Page 12 of A Court Bright and Broken

“Do you know what your village is called or in which direction it lies?”

“Yes, it’s that way.”

He pointed to the road leading toward Castleton, a serf village on the border of the royal estate. I’d been there only once when I was very small.

I remembered being fascinated by the sight of the grand Fae palace in the distance, the high walls that separated Castle Seaspire from the bordering lands.

And from the humans.

Slowly we made our way from the Rough Market to the dirt lane and began the painstaking trek.

“I’m sorry I smell so foul,” the man said. “I didn’t expect to be in such close proximity to a lady today. Rolling in the mud didn’t help matters. And I’m getting your clothes all dirty.”

“Don’t worry about it. Tomorrow is washing day, as it happens.”

That was a lie, but Iwouldbe washing my dress tomorrow out of sheer necessity. It was one of only two I owned, and the man’s clothingwasfilthy.

He didn’t smell as bad as I would have expected, though, especially as close as we were, my side pressed against his, my arm around his waist and his slung over my shoulder.

In fact, beneath the soiled clothing I detected a rathergoodsmell. Not a fragrance I’d ever experienced before. It was strange.

I glanced up at his face. Far, far up.

He was probably the tallest man I’d ever encountered. And as he limped along beside me, I felt considerable muscle moving in his back and sides. His arm atop my shoulders was quite heavy as well.

Yes, he must have been eating much better than I would have expected for someone of his status in life. Perhaps at some point, before misfortune had befallen him, he’d been more prosperous.

Perhaps he’d grown up on one of the more bountiful farms, doing hard labor but with plenty to eat, allowing him to develop this powerful physique.

My mind flashed back to my home, to my frail little sisters who were growing up without nearly enough daily sustenance.

Without meaning to, I picked up my pace a bit. The sun was still high overhead.

If I could get this man to his home soon enough, there should be enough daylight for me to return to the Rough Market and still have time to make a trade. I desperately didn’t want to go home empty-handed.

The wounded man didn’t complain about the increased pace. In fact, we were making surprisingly good progress considering the extent of his injuries. Though he winced and occasionally groaned, he kept moving steadily ahead and didn’t mention the discomfort.

Until he stepped into a carriage wheel divot. He jerked abruptly to one side and sucked in a sharp breath.

“I’m sorry,” I said automatically.

“It’s all right,” he hissed through his teeth. “My own fault.”

His eyelids came back open and he trained his gaze on the road ahead as we resumed walking.

“Maybe you could talk to me? Distract me?” he suggested.

“What would you like to talk about?”

“You. Tell me about yourself, about your life.”

“My life isn’t very interesting,” I protested, but seeing the trickle of perspiration at his temple, I made an effort to be diverting.

“You were right. It was my first trip to the Rough Market. My village is farther away from it than yours is. Did you grow up in Castleton?”

He shook his head slightly. “Nearby. What’s your village like?”

I’d been right. He was from the country, no doubt a farm worker.

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