Page 106 of Bloodguard

“A bag of flour, a sack of rice, and a pot for boiling.”

His eyes light up, no doubt because he charges by weight. “My hawks can carry a bag of dried corn as well, if that is to your liking,” he adds, trying to sound subtle and failing miserably. I get the feeling he’s trying to take advantage of my need to get things to Siertos. While I’m certain Vitor taxes him an outrageous amount, the jewelry he wears suggests he does remarkably well.

Something here is off.

Toso must feel it, too, because he climbs out of the leather pouch to stand defensively at my feet. Behind the counter, the shop owner is too busy tabulating the riches he’ll make ripping me off to notice.

“Yes, corn,” I say, voice pitched low, “and five pounds of dried bison meat.”

It’s all this man can do not to dance. “We only sell increments of ten pounds,” he says. When I sigh and nod, he adds, “I must warn you, boy, such a heavy transport will require more coin and, well, more hawks. We can’t overburden my children.”

No, we can’t, can we?“That’s fine,” I say, unable to keep the bite from my tone as I toss more coin on the counter. Is it a wonder these gladiators must save money to send money?

“Anything else?” he asks. “Perhaps something pretty from my shop?”

Before I can reply, there’s a smack of wings and a deep shriek from a hawk behind the set of double doors. “A delivery,” the shop owner announces. He scoops up the payment with a large smile and pockets it before slinking away. “I’ll be right back with your receipt. Please, look around. I discount my items with every mailing.”

“Sure you do,” I say.

He grins, not caring what I say now that he has his payment, and disappears through the double doors behind the counter. I sigh and do indeed look around while I wait for his return. Perhaps I’ll find some yarn Neela could use to knit Papa another blanket. The way he gathered it against his face during our last visit makes me think he misses the smell of home. As I walk down the display case, I notice a pair of sparkly hair clips. Perhaps Leith’s mother and his sisters might enjoy something pretty of their very own. I step around the counter to get a better look.

They are dazzling and better quality than the other items on display. The price isn’t terrible, even for this sleazy owner’s standards. Mailing shouldn’t be much, and perhaps I can convince him to waive the fee. I start to lift them when something in a cubby beneath the counter catches my eye.

Feet.

Doll feet.

Covered with green leather shoes just like Leith told me his little sister wears.

I wouldn’t have seen the doll from the other side. I wouldn’t have seen it from this side had the owner shoved the doll in just another inch.

Anger heats my skin. I pull out the doll with big brown eyes and short black curls I had made for a little girl who has never had afucking doll.

As I do, several envelopes fall to the floor. When I recognize the handwriting as Rose’s, I stop breathing. Toso, shadowing my every move, takes a sniff. Each envelope is marked with a number scribbled in what I recognize as the shop owner’s hand. I reach for one, fury causing me to tremble.

I pull out the letter written on a tattered scroll. Unlike the other letters Leith received from home, this one has a date on top.

A date fromthreeyearsago.

The heat my anger stirred plummets, replaced by a frigid spike of cold down my spine. “No,” I say. “Please, no.”

I gather the envelopes from the floor and several others that remain in the cubby and sort through them by number, starting with the lowest first. My breathing is quick and painful. Every single letter is from three years ago.

There are several out of order—and it wasn’t because of the extreme weather affecting the seasons. It’s that Rose never learned her months in the right order, misleading the shop owner into numbering them incorrectly.

I must go by the seasons to properly sort them and read them. It’s the only way I finally learn the truth. One by one, I read the brief letters.

Wer r u, Leith? Did u fawget us?

I cover my mouth.No, sweet one, he never did. Heneverwould.

Dahlia is verry sic.

No.

Mama is sic. Shee gaeve Dahlia all her fude.

No.

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