Page 18 of Sweetling
Molly had thought—all night. Brom hadn’t left her alone without a tentative promise that she would agree to it. The words slipped out of her numb mouth, mostly to get rid of him so she could hide away in her room.
All night she lay there, staring at the ceiling. She could hardly believe that in the short conversation between Uncle Brom and the fae, they’d haggled overher. That her uncle would sell her didn’t surprise her—what did, and what hurt most, was knowing that Allarion, her mysterious tavern wraith, hadbought her.
She hated him for it.
What did they truly know about the fae? Most of the legends and myths about them made their kind out to be scheming and cutthroat. Perhaps Molly should’ve listened to the fairy tales.
Not all of them ended in beautiful, flower-festooned weddings.
The thought of the wedding, the castle, the heiress, had her sitting up in bed. Without thinking, she’d shoved her feet into boots and hurried to the bedchamber door.
The Darrows won’t allow this. They won’t let him buy me.
Opening her door revealed Brom sitting just down the hall in a chair he’d brought up from the tavern. He sat whittling by candlelight, his little paring knife catching the glint of the small flame.
He looked at her with his face cast half in shadow.“You’re going with him tomorrow, Moll,”he’d said in that low, threatening voice he saved for special occasions.“What you do after, I don’t care. Run away, start a new life.”
She’d stared at her uncle’s hardened face for a long while, searching it for…something. She’d known him longer than her own parents—he’d been the one constant in her life, loathsome as he often was. In the dark, faced with an uncertain dawn, Molly did something she swore she’d never do.
She begged.
“Don’t make me go.”
Brom’s beard twitched.“You’re clever, you’ll get on just fine. Do it for the little ones. They’ll never want for anything ever again, Moll.”
The weight of the decision was heavy, even if it was no decision at all. They both knew she stood no chance when he spoke of the children. Molly loved her cousins, wanted them to have everything she didn’t.
If fae money could buy it…
“You swear? The money will be for them?”
“On my life, I swear it.”
Molly watched his face a moment longer, unsure if she believed him. Perhaps it was enough money that, even if he indulged himself in whatever he wanted, which she knew he would, there’d at least be plenty left over for Bryan and the girls.
Bryan, who was twenty and had left the tavern as quickly as he could, could quit the apprenticeship he hated and finally have the money to sponsor his training to be a knight. Such a rise would take the whole family with him—they’d be respectable, well thought of. Merry could hone her brilliant mind at an academy in Gleanná, where she’d be challenged and recognized for her gifts. Nora, Rory, and Oona could have dowries or inheritance to build their lives.
“All right,”she forced through a throat closed tight in terror.
She’d meant what she said then, even as morning dawned and shed a surreal light upon the situation. Molly seemed to swim through the day, her attention like the sunlight trying to filter through the morning clouds. It was as if she watched herself gather her meager belongings, packing all her worldly possessions and a few provisions into two canvas bags.
All day Brom hovered, reminding her of her promise, of what this would mean for the Dunnes. He darted out to make arrangements but reappeared every hour, ensuring Molly was still there and willing.
At least, as willing as you could make a bought bride.
Her annoyance was what finally broke through her daze, and in a show of the temper she’d been trying to master for years, she shoved him out of her room and slammed the door in his face.
“I said I’d do it!” she yelled at the door.
Brom grumbled on the other side. “I’ll go see what’s keeping the mayor.”
Molly snorted in disgust before turning on her heel to get back to packing.
All four of the girls had crowded into her room, the three youngest—brilliant Merry, boyish Rory, and talkative Oona—piled on her narrow bed while the eldest, Nora, sixteen and haughty, made a nuisance of herself by the window. She ostensibly was picking through the things Molly had decided not to bring with her, even though Nora had scoffed she wouldn’t like any of her things.
Really, Nora wasn’t ever to be left out of anything. Aloof as she might be, she dreaded missing out.
Nonplussed by Molly’s outburst, the three younger girls got back to wondering aloud what the fae and his house would be like.
