Page 9 of Like Matches for Wishes

Confusion ticks my brain. Why is she acting this way? My voice is quiet, “No, Gram. Actually, I don’t understand at all. I am no longer a child. You cannot hold me here if I decide to seek employment in the castle someday.”

“Milla, listen to me. You will never work in the castle. It is forbidden. I am your elder, the only mother you’ve ever known, and I have spoken. You will obey me. This subject will never be discussed again, understand?”

“But, Gram—”

Her voice is a growl. “Do you understand?”

Gram has never yelled at me before, and it’s frightening.What is she so afraid of?Whatever it is, it must be terrifying. So, I oblige. “Yes, Gram. I understand.”

She begins to cough, and I rush to the water barrel to get her a drink. When the coughing subsides, I collect my coin pouch and head back to the bakery, guilt stabbing my heart like a blade. The last thing I wanted to do was upset her enough to awaken her cough. So, I put the castle out of my mind and focus on heaping our dinner table with a few of Gram’s favorites. Life goes on, even if it’s not in the palace.

I pull my match and flintstone from my chemise. I strike the match and watch the flame for a moment. I close my eyes and mutter, “I wish to know my lineage. Let the sky or the thin air show me a sign if that is all I am afforded.”

I blow out the match and keep walking toward the market.

CHAPTER 5

“That was a thief’s jab, Jordy.” The young man rubs his chest, no doubt relieving the stinging from Jordy’s blade and resumes a fighting stance once more. “You don’t play fair. I’ll be ready this time. Aye, let’s go again!”

“Thief or no, I can still best you,” Jordy shouts back. “Let’s go, then.”

I grip my basket tighter, keeping my distance, but still close enough to spy Jordy and a clutch of young men sparring with swordplay behind the bakery. There’s not a man in Timberness who can best Jordy at swordplay. I watch in eager wonderment as Jordy matches his opponent blow for blow. It’s obvious Jordy’s holding back, but the other lad is expending every ounce of energy. Jordy’s quickness is a sight to behold. I’ve never seen anyone as quick with a sword.

“Are there no better ways to occupy your time, Mistress Milla?” Jordy’s father asks when he spies me watching the intrigues. Master Orwan ushers me toward the bakery. “My son may never stop showing off if he sees you watching.” He winks. “I have plenty for him to do in the shop this fine day, and an olive loaf waiting for you.”

“Yes, sir,” I reply, but I notice the baker’s smile. Master Orwan professes much, but he is proud of Jordy’s skills. “I’ll be along shortly, sir. I think Jordy is about to make short order of his foe again. I don’t want to miss it.”

“Suit yourself,” Master Orwan replies, whistling as he steps through the bakery doors.

Jordy’s eyes dart in my direction and in one swift motion, he has his friend on the ground, the sword to his throat.

“Seven hells, I didn’t see that coming,” the young man says as Jordy offers him a hand and tugs him up from the ground. “Where did I go wrong this time? I saw your blade, lunged. I learned last spar that you lead left, and then—”

“You’d learn more if you’d keep your cakehole shut.” Jordy laughs with vigor. He extends a hand to his friend again.

His friend shakes his head. “Will that fire hand burn me if I touch it? Your hands are truly aflame when you are wielding a sword. Ole’ fire hands indeed.”

Jordy claps his friend’s shoulder. “These fire hands better make their way into some dough before my father scalps me. Same time overmorrow?”

“Indeed.”

Jordy slides the sword into its sheath and joins me. “Good day, Milla. I didn’t realize I had an audience. How long have you been watching?”

“Long enough to be impressed. You are quite skillful, Jordy. Good show.”

“Thank you, Milla. Shall we?” He points to the bakery doors. “I’m sure this was your intended destination before getting sucked into my tomfoolery.”

“Fire hands, aye?” I smile and try to hide the red heat now climbing up my face.

“Only with a sword I’ve been told,” he replies.

“Indeed.” But I know those hands alone could scorch my very soul.

“Good day, Milla,” Mistress Orwan says when we’re inside the bakery. “Come for your olive loaf, no doubt. I’ll fetch it.”

“Might I fetch it later this day?” I ask. “I’m actually on my way to gather thyme plants for Gram. Her cough is worse, and I know the thyme will help. I was wanting to ask you to hold the bread for me until this evening.”

“As you wish,” Mistress Orwan replies. “Jordy, might I have a word?”

---