He sat there every day, without fail, and I had never seen anyone else give him so much as a copper. Whatever I had left after my visit to the modiste would go to him.
In order for the creatures to remain in Airren, they had to follow laws that were far harsher than the ones humans were meant to keep. They were taxed for magic they weren’t allowed to practice. Ridiculed, hated for being different.
When I’d first seen the man, I’d been wary. According to the books in our library, grogochs were known to be fond of drink and mischief.
But the poor creature never seemed to move from the cathedral steps, and any time his sorrowful brown eyes had met mine, he’d look away as if ashamed.
My situation was nothing compared to his, but I felt he and I were kindred spirits. He wore his pain on the outside; mine remained hidden inside. Humans ruled his world; men ruled mine. Neither of us were free to do as we wished.
The bell above the modiste’s door jingled when I opened it. A few dresses had been pinned to dress forms right inside. Small tables jammed between larger ones overflowed with spools of ribbons and lace, beads and feathers. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the place, and yet if someone asked for a specific item, the proprietor would know exactly where to find it.
At the back, I spotted a woman bent over a table, feeding black fabric through a sewing machine.
When she heard the bell, she glanced over her shoulder, and her face broke into a smile.
“Good morning, Dame Meranda,” I said with a wave.
The modiste, a few years my senior, had a personality to match the fiery red curls escaping her chignon. The buzzing from the machine stopped. Bunching her flouncy green skirts in her fists, she rose and bustled toward me. “So wonderful to see you, Lady Aveen. I’m afraid the dress you ordered has yet to arrive, but I’ll send word the moment it does.”
My twenty-first birthday was still three months away. By then, I’d be married.
“I’m actually here to purchase something for Keelynn.” A garment the unique shade of rose campion peeked from behind her. “Is that a dress?” I gestured toward the magenta fabric half-concealed behind a velvet curtain.
Frowning, Meranda withdrew the garment. Square neckline. Empire waist. Flared skirt. Stunning. “I’m afraid Lady Freya ordered this a few months back.”
Drats. “Has she paid for it?”
“A deposit only. Once she acquires the remaining funds from her father, she will be back to collect the dress.”
Buying my sister a stunning dress had been my goal. Irritating Freya would be a happy bonus.I unhooked the purse at my wrist, setting it on the table beside a pair of silver shears. “How much would it take to convince you to sell it to me instead?”
Meranda laughed. “Stay for a cuppa and it’s yours.”
After tea in her apartments upstairs, I paid for the dress and thanked her again. She assured me she could have it finished in time for my sister’s ball.
Outside, rain fell in soft waves. I hurried over to the grogoch. My few remaining coinsclinkedinto his empty cup. “I’m sorry it’s not much.” Something had to be better than nothing though, right? Tomorrow, when I returned for bulbs, I’d bring more.
“Thank ye fer yer kindness, milady,” he rasped. “Ye may restore my faith in humanity yet.”
If only a few coins could do the same for me.
My horse was tied across the square, past the stocks and ropes swaying from the gallows. I caught sight of the McFaren twins giggling as they huddled beneath their shared parasol, golden curls bouncing free. The last thing I wanted was to get stuck talking to them about fashion or men or some other nonsense, so I ducked behind the butcher’s stall overflowing with plucked chickens and sheep parts.
Behind the stall, a small door led to the blacksmith’s tool shed. Thanks to my sister’s childhood obsession with hide-and-go-seek, I knew there was a second door inside that would spit me out on the other side of the market. I opened the door and slipped inside.
“You’re late,” a deep, lilting voice said from the darkness.
My hand fell to the empty purse at my hip. If the owner of the voice wanted to rob me, he’d be sorely disappointed.
A pair of hands slid around my waist. Heated breath tickled my ear. My heart hammered when my spine met the hard wall. A pathetic whimper escaped when those hands slipped to my backside, and yet I couldn’t find my voice to demand he stop as warm, soft lips grazed down my neck toward the hollow at my throat.
The man smelled sweet, like cinnamon and honey and something more. Something darker.
Something like . . .
Magic.
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