“Cheer up, you lovebirds aren’t parting for long,” said Mistress Marshall, striding up to us. “And he’s right—we are relatively close by. You’ll get there soon enough, though you might not want to after you’ve stayed with us. A wild claim isn’t going to look nearly as comfortable as a well-to-do homestead.”
Mister Marshall had been out to Hadisen a number of times, overseeing the construction of a house before bringing his wife and children. I wanted to be with Cedric, but a secret part of me was eager to sleep under a real roof in a real bed—especially since the sky was finally threatening rain. I also wondered what the odds were of taking a bath. There was so much dirt under my fingernails that I could no longer see the whites.
Cedric and I parted with a kiss, and I watched him for as long as I could as I rode away in the Marshalls’ wagon. The scrappy little town grew smaller and smaller, and I caught one last sight of Cedric holding up his hand to me before all was lost in dusk’s shadows. When we reached the homestead, night had fallen completely. I could just make out the house, a cabin built with crosswise logs. From the outside, it didn’t look very big.
As it turned out, it wasn’t that big on the inside either. We had a large common room to be used for pretty much every household task: cooking, eating, sewing, entertaining, and so on. A tiny bedroom to the side was reserved for Mister and Mistress Marshall. Upstairs, in a loft, a partition separated out two bedrooms—one for the girls and one for the boys. I was sharing a large bed with the three girls. I hoped none of them kicked.
We spent the rest of the evening hauling in supplies before the rain came. Cape Triumph’s sheltered position protected it from storms, but they could sometimes blow through to Hadisen with a vengeance. Most of the journey so far had been about endurance, and this was my first real taste of hard labor. Mister Marshall and a couple of the boys helped put the livestock in their barn. We finished just in time, and Mistress Marshall cooked us a pot of millet and dried meat for dinner over the hearth. We sat on a long bench at the table to eat. It wasn’t comfortable, especially with my aching muscles, but it saved us from sitting on the hard-packed dirt floor.
“It won’t stay like that forever,” Mistress Marshall said, pointing down. “We aren’t savages. We’ll soon have straw to cover it.”
When it came time to sleep, I picked a spider out of the bed and hoped there weren’t any more. We blew out the candles and listened to the rain pound against the roof as we lay huddled together in the large bed. It turned out to be a steady downpour, not a fierce storm. The roof didn’t leak, so it had that going for it at least.
Lying there in the dark, I remembered that I was a countess of the blood, a peeress of Osfrid. The anxiety I’d felt on my first day on the Hadisen journey rose within me, and I tried to think of Cedric’s words, that my difficulty came in simply adjusting to a situation I wasn’t perfect at. It was comfort enough to help me fall asleep, though I had to wonder how anyone could feel like an expert at living in a cabin on the brink of civilization.
Cedric didn’t come the next day as he’d said he would. Or the day after that. At first, I was annoyed by the delay. But as more days added up, I began to worry. The Marshalls told me all was probably fine, but the fear gnawed at me. I had plenty of time to think about all sorts of terrible possibilities because I was constantly engaged in manual activities that taxed my body more than my mind. My academic lessons wouldn’t begin until the homestead was set up, and I didn’t mind pulling my share for the Marshalls. But I was hopelessly underprepared.
The skills I’d learned as a noblewoman were useless. And most of the Glittering Court’s lessons were as well. No marriage possibility had ever ended in a scenario like this. We’d practiced tasks that the mistress of a modest household—like Nicholas Adelton’s—might need to supervise or even help out with if the other servants were busy. But there’d been no preparation for the chores that met me out here. I learned to milk cows and churn butter. I ground hard corn into fine grain. I dug in the earth to plant seeds for vegetables and herbs. I cooked batches of simple, hearty fare that was low on taste but could feed a large crowd. I made lye soap—which was pretty much my least favorite job of all.
There was no party planning. No dancing. No sugared glass plates. No music in the conservatory. No conservatory.
And my hands were . . . well, not what they once were.
When Cedric finally showed, I was sweeping the cabin’s earthen floor—something that seemed completely pointless to me. It mostly felt like I was moving dirt around. I’d been up since sunrise, and it was only one of many grubby chores I’d performed. I looked up to wipe my brow, startled to see Cedric standing in the doorway, regarding me with an astonished look. I let the broom drop to the floor and threw myself into his arms, nearly knocking him over in the process. He used the doorframe to steady himself and then wrapped me to him more closely. I rested a hand on his chest, taking in how real and solid he was.
“You’re not dead,” I breathed.