Page 21 of The Court the Fae Forgot
The day before our market trip had arrived. The last of the grain had been milled and packaged into neat sacks, already loaded onto the cart for tomorrow’s trip. I trudged up the hill from the mill, my feet heavy enough to drag through the mud with each step.
I wasn’t sure which weighed more heavily on me, the physical task of milling the fae’s flour over the last four weeks, my daily workload more than doubled, or the mental weight of trying to prepare myself for what I was about to do.
Or, what Ishouldhave been preparing for, anyway.
I should have been focusing on the task at hand, on preparing my body for the theft supposed to take place that very night, but the moment I saw Ada’s face where she waited for me at the top of the hill, one hand planted firmly on either of her hips, all other thoughts fled.
Her childish features were drawn taught in displeasure, the accusation that knitted her brows together mirrored in the words she greeted me with.
“What’s wrong with you?” she asked, huffing out a long breath. “Don’t you know what tomorrow is?”
Of course, I knew what tomorrow was.
More importantly, however, was whattonightwas. Tonight was the night that I would steal the coin I’d earned over the last month and used it to buy my freedom.
I couldn’t tell her that, of course, as much as I ached to.
Ada didn’t wait for my answer, just pointed up at the tight plaits of her hair, fastened by fingers far less kind than mine. “You weren’t here to braid it, so Mama did. Now I have a headache, and it’s all your fault.”
I fixed her with a tired look. “Are you … are you serious, Ada?”
I didn’t mean to be short with her, the last thing I wanted her to remember passing between us was harsh words, but I was too tired to hide my disappointment for once. I held out my hands for her to see the cracked, bleeding callouses. “I couldn’t have braided your hair even if I tried,” I said, exhaustion seeping into every word. My body and mind were spent, every muscle and bone and fiber of my being finally broken from the last few weeks of work. Even food, the meager rations reluctantly passed my way once the bowls were nearly empty, didn’t seem to satisfy the exhaustion anymore.
I was on the brink of breaking. I wasn’t entirely sure I’d even have the strength to escape, to take off into the forest with my heavy purse weighing me further down. The thought of it now was almost enough to make me reconsider my decision.
Almost.
I watched as Ada struggled to pretend the sight of my red-stained hands didn’t bother her. She kept her brows knitted close together, but she couldn’t help the way her voice softened.
“You’re just jealous,” she said, sticking her bottom lip out in a pout.
I laughed at that—not because she was wrong, but because she was right. Of course, I was jealous of her. Who wouldn’t be jealous of the sister who could do no wrong, whose worst crime was the crime of being related to you?
The sound only riled Ada up again, her arms pulling tight across her chest as she stammered out, “You don’t even want me to go to school.”
The laughter in my throat died at that.
Something began to squeeze deep inside my chest in its place. “School?” I asked, the word sounding foreign on my tongue. “What are you talking about?”
Ada puffed out her chest as she fought off a sly smile. She was finally getting the reaction she was looking for.
“Mama and Papa are sending me to school,” she said, a little breathless now. “They’re making the first payment tomorrow. It’s the last day for enrollment, just in time for me to start this year.”
“The first … payment,” I echoed, my voice hollow. “Tomorrow.”
Ada cocked her head at me, annoyance creasing her forehead further. “You don’t believe me?”
“I …” I trailed off, finally shaking my head until my thoughts returned to me. “I don’t believethem.”
Ada followed at my heels as I took off toward the house. I shoved through the front door, ignoring the fact that I was tracking mud into the house as I stormed up to the wooden table where my parents both sat, heads bowed together as they counted out pieces of gold by the fading light of sunset.
They were discussing, as usual, the many things this new business could buy them—everything from a new cart to a new mill to a new me.
This time, however, there was a seriousness in their tone.
I caught only the tail end of their conversation, my mother’s voice a sharp whisper above the hammering of my own heart.
“This is the best second chance … I thought that we wouldn’t get another …”
