Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

MAEVYTH

“ T hat had to be the most grotesque thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” Aleysia dabbed a cold cloth against my temple, as I sat in the parlor of the mortuary and watched a small crowd mingle. Much of the parish had apparently departed after the ceremony, but about half a dozen women stayed behind. Agatha’s few acquaintances from town, undoubtedly on the hunt for gossip about the bedeviled Bronwick girl who’d passed out. And looking to buy the morumberry oil that I should’ve been selling in the kitchen right then.

Seeming to catch onto my preoccupations, Aleysia sent a quick glance over her shoulder, toward the women who gawped at the two of us. “Don’t mind them, the gossipmongers.”

“They look at me as if I just crawled out of a grave.”

“Well, you do look a little peaked.” The smile on her face faded when I didn’t reciprocate. “You’re peculiar, is all, Maevyth. And nothing invokes fear quite like the peculiar.” Gentle strokes of the cloth calmed the clammy pangs of shock still gurgling in my chest. “Though, I do wonder what language that was.” Through the chaos still swirling in my head, Aleysia’s comment snapped me back to the moment.

“What? Who?”

“The prisoner. When he grabbed you, he spoke strangely. Some are calling it the devil’s tongue.”

“He spoke … Vonkovyan. What do you mean? He said–” I paused, not daring to say the words aloud, for fear that she might’ve thought me crazy. I’d heard those words clear as day, though.

“Unless he was talking in reverse, that was not Vonkovyan. It was entirely unsettling.”

A flare of cold danced across my arm where he’d touched it. How couldn’t she have understood his words, when they were so undeniably clear? Worse, how could he have possibly known what was written on the back of that letter?

“Maevyth.” Agatha’s stern voice snapped my attention toward where she hobbled alongside a tall, husky man with graying hair. Perhaps in his fifties, or so. He wore a tailored burgundy brocade jacket, and a matching high-neck waistcoat with all the trimmings that told me he came from wealth. “I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Moros.”

Introduce me? Agatha never introduced Aleysia, or I, to anyone who mattered. She considered the two of us a burden and an embarrassment. A roadblock to high society. “He’s recently returned to Foxglove Parish,” she kept on. “He owns mining companies stationed in the Sawtooth Mountains and Lyveria, but his family is here.”

I didn’t bother to ask what he mined. After the events of earlier, I had little energy to care. Reluctantly, I pushed to my feet to greet him properly, but he rested his palm against my shoulder.

“No need, dear. That was quite a horrific event earlier. I regret that you had to bear witness to such a thing. Rest, rest.” One small squeeze of my shoulder, and he released me.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Moros.”

“The Moros name is a staple here in Foxglove. A good family name.” Agatha gave an approving nod, as though she had any awareness of what made a good family.

I feigned a smile, less impressed by that bit of trivia. Names meant nothing to me, as I meant nothing to most. But also, I was suspicious. Because …. Why should I care?

“Aleysia, would you mind assisting Lolla in the kitchen?” Agatha offered an uncharacteristic adoring glance toward my sister, further stirring my suspicions.

“Lolla despises me being in the kitchen with her,” Aleysia challenged.

“Perhaps you will simply do as I say without argument, dear.” The dissonant warmth in Agatha’s voice had both of us glancing at each other, the concern clear in Aleysia’s eyes.

I offered a subtle nod to her, because who knew when Agatha’s smooth cordiality might crack?

My sister snorted, eyes on Mr. Moros as she sauntered past. “Yes, Agatha.”

Once out of the room, Agatha rested a hand against the man’s shoulder. “My apologies. She hasn’t been right since her father’s passing. It’s quite hard on a child.”

A lie. Aleysia had always been that way. Father’s death seemed to have pulled very little emotion out of her.

“No harm done. I’m certain your son’s passing has affected all of you, in some way, or another.”

“Stepson,” Agatha corrected. “He was Godfrey’s boy.”

“Ah, yes. Of course.” With a nod, Mr. Moros turned his attention back on me. “I’d like to invite you to brunch tomorrow, if you’d be so kind as to indulge me.”

A quick glance at Agatha showed her lips tightened, and she gave a curt nod that sent a spiral of alarm across the back of my neck. I opened my mouth to speak, suddenly speechless as it occurred to me why she’d introduced us. Agatha had never cared to socialize Aleysia and me. Particularly me, with my reputation. And prominent businessmen didn’t spare young women a glance without intention. “I’m afraid I can’t. Bible study.”

“Oh, I’m certain Sacton Crain would be happy to postpone.” The clip of Agatha’s tone told me she wasn’t happy with my response. “Of course she will join you, Mr. Moros. You honor our family with such an invitation.”

“No, I really–”

“Excellent. I’ll have a carriage sent to retrieve you.” He rubbed his hands together, and I noted rings of various colorful jewels along his fingers.

I’d once heard Agatha call a villager a whore for all the jewelry she’d worn. I should’ve brought it up just to nettle her, but my throat was still clogged with shock.

“Wonderful, how is noon?” Agatha actually smiled that time. In all the years I’d known the woman, I’d never seen her smile. A new wave of sickness crept over me, as I listened to the two of them settle plans on my behalf.

“Noon is magnificent.” Mr. Moros lifted my hand to kiss the back of my palm. The moment his dry lips pressed to my skin, my stomach flipped on itself, and on instinct, I retracted. The older man regarded me as if I’d slapped him across the face, and his eye twitched. He straightened upright and adjusted his cuffs, clearly ruffled by my rejection. “Until tomorrow.” On those parting words, he gave Agatha a chaste kiss on the cheek and walked away.

“What is this?”

“Your future.” She fussed with her sleeves, as though the conversation meant little to her. “You didn’t honestly think I’d carry the two of you the rest of your lives, did you?”

“You intend to marry me off to a man three times my age?”

“That older man offered three times the amount that a man your age could even dream of bidding.”

“You … sold me?” The word caught in my throat, while I fought to hold back the emotion gurgling in my chest. Sold . It sounded so cold. Like a worthless necklace of which she longed to be rid.

“How exactly do you think betrothals work, dear? You alone will help dig us out of this god-awful debt that your grandfather left behind.”

Grandfather hadn’t left behind debt. She’d acquired it on her own, a point I would’ve loved to have thrown in her face and laughed about, if I weren’t so enraged.

“You have cursed this family long enough,” she went on. “Fortunately for you, Mr. Moros isn’t an entirely superstitious man. Between you and your sister, I should earn enough dignity to show my face again.”

“You’re selling Aleysia off, as well?”

“Yes. I have someone in mind, though I’ve not yet proposed the idea. But he’s a disciplined young man who might keep her in line. Break that unbridled nature of hers.”

“I won’t.” Had we been alone right then and not watched by the straggling few parishioners who’d stuck around, I wondered if I’d have had the courage to smack her, as badly as my palm itched. “I won’t go. I refuse.”

“You don’t have a choice. He’s already paid. The man desires an heir, and you will give him one. And besides that, the entire parish saw that prisoner grab your arm and speak some foreign tongue. They’re convinced the two of you shared a devil bond. A few have already demanded a proper exorcism. Should you refuse Mr. Moros, well, I suspect you’ll find yourself at the mercy of the faithful.”

“He was delusional. Everyone knew he’d raved about … about the …”

“The what? You can’t even say it, can you? You play along well, Maevyth, but the truth is, there is a sliver of denial that you can’t help but pick and pick, and pick.” She hobbled closer, setting my nerves aflame again, and lifted a small tendril of my hair. “I remember the day your grandfather found you on the doorstep in your bassinet. I begged him to get rid of you, and he refused, the fool. Do you think it’s any coincidence that both he and your father met an early demise? Or that we’ve suffered only slightly less than the poor?”

An angry breath shot out of me, her accusation like a slap to the face. “Are you suggesting I’m at fault for these things?”

“I’m suggesting that you consider your choices. You have no future in Foxglove Parish, unless you long to live in the temple with your tongue severed. I’ve certainly no intentions of suffering the burden of your cursed existence, waiting for your knight in black armor to come and sweep you off. The best you can hope for is to marry a respectable man like Mr. Moros. And who knows, perhaps in time, he might help earn you favor in this community.”

“I don’t care about the favor of this community. Or Mr. Moros.”

“Then, what do you want, Child? For the Governor to strip you bare and prod you with a branding iron? Be careful. What little respect your adoptive father bestowed upon you, as a hero of the faith, can easily be swept beneath accusations of witchcraft. Be prepared to leave at noon tomorrow.” Sneering, she hobbled back toward the group of women standing off in a corner.

Ruffled by a flurry of new gossip they stared back at me, whispering amongst themselves.

I knew how quickly whispers could travel. How devastatingly serious they could turn. I lived it every day.

Agatha placed her hand on the arm of one of them and, with a glance back, whispered something that seemed to intrigue the woman, the way her brows lifted in surprise.

The betrothal, no doubt. It was sickening that it took a suitor to spare my reputation, my future. How tragic that a woman’s worth equated to the depth of a man’s pockets.

Having had enough social interaction for one day, I made my way up to the bedrooms. A figure at the top of the staircase brought me to a halt, and I gave a half smile in response to Uncle Riftyn grinning down at me.

“You’re not much for social gatherings, are you?” He plodded two steps down, pulling a cigarette from his pocket, and paused beside me. A thread of tension wound through me, as he remained too close, and I descended one step, clearing my throat.

Placing the cigarette between his lips, he smirked. “I don’t bite.”

“Excuse me,” I said, slipping past him, and made my way to the attic, where I skidded to a stop on finding Aleysia pulling on the sleeve of her dress. Frowning, I glanced back toward the staircase, where Uncle Riftyn had been moments ago.

She turned, smiling back at me. “Tired of haggard old women and men with wandering paws?”

“I just saw Uncle Riftyn a moment ago.”

“You did? Hmm. I had to take this wretched corset off. Couldn’t breathe. Do you remember the days when we’d roam around the house in nothing more than a shift? I can’t tell you how much I miss–”

“Agatha sold me.” I hated the tremble in my voice, the frailty in my words. That the wretched old woman could’ve so easily crawled beneath my skin that way.

“What?” The mirth on her face slipped into an icy stare. “What did you say?”

“She sold me to Mr. Moros.” Biting the inside of my lip failed to keep it from trembling and the sting in my eyes threatened tears.

Her jaw shifted. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“I wish I were.” The urge to tell her more, that Agatha had planned to sell her too, tugged at my chest, but doing so would only upset her more, and I needed Aleysia’s level head to help me think of a way to get us out of this. I needed her to problem solve instead of clamping up into denial.

“She can’t do that. I won’t let her do this. That wretched snake of a woman! If only The Red God had spared grandfather for her.”

“Aleysia. Stop. You’re only making it worse.”

“Worse? Did you glimpse the man by chance? It cannot get any worse, Maevyth. I could feel the awful things that must’ve slipped through his mind. The vile things he would do to a young and innocent girl.”

“And so, what am I to do! Sever my own tongue and beg the Red Veils to take me in? That’d certainly be the easiest solution!” The harsh tone I cut loose revealed only a fraction of the chaos inside of me, but I instantly regretted raising my voice to her. “Please tell me.”

“Run. We could run away.” Even Aleysia had a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. Running was foolish, after all.

“They’ll hunt us. He’s already paid.”

“There must be somewhere.”

It would’ve been principal for Governor Grimsby. He once had two men, lovers, hunted down and humiliated, tying them naked to a post in the town square, before he’d banished them to the woods. Two insolent women escaping marriage, what he considered to be a holy union of souls, would enrage the man. It would inspire a holy crusade after the two of us.

I shrugged and shook my head. “The woods? That is the only place they wouldn’t dare.”

Eyes stern, she crossed her arms. “Enough of that, Maevyth. You’re speaking of suicide. There are other options.”

“Like what?”

Her brow kicked up. “Like poison in his drink. A little Snake’s Tooth over the course of a couple months ought to do it.”

“What?” I stared back at her, searching for any trace of humor in her eyes, and found nothing. Nothing but apathy. “Are you mad?”

“I’d sooner watch him choke and bleed from his throat, than imagine you in his bed.” She stared off, a slight smirk playing on her lips, as if she were imagining such a thing right then.

“No. I’ll not put either of us in danger.” I paced, my mind spinning with thoughts. So many thoughts. We couldn’t run. We couldn’t change Agatha’s mind–the woman valued coin more than sentiment. More than life, it seemed. Any resistance would only get us punished, or banished, if the governor saw fit, and if he opted to show mercy, the alternative of becoming a Red Veil was about as clement as a blade stabbed in my throat.

Or tongue, as it were.

I taunted my head with the possibility of marriage and what it would mean for me. I’d hold higher rank than Agatha, as a married woman. The community would be forced to respect me. Acknowledge me. “He owns mines in Lyveria and Sawtooth. He’s exceptionally wealthy.” I could hardly believe those words had fallen from my lips, but they rang true, nonetheless.

“What are you saying?” Her lips twisted with repulsion. “You’re actually going to consider this? Foxglove Parish has plenty of fine young suitors?—”

“Who wouldn’t spare me a glance. Think for a moment, Aleysia. As a married woman, wife of a wealthy man, I’ll have rights. I can secure guardianship for you. Make you my ward.”

With a snort, she rolled her eyes. “Guardianship as my younger sister. How ridiculous. And why would I want to live in Mr. Moros’s home?”

Swallowing a gulp, I leveled my gaze. “Because she plans to sell you, as well.”

She pinned me with an incredulous stare and gave a slow shake of her head. “No. Uncle Riftyn would never allow it.”

“Uncle Riftyn?” That she would’ve even considered him as a possible solution, a savior, made me want to slap some sense into her. “What does he have to do with anything?”

“He cares for both of us.” Chin angled high, she busied herself, straightening the sheet on her bed that they’d undoubtedly crumpled with their tryst earlier. “Perhaps the only one in this house who does. He will speak to Agatha on our behalf. She adores him. She’ll listen to him.”

My frustration stewed, her ignorance grinding at my patience. “You’re delusional, if you think Agatha will entertain such a request. Or anything else involving you and her son.”

She whipped around, eyes narrowed on me. “What are you implying?”

“Stop toying with me. I see the way he flirts with you. Touches you. I’m certain it wasn’t coincidence I stumbled upon the two of you alone up here.”

While her right eye flickered, as it normally did in heated arguments, there was a spark of worry there. A kernel of doubt hidden beneath all that denial. “You’re the one who sounds mad now.”

Head tipped back, I groaned. “I’m your sister. I’m the only family you’ve got left. No lies, Aleysia. He may not be our uncle by blood, but he is a relation, and Agatha would sooner watch you suffer than risk her reputation.”

Brows tipped, she sat on the bed and chewed on her fingernail, the worry finally chipping away at her. It hadn’t been my intention to throw her into the same preoccupations that plagued my head, but I certainly wasn’t willing to entertain her fantasies that Uncle Riftyn would have anything to do with this. “Then, what do we do? I can’t survive the solitude and silence and celibacy of a Red Veil. The very thought of such a life … it would be absolute hell.” Her hand shook as she gnawed away at her nail.

Sighing, I sat down beside her and gently tugged her finger from her mouth. “We do as I said. I’ll secure my place, and I will have the authority to request that you live with us.”

Eyes closed, she huffed and shook her head. “I can’t …. I can’t let you do this. I don’t want to do this.”

I gave her arm a squeeze, drawing her eyes to mine. “She told me she would find someone suitable to breaking you, Aleysia. I can’t watch that happen. I won’t. Mr. Moros is respected. Perhaps he’s kind.”

It seemed as if I were watching all stages of trauma and grief flash across her face, and the way she stared off almost looked like she’d lost hope. “When is all of this supposed to happen?”

“Marriage? I’m not sure. I’m to join him for lunch tomorrow, though.”

Frowning, she stared down at the floor. “How are you so resigned to this? I would be crawling out of my skin right now.”

“It seems I don’t have a choice.”