The Cursed Heir

Chapter Seventeen

"Cassie?"

She should have known she wouldn't be alone for long. Cassie was in her meadow for the first time in weeks, and Leora had followed her. Already the child was picking her way across the clearing. Clearly, privacy was too much to hope for.

"What is it, Leora?" she asked wearily.

The child had no requests for new stories or playtime. Instead, she sat next to Cassie and wrapped her arms around her for a tight hug, trying to provide some form of comfort with her little arms.

"I missed you," she said, and Cassie knew that she didn't mean the short time Cassie had been in the meadow.

"I know. I won't leave you like that again," Cassie said. She hoped she was telling the truth.

"Can you teach me how to fight now?"

"No." The word was out before Cassie had even thought about the question. Train Leora until she was ready to stand on a battlefield? Cassie rubbed her chest absently. Unthinkable.

"Does it hurt?" the child asked curiously. She poked a finger above her heart, making Cassie drop her hand. "Every time Mama thinks about my father, she gets a terrible pain right here."

Cassie nodded, her throat abruptly too tight to speak. Yes, her heart was aching.

"It is going to get better, isn't it?"

Honesty did not afford a pleasant answer, but Cassie could not lie to the girl.

"I don't know. I hope so."

"James said that hope is an impractical commodity," Leora said suddenly. "When you couldn't talk, he said—"

"James," Cassie interrupted her, "has spent most of his life perfecting the art of being wrong. I wouldn't listen to him too carefully."

Leora giggled; Cassie almost smiled herself. That man was always saying something quarrelsome, and Cassie missed biting back. She hoped that soon she would be able to. With Leora's help, she could almost feel her heart beginning the slow process of restitching itself into a new pattern.

***

Cassie half-heartedly asked if Aldine needed her to sew anything before wandering out to fetch water. The seamstress, as usual, said no. She had long given up on Cassie achieving anything resembling adequate sewing skills. Cassie helped with the cooking, which was an area that Aldine sorely needed help in, and continued to run errands for her.

George's wife poked her head out of her window and waved at Cassie as she passed under the window on her way to the fountain. Cassie waved back, but did not feel like pausing to talk, and continued on.

As soon as she reached the square, Cassie's eyes searched for Wynne. Her friend seemed to be engaged in an important conversation with Robert, which apparently consisted largely of staring at the ground and shrugging. Cassie left them at it.

She passed Thomas going towards the fountain as she carried her full bucket away. They nodded to each other in acknowledgement. It was sufficient.

Sarita pulled herself up onto the edge of the fountain. "Henry shared his new song last week," she announced, without bothering to speak louder than a mumble. "This week it's my turn." Climbing back down, she picked up a drum she had hauled into the square and sat on the stone lip of the fountain with the instrument between her knees. "I call this 'Ode to a Piss Pot.'"

Cassie whipped around, certain she had misheard.

Without further preamble, Sarita began to bang on the drum, her beating erratic and seemingly toneless. "Marius!" she screamed, holding the name like she might a note.