“Tidying my room. I’ve already chopped enough wood to last a month.”
“Good,” Elain said, baring her teeth. “You can go foraging then; we need more mushrooms for the pie this evening. Be back by five.”
Not quite ready to submit to this latest demand, I dared a question. “How was Gus able to help you? Shouldn’t he be working at Father’s forge?”
“It’s his forge now,” she snapped. “His and mine.”
“Father left it to the three of us,” I replied coldly.
“Of course,” Elain said, a sickly, sweet smile stretching across her face. She moved into the kitchen and grabbed a wicker basket from a cabinet. “Collect the mushrooms in this, and don’t get lost—we wouldn’t want the fae catching you, now would we?”
She stretched out her hand, dangling the basket in front of me with a simpering smirk. My palm twitched. I didn’t say a word. I just marched over, snapped that damned basket from her, and practically sprinted out the door.
Angling left, I strode along the beaten trail into the forest and savored the cool breeze kissing my face, the earthy smells, and the freedom from the cabin’s toxicity. Ancestors help me, I couldn’t bear much more of this—I’d go mad.
But to be free of Elain I had to marry, and that course of action was fraught with its own particular dangers. I had the house to act as a dowry. One that might tempt the men in the village to overlook certain facts, like my distinctively unfeminine hair, or that I’d received an education—Viola had been my teacher since the age of thirteen. Any boy who feigned an interest in me now would only be interested in one thing. Did I want to marry a fortune hunter? What if I traded in one cruel master for another? I needed someone kind, and strong enough to stand up to Elain, but that person did not exist. There were few young men in the village, and even fewer who weren’t spoken for. That only left the prospect of traveling to another village, but the second I left, Elain would have an excuse to claim the house for herself.
Frustrated, feeling defeated, I came upon a spot rife with mushrooms and spent the next hour collecting them, contemplating my predicament. With my hands covered in dirt and smelling strongly of fungi, I peered up at the sky and marked the sun’s position through the dappled canopy. My heart sank: it was time to start back home. I retraced my steps, my mind whirling and plotting.
I arrived at the cottage to find the two chimneys puffing out smoke and the lanterns’ flames glowing through the glass. On a deep, shuddering inhale, I opened the door and walked through. I could only stare at my stepmother. She’d started dinner.
“You’re cooking?” I said, barely believing my eyes.
She hadn’t so much as lifted a pan since my father died.
“Yes, well, you’ve been working so hard, I figured you could use a treat!”
Elain hummed merrily to herself while rolling out pastry. The hairs on the back of my neck bristled and my body went taut as if preparing for battle. Something was very, very wrong. Entering the lair of the wolf, I closed the door and placed the wicker basket on the dining table.
I watched her. “You’re in a good mood …”
“Yes, I am. It can happen, Beanpole,” Elain scoffed.
I felt like saying “since when,” but instead asked, “D’you need any help?”
“No—you go upstairs and relax. I’ll call when it’s done.”
I didn’t move for a whole minute. Shock seemed to have frozen my core.
Move.
I climbed the stairs to my bedroom, only to pace up and down the length of the small space while a voice inside screamed to jump out the window and run to the bakery. Elain had never spoken to me with kindness, at least not when my father was absent. This nicer version of my stepmother had me on edge, waiting for the final drum beat to sound, and for the monster to rear her ugly head. Was it all a game? Another mode of torture to add to her collection?
Still, nothing had happened … yet. If I ran, I’d have no excuse other than my stepmother was being too nice. That didn’t stop my skin from crawling when Elain called me down.
Breathe, I reminded myself.
As I stepped off the staircase I spotted dinner on the table in the form of a pie, some bread and butter, and a pitcher of water. Suddenly, the threat she’d made years ago to poison my food came rushing back. Something clicked, and my instincts roared, Don’t eat it! Gods help me, I sat down anyway.
“I hope you like it.” Elain smiled at me.
That, there, felt like enough to confirm my suspicions. I could still run, but then what? I stalled for time by cutting the pie on my plate into smaller and smaller pieces. Finally, Elain took a bite from the pile of ham and mushrooms heaped high on her plate. Nothing happened.
But maybe she’d just poisoned my portion rather than the whole pie. Yes, that made more sense. I hadn’t seen her dish it out, after all.
“Is there something wrong with my cooking?” Elain asked, waving her fork at my plate.
“No—the pie’s delicious. Thank you.”
“Really?” She cocked an eyebrow. “By now, you’ve usually cleaned your plate and are asking for a second helping.”
I forced a breathy laugh as my cheeks burned. She was right. I had to act and think fast. An idea formed as I surveyed the table.
Grabbing two linen napkins, I placed them over my lap. As the meal progressed, whenever Elain looked away I slipped more pie onto a napkin. To stop her getting suspicious, I occasionally forced a forkful into my mouth, praying the poison wasn’t strong enough to kill me there and then. And when an opportunity arose, I brought the other napkin to my lips and deposited the food inside it. I didn’t touch the bread or butter.
Halfway through the pie, I was wondering if I’d missed out on a perfectly good meal for nothing. Then, Elain poured me a glass of water from a jug and my instincts rang out in alarm again. I pretended to take tiny sips and waited for my moment.
My stepmother carried her plate to the kitchen. In one smooth movement, I tipped the water into the pie dish in the center of the table. I followed that up with the food collected in the napkins. Hands trembling, I tried to disguise the mushy heap by lifting leftover piecrust over the top. I snatched my glass, tipped it toward my mouth and waited. She turned back around, and I lowered the glass as if I’d just downed the liquid.
“No second helping?” she asked, frowning as she walked over to pick up my plate.
“My stomach’s acting up.” I rubbed my belly for effect.
Elain smiled coldly and went to stack my plate in the sink. “Too bad. We need to talk.”
My stomach lurched.
She spun back around and moved to the table to hover behind the chair opposite. “About the forge.”
“The forge?” I echoed, surprised.
“Yes.” Elain grimaced. Sliding into her chair, she clasped her hands. “Gus has the power to make things very difficult for us. He’s alone now, doing the work of two men, and he never had Halvard’s talent. We need to make him happy … keep him on our side; otherwise, he could let the forge fall into ruin and us along with it. Or even swindle us and keep the profits for himself,” she snarled, wearing an ugly look.
“If he does either, we can go to the elders—”
“Don’t be so stupid!” she barked. “He’s a man and the only one in the village trained as a blacksmith. The village needs him far more than it needs either of us.”
“What do you suggest then?” I tried to steady my hands and ignore the yawning chasm threatening to open beneath my feet.
“Nothing drastic,” she said too breezily. “I’ve asked him round to talk tonight. I want to persuade him that it’s in his best interests not to cheat us. We must use our feminine charms …”