Page 13 of Sweetling
And you are no fun.
Probably not. Although, this little parrying with the princess did give him some pleasure. Her quick mind was evident, and with a little polishing, her skills as a politician and diplomat would be unrivaled.
“He’s pleased to hear it, princess. He’s glad to have met you.”
A look of wonder overtook Princess Isolde’s face. “Can you talk to him?”
“Of a sort.” He tapped his temple. “We speak through a bond, forged by magic in our minds.”
Her mouth opened in awe. “Fascinating! You must tell me all about it.”
Allarion smiled. “Someday, princess.”
The sound of heavy drums perked his ears, and he turned to listen.
“First, though, I think you’ll want to see this.” Offering his arm, he led the princess back through the stables after she said her farewells to Bellarand.
“Are those drums?” she asked as the heavy beat began to build.
They made the courtyard, emerging into saturated, late-afternoon sunshine. Much of the crowd in the courtyard gathered near the center, where space had been cleared for dancing.
“It looks like the heiress has had her way.” When the princess looked up at him curiously, he explained, “The orcs are doing one of their mating dances.”
Her eyes sparkled with interest, and together they rejoined the crowd, eager to see the new lord consort dance for his bride.
3
Some Months Later
Summer came and went, the early autumn harvesttime bringing Molly plenty of busywork. Apple harvests were quickly pouring into Dundúran, and it was the pivotal time of year that all the taverns and alehouses secured the next year’s contracts with the cider breweries.
Between that, helping run and serve the tavern, and sewing new clothes for nine-year-old Rory, the penultimate of Uncle Brom’s brood, who was in the midst of her third growth spurt of the year, Molly’s hand and mind always seemed busy. She enjoyed this time of year, enjoyed haggling with the brewers and conferring with her fellow pub-folk. The air cooled, making the tavern itself less stifling, and she herself preferred the winter selection of brews they carried over summer’s.
Lady Aislinn and Lord Hakon had just returned home from visiting his people to the south, in some far-off orc city Molly could hardly imagine it was so distant, and the mood of the city was nearly as jovial as the time around the wedding.
With their heiress returned and the coming harvest festivals, Dundúran was poised to celebrate. She’d already put her name in at the castle and with Mayor Doherty to work as additional help in several coming events.
The thrill she’d gotten adding her handful of coins from the heiress’s wedding had sustained Molly for months. She eagerly awaited more opportunities. A few more days like that and she’d have enough to…
Well, she didn’t know what yet. Butsomething.By next year.
Just the thought of something happening, something that washers,had Molly practically bouncing between tables as she served today’s patrons. Not even the boring midday lull could dampen her spirits. That little stash meant a new life, one that was hers.
She would finally be mistress of her own destiny.
Molly’s life had been one chaotic spiral after another. She’d lost both parents at the age of ten to the awful wave of plague that hit the surrounding villages of Dundúran hard. Molly too had taken ill, and there were days she wished she’d gone with her parents into the afterworld, for what life was there worth living, left scarred as she was and all alone.
Her Uncle Brom, her mother’s younger brother, had taken her in, but it was hardly a kindness. It took a long time for her to adjust to the loudness of the city but especially the tavern. She’d never seen a noisy, drunk man before but witnessed at least six her first night in the city. There were so many people, smells, and noises, she’d hardly slept the first fortnight.
Uncle Brom expected her to work, too. When she’d learned the tavern well enough, he had her fetching things from the back, cleaning up tables, and washing dishes. She hadn’t even realized she was supposed to be attending lessons until someone reported Brom to the city council and he was obliged to send her with the other children to school.
She went, hoping to meet friends her own age like she’d had in the village, but she was already far behind. They saw her as a bumpkin and teased her accent. They gawked at the plague scars on her arms and legs and shrieked that she’d spread it to them. Molly quickly came to hate school, but she went, because it got her out of the tavern.
Molly’s figure came along earlier than a lot of the other girls. Her breasts grew round and her hips wide and suddenly all the boys wanted to talk to her. At first, she’d liked their attention, and toying with them had taught her how to coax a coin out of the older patrons at the tavern. Watching how she could make the other girls jealous was its own kind of ugly pleasure, and Molly wasn’t shy.
What she learned from that time was to find the line she had to toe. It was different for every boy and man, that when crossed, they thought they had invitation to touch. For some it was as simple as a wink or a kind word. She also learned she hated being grabbed and touched. When they tried it, most weren’t shy, either. They went for it all, taking as much as they could get until rebuffed. So Molly learned and honed her instinct.
It was that instinct that had her keeping herself awake one night, her suspicions roused. When her door had creaked open during the darkest hours of night, and she recognized the heavy tread of her uncle entering her room, Molly acted. She threw a dagger through the dark, slicing his shirt sleeve.
