The Cursed Heir

Chapter Ten

It took Cassie weeks to learn how to be comfortable around the villagers. Longer still to pass was the fear that she would be recognized and reported. The secrecy of the forest had not prepared Cassie for the shock of living out in the open again. Then, amid the paranoia, a surprising homesickness appeared—if it could even be called homesickness, for a home she'd known for barely a couple of months. Cassie hadn't expected how much she would miss abrasive, tough Silvana and forest lessons with Skylar. What she did not miss, however, was putting others in danger. Or Skylar's stupid books. He read too much. In Telyre, nobody expected her to read or sit through tedious tutoring lessons. The town succeeded in its purpose of keeping out external threats, and the passing of each uneventful day left time for Cassie to learn.

Her sewing was abysmal. Although the seamstress never said anything outright, Cassie could tell that Aldine despaired of her ever mending an article of clothing properly. And bless her, but she always tried one more time to teach her. It looked so simple—even a child, like Leora, was able to make beautiful, neat stitches, but every time that Cassie poked the needle into the cloth, something went wrong. Her neck ached. The thread kept tangling. The fabric ripped, then the thread broke, and the needle drew blood from her finger. It was impossible. Every garment that she tried to sew ended up looking more like it had been worn through multiple battles than a newly sewn article of clothing.

"No, Cassie. The stitches go in a straight line. See? Like this," Leora would say, over and over.

And Cassie did see. She did. She just couldn't replicate.

Besides the sewing, there were so many other tasks she had to be taught, simple chores that any peasant was raising knowing. The learning left Cassie so exhausted that she collapsed into bed at night and fell instantly into the deep slumber of the pleasantly fatigued. She made so many mistakes when it came to performing such easy tasks. The first time Aldine asked her to fetch water, for example, Cassie had been busy trying to untangle her knotted thread and, without raising her head, made the mistake of telling her to wait for someone to bring it.

"What do you think I asked you for, lazy?" Aldine had said. She had then shoved the bewildered woman out of the house with a bucket in very confused hand.

Leora had grabbed her other hand and towed her to the town square, explaining how to get water from the stone fountain in the square. While Cassie was bemusedly catching a stream of water in her bucket, a child hardly larger than Leora had run up and engaged the girl in a game of chase. Cassie watched them with a fondness only nostalgia can bring. She and Elisabet used to play a similar game in their gardens.

Around and around the fountain they dashed; more young ones passing by tugged on their mothers' hands until they were released to chase as well. The circle got tighter and tighter with each circuit, an ever-decreasing, whirling, erratic ring of children trying to run in the same direction, until one of them bumped into Cassie. Hard. The heavy weight of her burden and the unexpected force from the child's body unbalanced her, and she stumbled. Her almost full bucket sloshed as she regained her balance, half the water spilling out onto her skirt.

"Dragon's—" Cassie choked off the curse. Improper, improper! Especially around such young ears!

The children had stopped running, watching her next move carefully.

Cassie brought her hand down quickly. The one who had jostled her flinched, but all that hit him was a spray of water. Well, if she was wet, he should be, too. It seemed only fair. The other children, far from frightened by her reaction, shrieked with delight at the new game.

Leora also showed Cassie how to lug the full bucket back home without losing all the water. When the two of them finally waded back through Aldine's door sopping wet and grinning, the seamstress merely smiled and brewed them cups of warm tea to ward off the chill from their wet clothes.