Season notes: violence, death, attempted murder
Jahlene tasted the hatred in the room the moment she entered. The thin thread reached out from the crowd, unusually strong against the general background of disgruntlement, worry, and trust. She tried to ignore it. The first half hour of the meeting was taken up by announcing any county- or Empire-wide changes that would affect the town. The grain tariff was high on the list. Jahlene and Parlen worked together to answer the townspeople’s questions, explain their plan for ensuring they had enough grain, and make sure the town understood what they could expect.
The taste of hatred distracted Jahlene, like an itch she couldn’t reach. She lost the thread of what she was saying several times. When the topic of grain shortages finally ended, she held up a hand to stop Parlen from raising the next topic. “We’ll continue in a moment.” Closing her eyes, she focused on that hatred, teasing it from the crowd—her eyes snapped open, and she found herself staring at a figure standing in the shadows toward the back. “You in the back, will you please come forward? Your emotions are distracting, and there is no reason for you to wait if the matter can be dealt with quickly.”
Everyone in the room looked around, murmuring to each other. Slowly, the crowd parted, and an old man stepped out of the shadows. His salt-and-pepper hair was neatly groomed, and his face clean, but his clothing showed its age. Unusual among the mostly-prosperous merchants and guildsmen who came to these meetings, though not unheard of. His face was so familiar it made her breath catch— “I understand.”
“Do you, Lady?” he spat the title, “Did you glamour me to read my mind, or did God whisper in your ear?”
A growl rose from the room—Jahlene was generally liked by her people. She looked over the crowd and shook her head. Slowly, they quieted. “No, Bren Innkeep, something much more mundane. Your son shares your face.” She held up a hand to stop him speaking again. “Normally, I would listen to whatever you wished to say, but today that would be a waste of time; I sent Mattin to your inn an hour ago. I expect he is wondering where you are.”
He gaped at her, hatred and disbelief warring with hope. Did everyone in this family suffer from emotional storms? “Go, innkeep. I will be here the rest of the day if you wish to return later.”
He stared a moment longer, then turned and half stumbled, half ran, from the room.
Mistress Pors—Ma—Mare’s blood, his father and Mistress Pors? Married?—put on water for tea, chattering the whole time. She hadn’t changed—a good-natured woman who always had something to say.
“…four months ago now, Bren got that letter. He didn’t want to believe it. Refused to, in fact. But he was so lost. I thought maybe getting him somewhere new would be what he needed. And to be sure, getting away from Lord Oeloff after…”
The door swung open, and Bren Innkeeper stumbled in.
Mattin threw himself into his father’s arms. Bren staggered and grabbed the door frame to keep his feet. “Mattin? Is it really you?”
“I’m sorry. Pop, I’m sorry. I had to do it, but—”
Bren wrapped his arms around Mattin and squeezed the air out of Mattin’s lungs.
They babbled at each other until Mistress Pors cleared her throat. “Not that we all aren’t due a bit of happy babble, but the tea’s done and you’re making a spectacle of yourselves.”
“Alright, alright.” Bren kept an arm around Mattin’s shoulders as he closed the door. “Mare tossed nag!”
When they were seated, Mistress Pors—Ma?— served tea and biscuits and went upstairs. “You’ll be wanting to talk without an audience for a bit. But Mattin, you’d better not leave without saying goodbye!”
“No, M—Ma’am.”
“Hmph, that’ll do for now, I suppose.”
Once she was gone, Mattin found he didn’t know what to say to his father. Bren had never been a talkative man, and…
“The—ah—letter I got, said you were going to get your sister away from Oeloff. Will…will she be coming home?” Bren fiddled with his tea, not looking at Mattin.
“I don’t know. She’s…she’s safe, at the manor, but she says she wants to stay with me.”
Bren nodded, “And you… you’re…” He swallowed. “You… work for…Lady Jahlene.”
“Yes, you could say that.” Mattin reached out and took his father’s hand. “She’s a good person, Pop.”
Bren responded with a death grip on Mattin’s hand. “Would she let you come home, then? Would she…”
“She…” Mattin couldn’t face the hope and pleading in his father’s eyes. “Pop, it doesn’t matter. Even if I wanted to leave her, I gave my word.”
To his relief, Bren didn’t push him, only sighed deeply and said, “That’s that then. You always were an honest boy. You… you’re well?”
“I’m fine, Pop. The lady… she isn’t like Oeloff. I don’t think she’s like any fae.”
“Has she hurt you?” Bren grabbed Mattin’s other hand, and Mattin heard his bones crack. “Has she…”
Mattin shook his head and tried not to wince. “No, Pop. Not like you mean. It’s… everyone at the manor is like a big family. We may hurt each other sometimes, like… like I hurt you when I ran off…”
Tears streamed down Bren’s cheeks, and his hands trembled. “I knew. An honest boy, like I said. You promised her, long before that day. I knew you’d keep your word.” He put his head down on the table and wept. “Just once… just once, son, couldn’t you have been a liar?”
Eventually, the tears ran out. Mattin’s as well as Bren’s. Mistress Pors came back down, and they managed to spend a few hours catching up. Mattin chose his words carefully. He told kitchen stories and of his friendship with Jaffrey. At one point he mentioned Elose, and Bren actually winked at him, and teased, “No wonder. Your old Pop’s no competition for a woman like that!” His voice shook, but his wet eyes glimmered as he said it.
From time to time, a customer would bang on the door, wondering why the inn wasn’t open. Bren ignored them. If they didn’t take the hint, Mistress Pors would send them on their way.
Mattin heard how, when he went missing, Mistress Pors had shown up at the old inn. She badgered Bren into taking care of himself. When he realized that she wasn’t going anywhere and had no intention of letting him drink himself into oblivion, he’d asked her to marry him.
Finally, Mattin couldn’t delay any longer. The sun was well into the west; if the Mistress wasn’t done with the court yet, she would be soon. He gave Bren a hug and promised to write, and to return, as soon as he could. “And I’ll try to convince Marta to come. I understand why she’s worried about me, but—”
Bren shook his head, “No. No, you don’t.” He sighed and pulled out a rag to polish the already-clean table. “Mattin, when your mother… when we lost her, you latched onto Marta. You lost your ma, you weren’t going to lose your sister too. Made sense, I suppose and made taking care of her easier. But she… I love my daughter, but there’s something broken in her. I don’t know if it was losing your ma or the way I fell apart…”
“Pop—”
“Listen, son. I know you love her but think. She never watched out for you the way you watched out for her. She tried to get away from you, she wanted to be on her own, never trusted anyone. I saw it, didn’t know what to do about it….”
Thinking back, Mattin couldn’t disagree. But he also knew how much she had changed.
“Son, if Marta is staying there, she has more reasons than just worrying about you. Please be careful.”
“Don’t worry, Pop. We’ll be fine.”
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