First Light (4 page)

Grimacing, he looked up.

“You will remove your loathsomeness from my presence,” she ordered.

“I’m
trying
to.”

She caught his flinch as he looked at her. Perhaps someday she’d poke his eyes out, too. Unfortunately, for now, she needed him as whole as possible.

“An enchanted fire was spotted in eastern Canelia, though the fairy who started it was not captured.”

Hale’s mouth curved upward. “Thwarted again, Mother.” He wrenched his fingers from beneath her shoe.

Nadamaris ignored him. “My spies traced the sparks to a remote farmhouse but found

only an old man, an aged farmer, and he would not tell them of the fairy.”

“No worries then,” Hale said sarcastically. “I’m sure a few days with you will be enough

to loosen his tongue— provided you don’t remove it.”

“He is already dead.” Nadamaris crumpled the parchment in her hand, yet furious

at the news it contained. “They set the house afire, trapping him inside.”

“And the little fairy is long gone. Never to return.” Hale laughed. “And you call
me
incompetent.” Demonstrating he was the opposite, he gripped the overturned chair and used it to pull himself to a standing position.

“I do.” The queen leveled her gaze at him. “You’ve had nearly eighteen years to claim your bride, and you’ve failed to do so repeatedly. Only because you are my— flesh and blood—” the words came out in a choked sort of way— “am I giving you another chance to prove yourself, to prove you’re not as worthless as your hideous foot."

“What do you want me to do?” Hale asked. “I’ll not hunt fairies. That’s a more hopeless pastime than trying to steal an enchanted, heavily guarded princess.”

“There is something else,” Nadamaris said. Mentally she began choosing another to

accompany him. She needed someone strong enough to help Hale, yet stupid enough that he wouldn’t realize the bracelet’s true value. “The rumors at the sea continue. It’s said there are pearls—”

“Ah.” Hale let out a long, slow breath, his face a curious mixture of regret and relief. “You’ve not only three gifts to fear but now the possibility of an enchanted bracelet as well. If it wasn’t before, your cause is most certainly lost now.”

“I fear nothing! And our cause is very much alive.” Nadamaris’s hands shot out, fingers flexed, nails extended. Staring at her son, she raked the air in front of her, watching with satisfaction as two sets of bloodied stripes appeared on either side of his face. Hale yelped and tried to turn away, but she held him fast with her gaze until the blood was dripping down to his shirt. Bored of the torture, she at last looked away, and he fell forward, alternately gasping in pain and cursing her.

Ignoring him, she examined her pristine nails, completely unaffected by the damage they’d inflicted. “So much easier this way,” she murmured with satisfaction, pleased once more that she’d mastered her visual and mind focus so well. It was one of her favorite tools in her ever-growing arsenal of powers. Life had been far less messy— for her, anyway— since she’d started doing everything remotely. She’d likely never have to touch anyone again.

Transformation was another of her choice abilities, and Nadamaris considered it now as she studied Hale, wondering if he might have better success acquiring the bracelet were he in another form.
A mouse perhaps?
But no. To intercept the pearls before they reached the capital of Canelia and the princess, he would have to travel a great distance. And— for all his other incompetencies— he
was
an excellent horseman.

At her inaudible command, Hale’s head snapped up, looking in her direction.

“Do not mistake fear for
want.
And do not fail to bring me what
I
want.” She turned to the table, staring once more at the flowers. “Before the final heart has bloomed, I want those pearls in my possession.”

“We’re stuck with her,” Eddie announced as he ducked under the low doorway and entered the cottage. He held a letter in his hand. “No one wants her— er—
you
,” he said, eyes sliding toward the corner of the room, where I sat with mortar and pestle, drying herbs spread across the table. It was obvious he hadn’t expected me to be inside, but out in the forest, where I spent most daylight hours.

“Give that to me,” Vetrie, my sister-in-law, ordered, snatching the parchment from his fingers. She opened it and squinted her eyes, trying to decipher the letters. Of course she couldn’t.

With a sigh I held out my hand.

Eddie took the letter— the eighth received over the past days— and handed it to me, albeit reluctantly. I pressed it flat on the table and moved the tallow candle closer. Though it was midday, the sod home, built into the side of a hill, let in little sunlight. Skimming the letter, I saw that it was from my sisters Cassandra and Brianna. That left only my eldest sister, Cecilia, who had not responded to Eddie’s plea, and I’d heard him confiding in the night to Vetrie— when they’d believed me long asleep— that he didn’t believe we would hear from Cecilia. She lived so far away and had been so long removed from our family, that he doubted she’d feel any sympathy for our plight.

“Have you forgotten how to read? Get on with it,” Vetrie snapped, flapping her hands toward the parchment.

Suppressing another sigh, I passed over the formalities and cleared my throat, getting right to the heart of the matter.

“‘We understand how frightfully difficult it must be finding anyone to take Adrielle, the poor child being both dull-witted and clumsy to boot. Heaven knows, with our busy lives, we could do with someone to wash and launder. However, the thought of broken crockery and scorched undergarments is too horrible to bear.’”

“Of all the wretched, rotten, selfish…” Vetrie muttered.

I’d have been inclined to agree with her, were she describing herself. Though she did have a point about my two sisters. When they’d lived at home, they treated me little better than a servant, and I didn’t imagine much would be different now. They boarded in the village, scraping together a living as seamstresses, though really they’d always thought themselves above such work—
any
work. A more snobbish and sulky pair I’d never known.

I continued reading.

“‘Adrielle is trouble enough on your tiny farm. One can only imagine the difficulties such a simple-minded thing could get into in an actual village such as ours. If she weren’t so scrawny and stubborn, you might be able to trick some unwitting farmer into marrying her to one of his more boorish sons, but 'tis likely even a country bumpkin would send her back. The best we can all hope for her is a scullery maid position in a kitchen with rather thickish plates and cups and nowhere near the ovens, or any open flame for that matter…’”

Head downcast, I read the remainder of the letter silently, my eyes smarting from their rebukes.

“I won’t have it.” Vetrie planted her hands on ample hips as she squared off, facing Eddie. He sent her a silencing look.

“Adrielle, go up to the barn and do the milking for me.” I could tell his tone was meant to be kind, but there was a definite strain in his voice.

“Of course.” I left quickly, though I knew as well as he that the cow shouldn’t be milked for at least another two hours.
Anything to get away from Vetrie.
But I did not get away quick enough. I’d scarce crossed the stoop outside when her words carried through the open window.

“I won’t be having a murderer live here. Who knows what she’d likely do to me, what with the way she burnt her own father to a crisp.”

I fought back tears as I crossed my arms in front of me to ward off both the chill outside and the cold words stabbing at my heart. My thin, too-large, hand-me-down dress slipped from my shoulder, and I yanked it back up in a fit of anger. I started to turn toward the cottage. intending to march back in and face Vetrie and say something equally hurtful to her.

Patience, Adrielle.

The thought, words Father had spoken to me many times, gave me pause. I resisted the urge to lash out, instead taking the time to think things through— something I seldom did but oft wished I had. If neglect and impulsive behavior had been my trademarks before, I vowed care and thoughtfulness would now replace them.
I must do better. For Mother and Papa.

I took a deep breath and walked farther from the house, away from the raised voices within. The truth was, I didn’t want to live with my brother and sister-in-law. Not only was their home damp, smelly, and depressingly dark, but I was fairly certain Vetrie was right. I
might
kill her if I stayed here. After little more than a fortnight in her company, I was already imagining possibilities for her demise.

When the ceiling dripped and crumbled, I wondered what would happen if the entire roof were to cave in— while she was home alone. When she drove to visit her parents, I imagined a wheel breaking and the wagon going over the steep embankment. The times she nodded off in the afternoon sun, I daydreamed of what would happen if she simply never woke up. But should one of those come to pass— whether I intended it or not—that could be my ruin as well.

What if I really can make terrible things
happen just by thinking them?
It was an awful thought. But I had wanted Mother to leave me alone.
And then…

There was similar talk among the local folk; I’d heard the rumors from Vetrie herself. How was it possible that I, known healer in these parts, had not been able to save my own mother? And worse, why had I started the fire that killed my father? Before Mother died, I had been a friend and helper to many. With her passing, and Father’s horrific death, that changed.

I couldn’t answer their accusations, so I rarely left Father’s property. Shame and sorrow forced me to the woods most days. No one was there to hear me weep, and the continuous task of searching out, collecting, and preserving plants felt soothing. I knew what I gathered might be used to heal another, and that was the closest I would get to bringing my parents back.

Aside from the trouble I’d be in if Vetrie met with misfortune of any sort, I knew Papa would have been disappointed in me if he knew my thoughts regarding her. This bothered me even more than the knowledge that everything about me had disappointed Mother. Silently, I vowed again to be better.

But I could not be better here. The cottage was cramped, and my sleeping on the floor beside Eddie and Vetrie’s bed had done neither’s temper any good. It was plain I was not wanted— not wanted anywhere just now. I needed to go somewhere I might be useful and valued.

Or, at the very least, not loathed.

I stopped when I reached the road. One direction would take me to our homestead and all that was familiar yet painful. I knew the other way led to Willowbie, though I could not recall ever having gone there. If I went now, could I find a position with room and board? Maybe someone would hire me to scrub floors or wash laundry, though it was depressing to think of being bent over a floor or washtub all day, my hands raw and red from lye.

But I cannot stay here. What else can I do? What service can I provide?
Mentally I tallied the skills I possessed and found none to be desirous for long-term employ, except—

What if I worked for the apothecary?
The possibility resurrected a smile my face had not held in weeks. I knew the flora of our hills and valleys by heart. Before Mother’s death, I’d often gathered the precious plants and sold them to the tinker when he came through. From there, he took them to Willowbie for use by the local apothecary.
Would he not favor a girl with my kind of skill in his shop?

I took several steps toward home and crested the hill that looked down on what had been our farm. On the distant horizon storm clouds clustered angrily.
Come this way,
I silently begged. But they never did. It was as if something in the heavens had broken and the clouds were restrained from entering our land. Perhaps old McClurry was right and God’s wrath was upon us.
Upon me
.

My eyes were again drawn to the patch of scorched earth. After the fire, nothing of the house remained, and even worse— there had been nothing of Father left to bury. Sometimes at night, when my sorrow was too great to bear, I allowed myself to imagine that he had escaped. He had gone in search of help, and any minute now, he would be returning to bring me to our new home.

You must find your new home, Adrielle.
I imagined his kind voice guiding me. Finding strength in it, I turned my tear-filled eyes away from the blurred images below.

“I will, Papa.” With untested courage, I started down the road toward Willowbie.

I’d walked but a few minutes when hoofbeats sounded in front of me. I half-stepped then jumped off to the side as a sleek, black carriage thundered toward me at breakneck speed. It careened to a halt, barely avoiding running me over. I coughed as dust billowed around my feet.

The driver, a plump little old
woman
—
Women drive carriages?—
dressed in baggy trousers and a rather tight jacket called to me. “Mistress Adrielle?”