Page 59 of Sweetling
But that was a worry for if she decided to stay—which she hadn’t.
Molly very much hadn’t forgotten her promise to herself, to take the fae for all he was worth and leave him. A small handful from this hoard would be worth far more than a vase and get her further through the world.
Taking all she could carry would set her up for life.
No need to stay at an inn or find work in Mullon—she could buy her own place and business. Added to her own stash of savings, she could do anything she wanted anywhere in the world.
A part of her, not so little, thought she certainly deserved it after everything she’d gone through in her life and short time with the fae.
She worked hard, she tried to be a decent enough person, and she’d sacrificed for her family.
As Molly turned the coins over in her hands, she knew she could take as much as she wanted and walk out the door. Somethinginside her suspected Allarion wouldn’t stop her. Bellarand was another matter, but at least the gold and gems would hurt more than sunflowers if she threw them at him.
Molly suspected Allarion would let her have them, and knowing that only soured her stomach.
She took a handful of coins and gems, but only enough to halfway fill her pocket. She didn’t know what she’d do with them, but it gave her some relief, to know they were there.
When she left the cellar, closing the door behind her, the house creaked in its despondent way.
“I don’t know,” she told it, “I just…want to know it’s there.”
Late that day, as the sunset painted the sky with brilliant peaches and lilacs, Molly stood in the bedchamber two doors down from hers.
Opening the door to the armoire, she stared at the small collection of fine gowns hanging there. She ran her fingers over the rich fabrics, admiring how the vibrant light of sunset caught on the gold threads and created shadows over the elegant draping and tight seams.
Whoever his friend was, she seemed the type of lady who he should want to run this house. A fine lady, who wore gowns and jewels and an iron will. Molly felt downright dowdy compared to the imaginary woman who could wear these gowns, the one who seemed a better match for a fae and his plans.
Molly was just a barmaid. Nothing special.
She knew dozens, hundreds of young women just like her. It didn’t make sense that out of all of them, even just the women who’d been at the well doing the washing that day, that she should be the one he chose.
Molly didn’t know if she believed his claim about fated mates and goddess gifts and destiny. Sure, she knew plenty of otherly folk believed in it, and that was fine for them, perhaps it worked that way for fae and dragons and orcs—but humans?Her?
Surely not.
No destiny, no goddess had ever turned to look at Molly.
And that was all right—she didn’t need fate or destiny to forge a life for herself. She knew better than anyone that nothing was just handed to people like her.
Handsome men riding up on a noble steed to save the day was for fairy tales.
And his steed was more of a pain in the ass than noble.
She didn’t need saving, nor fae magic, nor divine intervention. She didn’t need anything or anyone.
Then what do I need?
And…what do I want?
Those were the questions she kept leading herself back to. She didn’t know the answers.
If Allarion was to be believed, she could have anything she wanted; she need only ask. What that could be was a far more difficult question. Without the feeling of being coerced into this situation, of knowing the truth of her uncle’s treachery and her chance to set things back to the way they were, Molly found herself…reluctant.
She’d never disliked it here, per se. The house was an interesting, if strange companion. The same could even be said for Allarion.
Molly was comfortable, fed, doted on, even. Many others would be perfectly content with that.
Why can’t I be?
