer calm wore thin.

“Here they are,” Kat announced, pulling my thoughts
forcefully back to the present. She perched the lantern on the top of a stack
of boxes so that she could wrestle open the top of a crate at their base. I
stepped forward to assist her, but I was too late, the lid creaked open. “Just
like I thought,” she said, beckoning me to look with her. “There are plenty
here. Surely we can find one that will fit you.”

I quickly found myself disagreeing with her. The lavish
fabrics of the dresses she pulled from the trunk made my breath catch. The
reality of how far she and Tourth had fallen in their circumstances caught me
anew. Silk, fine wool, muslin, and lace slid from the contents with sighs of
delicacy. I was hesitant to touch the cloth for fear that the calluses on my
hands and the dirt beneath my nails would accidentally mar their beauty. None
of us girls growing up even dreamed that such luxury existed or that we should
even desire it. I tried to envision my sisters in the gauzy lace-bedecked dress
that Kat now held up to my shoulders.

“You are a bit shorter than me,” Kat observed. “That is an
easy thing to fix though.” She draped the dress over the pile on a nearby
crate. “I can always hem it for you.”

“I am supposed to be working in the fields,” I reminded her,
eyeing the rejects skeptically.

“There should be more casual ones at the bottom. I just like
to take these out sometimes and remember the past.” She paused. “So much has
happened since then.”

“How long has it been since…?” I let my voice fade away when
I saw the grief in her clear blue eyes.

“Two years.” She brushed a hand over the gray wool dress coat
and looked up at the ruined skeleton of the floor that had once hung above us.
“Mother and Father never even felt the pain. One moment asleep here, the next
with Deus in heaven, they never felt the heat of the flames or the fear of
watching them consume our life. In some ways Deus was gracious.” She lowered
her gaze to the cloth beneath her fingers. “At least, that is what Tourth
says.”

“You don’t agree?” I asked.

She shrugged and tilted her head to one side. “I think he is
right about them never knowing the pain of death. I do hope to see them again
after I die. However, I cannot help missing them and missing how things were
before.” She lifted her gaze to my face, studying the features. “Not just
before they died. I mean before Tourth left to fight for the king. He was
different then, less cautious and more carefree. I suppose it is as Arthus
says, the price of growing up, but I cannot help wishing to see more of his
lighter side again.”

I nodded. “At least you have him near you,” I pointed out.

Her eyes suddenly narrowed. “Do you have a brother?”

I smiled weakly. “Four brothers and four sisters.” When I
looked up to find her eyes round with surprise, I laughed.

“Where are they now?”

“I am not sure,” I admitted. The hollow place in my gut that
manifested every time I thought of them made my dinner sink like a rock in my
stomach. “We were separated about a year and a half ago. It is a long story.”

Realizing she was staring at me, Kat quickly resumed picking
through the clothing. “Are you in contact with them?”

“My falcons bring me news sometimes.”

“Oh!” She straightened, a brown woolen dress hanging from
her arm. “Tourth told me about your falcons. I would love to meet them
someday.”

“Are you sure? Tourth seemed quite in awe of the one he met
and all together they can be quite overwhelming.”

BOOK: Wren (The Romany Epistles)
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