Marked for Magic. Daisy BanksЧитать онлайн книгу.
Sparrow. Hold your head high when you walk with me. I swear, not one of them will harm you. Now come.”
She forced herself to calm, and once he had pulled the hood on his robe up to cover his head, they walked on.
All talk ceased as they entered the tiny market, made up of six wooden tables for stalls. The squawks of chickens and geese, a dog howling in the distance, the high-pitched wail of a child, all seemed loud. The villager’s silence continued.
Keeping her head bowed and her gaze on the back of his boots, she followed close behind Thabit. He stopped at the end of the row of tables. She tugged at the straps on her shoulders and handed him the basket. He set it down at his feet and opened the lid to display the contents to those who may wish to look.
She longed to hide in his pocket.
Surprise, fear, and the odd flash of guilt, all lurked in the hostile glances toward her. A small boy who stared dropped the bread crust he chewed on and gave a furious yell. The day-to-day sounds of talk resumed as his mother dusted off his chunk of bread.
Nin sighed, glad things had not been worse on their arrival. The squat, wooden-framed buildings and homespun-clad people remained familiar. Nothing had changed for them. Such a lot had changed for her. They could have no idea how different she already was from the girl they drove away.
Aunt Jen walked straight by without a greeting, the small basket Nin remembered so well clutched tight to her narrow bosom. She bowed her head with sorrow. The censure of the mark remained.
Cousin Lettie approached and peeked up at Thabit. Though Lettie did not speak, her tiny nod in Nin’s direction before she bent down to examine the scarves gave a little hope for the future.
“Nin, you’re alive!” Alicia rushed across the square.
The three people who bargained at the stall beside the Mage’s, all turned and stared, someone gave a loud tut.
“Do not allow her to make a fuss, simply nod. You can speak with her privately when the goods are traded,” he murmured from the depths of his hood. He turned to a woman to accept a large keg of butter in return for a pale lilac scarf.
“Yes, Alicia, I’m alive.” Even to her, the words sounded cold, but he’d said she should do it. “I’ll find you later,” she whispered.
Alicia backed away in a series of quick steps, her blue eyes full of hurt.
When Nin turned back to the basket, Lettie had gone. Aunt Jen owned nothing valuable enough for her cousin to trade for one of the scarves. Satisfaction brought a small private smile, and she fingered the soft fabric of hers. Wrapped around her waist today, his gift hung bright like a rainbow.
He leaned down, his voice low, only for her. “Well done, Sparrow. They must learn respect for you now, even those who were once friends.”
Alicia backed farther off, her slight form hidden in the shadows. Another woman stepped up to their basket and bent to examine the goods. The woman stooped on creaking joints to take out a jar. She held the jar and looked in question to the Mage. He inclined his hooded head.
“For the aches of the winter and old age,” he explained, and in majestic silence shook his head at the studded leather belt the woman offered to trade.
“What’ll you take?” she asked.
“I want cloth, grandmother, a goodly length, enough for a robe. Oh, and I want it red.”
The large woman set the jar down before she waddled off.
“Yes, red will be good,” he murmured.
Nin darted a glance up. Did he mean the cloth for her?
Gray-haired Agnes approached, and her stomach flipped. The need to run screamed through her. She inched closer to Thabit, who tilted his head to her.
“Do not make a move, not a flicker. Do you hear me?”
The whisper warmed, and her trembles stilled.
He stood straight as a yard pole and inclined his hooded head to Agnes. “You have my thanks, wise woman.”
Agnes froze. People stared, and an instant, heavy silence swelled through the air.
Nin kept her gaze on Agnes, who now shivered. For the way the Mage spoke, deep voice and powerful as a god, would still the most courageous heart.
Thabit nodded his head again to Agnes, who took a small step back. “My thanks for the gift you sent me, wise woman. Be sure I will train her well. Once she is skilled, I am certain she will be prudent and not bear any grudge for those who may have been unkind.”
The urge to laugh was painful to stop. Nin pinched herself. The stooped old woman flashed the sign for protection from evil, turned, and hobbled away through the little group. Only one or two people laughed as she left. Most, like Nin, kept silent.
Once she understood Agnes would not return, her heart fluttered, and she grew easier with the villagers who milled about, bartering what they could. Confidence swelled through her. When she stood beside him, she had nothing to fear. After a woman handed Thabit a sack of oats for a large, blue bottle of potion and bustled off smiling, she whispered up to him, “Thank you.”
The woman who wanted the salve returned and placed a folded length of fabric by the oat sack. Thabit handed over the jar. “This will not fail to ease your pain.”
Excitement sent a tingle to her fingertips. She fought to stop herself reaching out to stroke the material. This looked a long length of well-dyed wool. If she was careful with the stitching, she could make a fiery red gown from it.
Two women stood for a time with them. She knew them by name, but neither spoke to her. Though both were married, and one had two babes, their gazes lingered on Thabit. They craned their necks in their efforts to see into his hood.
The temptation to shout, “Yes, he’s beautiful, and he’s mine,” bubbled hot when they simpered at him, but she bit her tongue. Thabit bargained with the pair, and for a slender needle and three swatches of thread, he swapped small pots of salve they could use on their hands.
“One last thing. We need honey, don’t we?” he murmured, as a man she knew well approached.
Crispin did not look at her. His baldhead shone in the sun when he bent down to the scarves. He exuded the smell of mead, strong enough to mask the normal village scents. He played with the ends of the bright yellow and green patterned scarf hung over the edge of the basket.
Nin hid a smile behind her hand as she took a tiny step back. Crispin must need to make up to his poor wife one more time. He must have done something very bad if one of the scarves would make amends.
“What’ll you take for it?” he asked Thabit, avoiding a glance at her.
Surprised at his politeness, she stared at him. Crispin usually bellowed like a bull at all he met.
“Honey, a large jar, and a can of milk will suffice.”
Thabit asked for a lot. To her astonishment, Crispin nodded and headed across the square toward his house. He returned a few minutes later with a big clay jar in the curve of his elbow, and a milk can slung on his arm.
Thabit handed over the decorated scarf. “It is yours and will bring the wearer good fortune. I will return the can next time we come here.”
Crispin flashed a toothless grin, and even gave her a brief nod of recognition before he strolled off.
“Now, Sparrow, should you wish to speak to your friend, you have a few moments to do so while I pack the trades away. Then we must leave.”
She hurried over to where Alicia stood, half-hidden in the shadows. “Alicia.”
“You’re not hurt?” The bright smile Alicia often wore didn’t appear.
“No!” She smiled as she shook her head. “I’m not hurt, not at all. No matter what filthy old Agnes might say.