Page 15 of The King’s Commander

Chapter Seven

Aedre

“Amma!” I sit up in my bed, surprised to see her in my chamber so early. My grandmother has never been an early riser.

“Good morn, my child.”

Though she uses the term each day, I smile every time. Opening the shutters, she moves toward my bed and sits. Amma moves more slowly of late, and it worries me.

“You spoke to your father last eve?”

Though our manor house is no castle, it is large enough to provide ample room for my father and me, my grandmother, and one maidservant. It is a comfortable home, the only one I’ve known.

“Aye.”

It was not a pleasant conversation, especially since I had to tell him I’d not be at the forge today. Balancing apprenticing for him and training with Amma has been a lifelong struggle, and one that I very much long to end.

“He was not happy, but I secured two bushels of grain from Lord Bailor for easing his joints, so Father was much appeased.”

“You kept the mixture in the pot until ’twas deep red?”

I throw off the coverlet and rise from the bed.

“Aye, Amma. And used hallowleek as well.”

“Oh?”

Plump, grey-haired, and always smiling, Amma is the most beautiful woman in the world to me. I look at her now as she waits for me to answer. For a moment, I’m overcome with a feeling of abundance. She’s so much more than a grandmother to me—she’s a friend and adviser. A teacher. What would I do without her?

Such silly thoughts this morn. Though no sillier than those I had as I laid my head down to sleep. The dark-haired commander refused to go away, even in my dreams.

I make my way to the basin on the table and pick up the cloth that sits beside it. “Do you remember the book Agnar brought back from his last voyage? From the healer in Stoughrock who told him of the hallowleek?”

Amma nods. “I remember.”

“I believe it worked, but will check on Lord Bailor today.”

“Agnar is in love with you, Aedre.”

My hand freezes over the bowl of lavender-scented water.

“Nay. He is but a friend.”

“Aedre?”

“Very well,” I admit. “Still, he is but a friend.” I resume my ministrations, running the wet cloth along my forearm.

“Your father is becoming impatient.”

I know it well.

“I’ve seen just twenty-five summers. Not an old maid . . .”

“But neither a youngin.”

Finished, I slip on a new shift.

“I will marry for love or not at all.”