Page 20 of The Court the Fae Forgot
For the first time in my life, my shoulders ached for the burden of the mill. It had been my prison for so long, but in one instant, one decision, one stroke of bad luck turned to good, it would be my freedom.
The mill had never been so prepared for the shipment of grain that arrived the very next day. Every nook and cranny of my tools was scraped and cleaned and washed, the quern-stone I’d be using to mill the fae’s flour polished to a shine as if it was brand new. Never before had I yearned for the stuffy heat of the mill, for the thudding sound of the millstone or the accompanying swears of my red-faced father working at my side as I did in the days that followed. I was up before dawn each morning, working late into the night, well past the hours that the millstone had finished grinding with my father passed out, red faced and snoring, at its side.
I was a prisoner yet, but that promise of freedom lit a fire in me that burned so bright I soon began to grow afraid it might burn me up with it. It was all I could do to keep from arousing suspicion in my parents, but there was no hiding the shift in me from my sister. I saw her watching me too carefully, her eyes narrowing with more and more suspicion as the days went on and I showed no sign of slowing.
We’d promised to deliver ten bags of flour. I made twelve.
Not a single grain was wasted.
Not when every grain brought me that much closer to my escape.
It was with only the slightest disappointment that it wasn’t the fae Finch who came to collect the first batch of flour when the week was up. The courier that came was a human through and through, his cart driven by ordinary horses that didn’t lean in to listen to the gentle whispers of their master.
At first, I felt guilt knowing my plan was to rob my own family blind—but that soon faded in all but one regard.
Ada.
I wished there was a way I could take her with me, but the risk was too great.
We’d both known the day would one day come when we’d be parted. Now, with each week bringing in more coins for my parents to replace me with, the time had come to face that reality.
Soon, too, news of their good fortune would spread, and Rayner’s offers for my hand would have to rise. I just had to hope my parents’ greed was enough of a motivator for them to stomach having me around for a few more weeks, or even months—if only for the free labor. If I was lucky, they might keep me around until the end of the final harvest.
Though, I wasn’t sure I was ready to count on something as fickle asluck.
At least I knew Ada wouldn’t starve. She’d have to take over the hand milling, but I’d taken that over when I was younger than her. Leaving would be a blow to her, I knew, but I’d be leaving anyway.
She wouldn’t be able to produce the fae’s grain, not right away, but even if they stopped doing business with my family because of it, she’d be fine. They all would.
At least they’d have one less mouth to feed.
My sister’s life would be harder, but it would never be as hard as mine, and I’d survived.
This would be my final lesson to her. I’d taken on the greater burden of our lives as long as I could, and now I’d show her how to one day escape it.
I’d show her, at least, that it was possible.
The following weeks passed in a blur. Grind. Sift. Clean. Repeat. I slept too, of course, whenever possible. I worked harder in the mill than I ever had in my life. The sounds of the mill filled my ears even in those precious hours of sleep, the only time my hands weren’t working the quern-stone until the callouses on them thickened so that my palms grew numb. The echo of the mill etched itself into my mind, an anthem of the freedom inching closer with every delivery of grain returned again as fine-milled flour.
Each week the courier returned with his gold from the fae again, and each week, I had to fight the urge to take the slowly growing stash of coins and run. I was going to need every coin I could get to ensure I didn’t end up in a brothel or worse, so I forced myself to wait.
But I couldn’t wait too long.
I’d settled on leaving right before the next trip to market. I doubted there would ever be more than a few weeks’ worth of the fae’s payments—generous as they were—in my parents’ possession. Whatever grand schemes they discussed over dinner, I knew my father’s gambling habits were unlikely to allow them to ever actually fulfil any of them.
More than that, however, was the ache that overwhelmed my body. I might not survive a second month of this, even if my parents were kind enough to wait that long to sell me to the stablemaster. If I was going to survive any form of escape, then I’d have to do it sooner rather than later.
But not too soon, either.
I’d need enough coins to buy me passage far away from here. Then, if I was lucky, what was left might purchase me some kind of apprenticeship.
It was, as far as plans went, a bad one, I knew, but it was all I had.
It was better than my past plans to run away without so much as a penny in my pocket. Now, at least, I hoped I’d have enough to give me a chance.
I’d considered stealing a coin here and there, stowing it away for months until I had a better plan in place, but I didn’t even want to think of what my parents would do to me if I got caught. If they caught me, well then, I’d have wished they sold me to Rayner instead.
Bad as that plan was, it might have worked … had it been given a chance.
