agrees with you,” Jenn declared with satisfaction.
Roses bloomed along those high cheekbones, but Peggs merely shook her head. “And you’re changing the subject.”
The subject being Jenn taking that first step beyond Marrowdell, though the process wasn’t so much a step as a desire and intention to be somewhere and someone entirely not here and her?
Changing it was exactly what she wanted to do. “I’ll hang these.” Jenn grabbed an armload of steaming shirts and headed for the door. She paused to look over her shoulder. “I promise to tell you.”
That won her the smile she’d hoped. “I suppose I should be grateful you’ve decided to talk about this at all. If not with me, then with—” Peggs waved the big paddle, shedding bubbles “—someone.”
By which she meant “someone” who knew everything. Oh, each and every resident of Marrowdell had their version of what had happened at the fall equinox, when the eclipse had passed over the valley on the Ancestors’ Golden Day. Most believed Uncle Horst had succumbed to old guilt and tried to leave the valley, only to be mauled by a bear. How fortunate the tinkers had still been in the valley to help heal his wounds.
Most believed the mysterious and magical Wyll, once Jenn Nalynn’s promised husband, had spurned her and also left, for good. Both events, it was tacitly agreed, had been for the best, Horst now happily married to Riss Nahamm and Wyll, never easy company, surely better off elsewhere.
Few knew the whole truth. Wainn and Wen, of course, who likely knew more. Bannan. Peggs and Kydd. Radd Nalynn, because his daughters had blurted it all out over supper and who, to his credit, had merely nodded and gone a bit pale. Aunt Sybb? It was difficult to say if the Lady Mahavar would bother with the truth, being unsettled by magic and toads at the best of times, and they’d promised their father not to disagree with their aunt’s view of things, whatever that became.
Of the rest, Jenn suspected nothing in Marrowdell slipped the notice of Master Dusom, Kydd’s elder brother, or Old Jupp, but none of them spoke of it. She hoped Uncle Horst had told Riss, which was their business and not hers, but surely Riss deserved to know he’d almost died defending Jenn Nalynn so she could reach the Verge to save the sei—and, not incidentally, Marrowdell itself—and that Wyll hadn’t left at all, but had been returned to his true self.
A dragon named Wisp.
Jenn slipped through the doorway, her breath joining the steam from the damp clothing. It wasn’t quite winter, but her fingers numbed as she hastily pegged shirts, shirtwaist, and—oh, yes—a pair of men’s full undergarments that did not belong to their father. She managed not to drop them or blush.
Back inside, Jenn ducked under the line of clothing hung across the kitchen and planted herself on the second last rung of the ladder that, before the equinox and weddings and all else, had led to her bedroom as well as Peggs’. “Nice underwear your husband has,” she commented, reaching chilled hands toward the cookstove with its bubbling pot of laundry. Every window stood open despite the cold outside; it was that, or have the entire house smell of wet cloth and soap.
“I’m sure Bannan’s are more modern,” her sister retorted.
“Peggs!”
“When he wears any.” With a wink.
Jenn launched a soggy sock. Laughing, Peggs caught it in midair and sent it flying back, but not before Jenn found another, then another. When they finally ran out of socks, the pair settled side-by-side on the stair, laughter subsiding. “Were you tempted?” Peggs asked quietly.
Jenn leaned into her sister’s shoulder. “To stop him? For a moment. But the others need him. After all. There could be bandits.”
“More likely a baby.” Both chuckled then shook their heads. There’d been no arguing with Hettie, who’d pronounced, firmly, that babies were like calves and would be born whenever and wherever
Roses bloomed along those high cheekbones, but Peggs merely shook her head. “And you’re changing the subject.”
The subject being Jenn taking that first step beyond Marrowdell, though the process wasn’t so much a step as a desire and intention to be somewhere and someone entirely not here and her?
Changing it was exactly what she wanted to do. “I’ll hang these.” Jenn grabbed an armload of steaming shirts and headed for the door. She paused to look over her shoulder. “I promise to tell you.”
That won her the smile she’d hoped. “I suppose I should be grateful you’ve decided to talk about this at all. If not with me, then with—” Peggs waved the big paddle, shedding bubbles “—someone.”
By which she meant “someone” who knew everything. Oh, each and every resident of Marrowdell had their version of what had happened at the fall equinox, when the eclipse had passed over the valley on the Ancestors’ Golden Day. Most believed Uncle Horst had succumbed to old guilt and tried to leave the valley, only to be mauled by a bear. How fortunate the tinkers had still been in the valley to help heal his wounds.
Most believed the mysterious and magical Wyll, once Jenn Nalynn’s promised husband, had spurned her and also left, for good. Both events, it was tacitly agreed, had been for the best, Horst now happily married to Riss Nahamm and Wyll, never easy company, surely better off elsewhere.
Few knew the whole truth. Wainn and Wen, of course, who likely knew more. Bannan. Peggs and Kydd. Radd Nalynn, because his daughters had blurted it all out over supper and who, to his credit, had merely nodded and gone a bit pale. Aunt Sybb? It was difficult to say if the Lady Mahavar would bother with the truth, being unsettled by magic and toads at the best of times, and they’d promised their father not to disagree with their aunt’s view of things, whatever that became.
Of the rest, Jenn suspected nothing in Marrowdell slipped the notice of Master Dusom, Kydd’s elder brother, or Old Jupp, but none of them spoke of it. She hoped Uncle Horst had told Riss, which was their business and not hers, but surely Riss deserved to know he’d almost died defending Jenn Nalynn so she could reach the Verge to save the sei—and, not incidentally, Marrowdell itself—and that Wyll hadn’t left at all, but had been returned to his true self.
A dragon named Wisp.
Jenn slipped through the doorway, her breath joining the steam from the damp clothing. It wasn’t quite winter, but her fingers numbed as she hastily pegged shirts, shirtwaist, and—oh, yes—a pair of men’s full undergarments that did not belong to their father. She managed not to drop them or blush.
Back inside, Jenn ducked under the line of clothing hung across the kitchen and planted herself on the second last rung of the ladder that, before the equinox and weddings and all else, had led to her bedroom as well as Peggs’. “Nice underwear your husband has,” she commented, reaching chilled hands toward the cookstove with its bubbling pot of laundry. Every window stood open despite the cold outside; it was that, or have the entire house smell of wet cloth and soap.
“I’m sure Bannan’s are more modern,” her sister retorted.
“Peggs!”
“When he wears any.” With a wink.
Jenn launched a soggy sock. Laughing, Peggs caught it in midair and sent it flying back, but not before Jenn found another, then another. When they finally ran out of socks, the pair settled side-by-side on the stair, laughter subsiding. “Were you tempted?” Peggs asked quietly.
Jenn leaned into her sister’s shoulder. “To stop him? For a moment. But the others need him. After all. There could be bandits.”
“More likely a baby.” Both chuckled then shook their heads. There’d been no arguing with Hettie, who’d pronounced, firmly, that babies were like calves and would be born whenever and wherever
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