"Boy's daft," the farmer holding Jaka said to his companion. The dwarf was coming back over, fists clenched, jaw set firm under his thick beard. As he finished, the man whipped Jaka around and shoved him backward toward the other farmer. The dwarf didn't catch Jaka but instead shoved him back the other way, high up on the back so that the young man went face down in the dirt. The dwarf stepped on the small of Jaka's back, pressing down with his hard-soled boots.
"You watch where you're throwing stones," he said, grinding down suddenly and for just an instant, blowing the breath out of Jaka.
"The boy's daft," the other farmer said as he and his companion walked away.
Jaka lay on the ground and cried.
*****
"All that good food at the castle," remarked Madam Prinkle, an old, gray woman with a smiling face. The woman's skin, hanging in wrinkled folds, seemed too loose for her bones. She grabbed Meralda's waist and gave a pinch. "If you change your size every week, how's my dress ever to fit you? Why, girl, you're three fingers bigger."
Meralda blushed and looked away, not wanting to meet the stare of Priscilla, who was standing off to the side, watching and listening intently.
"Truly I've been hungry lately," Meralda replied. "Been eating everything I can get into my mouth. A bit on the jitters, I am." She looked anxiously at Priscilla, who had been working hard with her to help her lose her peasant accent.
Priscilla nodded, but hardly seemed convinced.
"Well, you best find a different way for calming," Madam Prinkle replied, "or you'll split the dress apart walking to Lord Feringal's side." She laughed riotously then, one big, bobbing ball of too-loose skin. Meralda and Priscilla both laughed selfconsciously as well, though neither seemed the least bit amused.
"Can you alter it correctly?" Priscilla asked.
"Oh, not to fear," replied Madam Prinkle. "I'll have the girl all beautiful for her day." She began to gather up her thread and sewing tools. Priscilla moved to help her while Meralda quickly removed the dress, gathered up her own things, and rushed out of the room.
Away from the other two, the woman put her hand on her undeniably larger belly. It was over two and a half months now since her encounter with Jaka in the starlit field, and though she doubted that the baby was large enough to be pushing her belly out so, she certainly had been eating volumes of late. Perhaps it was nerves, perhaps it was because she was nourishing two, but whatever the cause, she would have to be careful for the rest of the week so as not to draw more attention to herself.
"She will have the dress back to us on the morrow," Priscilla said behind her, and the young woman nearly jumped out of her boots. "Is something wrong, Meralda?" the woman asked, moving beside her and dropping a hand on her shoulder.
"Would you not be scared if you were marrying a lord?"
Priscilla arched a finely plucked brow. "I would not be frightened, because I would not be in such a situation," she replied.
"But if ye-you, were?" Meralda pressed. "If you were born a peasant, and the lord-"
"Preposterous," the woman interrupted. "If I had been born a peasant, I would not be who I am, and so your whole question makes little sense."
Meralda stared at her, obviously confused.
"I am not a peasant because I've not the soul nor blood of a peasant," Priscilla explained. "You people think it an accident that you were born of your family, and we of nobility born of ours, but that is not the case, my dear. Station comes from within, not without."
"So you're better, then?" Meralda asked bluntly.
Priscilla smiled. "Not better, dear," she answered condescendingly. "Different. We each have our place."
"And mine's not with your brother," the younger woman posited.
"I do not approve of mixing blood," Priscilla stated, and the two stared at each other for a long and uncomfortable while.
Then you should marry him yourself, Meralda thought, but bit back.
"However, I shall honor my brother's choice," Priscilla went on in that same denigrating tone. "It is his own life to ruin as he pleases. I will do what I may do to bring you as close to his level as possible. I do like you, my dear," she added, reaching out to pat Meralda's shoulder.
You'd let me clean your commode then, Meralda silently fumed. She wanted to speak back against Priscilla's reasoning, truly she did, but she wasn't feeling particularly brave at that moment. No, given the child, Jaka's child, growing within her womb, she was vulnerable now, and feeling no match for the likes of vicious Priscilla Auck.
*****
It was late in the morning when Meralda awoke. She could tell from the height of the sun beaming through her window. Worried, she scrambled out of bed. Why hadn't her father awakened her earlier for chores? Where was her mother?
She pushed through the curtain into the common room and calmed immediately, for there sat her family, gathered about the table. Her mother's chair was pulled back, and the woman sat facing the ceiling. A curious man, dressed in what seemed to be religious garments, chanted softly and patted her forehead with sweet-smelling oil.
"Da?" she started to ask, but the man held his hand up to quiet her, motioning her to move near him.
"Watcher Beribold," he explained. "From the Temple of Helm in Luskan. Lord Feringal sent him to get your ma up and strong for the wedding."
Meralda's mouth dropped open. "You can heal her then?"
"A difficult disease," Watcher Beribold replied. "Your mother is strong to have fought on with such resilience." Meralda started to press him, but he answered her with a reassuring smile. "Your mother will be on the mend and free of the wilting before I and High Watcher Risten depart Auckney," he promised.
Tori squealed, and Meralda's heart leaped with joy. She felt her father's strong arm go around her waist, pulling her in close. She could hardly believe the good news. She had known that Lord Feringal would heal her mother, but never had she imagined that the man would see to it before the wedding. Her mother's illness was like a huge sword Feringal had hanging over her head, and yet he was removing it.
She considered the faith Lord Feringal was showing in her to send a healer unbidden to her family door. Jaka would never have relinquished such an obvious advantage. Not for her, not for anyone. Yet here was Feringal-and the man was no fool-holding enough faith in Meralda to take the sword away.
The realization brought a smile to Meralda's face. For so long, she had considered the courtship with Feringal to be a sacrifice for her family, but now, suddenly, she was recognizing the truth of it all. He was a good man, a handsome man, a man of means who loved her honestly. The only reason she'd been unable to return his feeling was because of her unhealthy infatuation with a selfish boy. Strange, but she, too, had been cured of her affliction by the arrival of Feringal's healer.
The young woman went back into her room to dress for the day. She could hardly wait for her next visit with Lord Feringal, for she suspected-no, she knew-that she would see the man a bit differently now.
She was with him that very afternoon for what would be their last meeting before the wedding. Feringal, excited about the arrangements and the guest list, said nothing at all about the healer's visit to Meralda's house.
"You sent your healer to my house today," she blurted, unable to contain the thoughts any longer. "Before the wedding. With my ma sick and you alone the power to heal her, you could have made me your slave."
Feringal looked as if he simply couldn't digest her meaning.
"Why would I desire such a thing?"
That honest and innocent question confirmed that which she had already known. A smile wreathed her beautiful face, and she leaped up impulsively to plant a huge kiss on Feringal's cheek. "Thank you for healing my ma, for healing my family."