Inhaling the fresh forest air, Naelin steadied herself. She was supposed to be calming down, not riling herself back up. The champion and his companion were gone. Renet would reconcile himself to that, eventually, and life would return to normal. She simply had to be diligent with their protections, and everything would be fine.
Up ahead, she saw the center of Everdale. Colorful tents had been pitched on the platform, and from the sound of it, the spaces between them were already packed with people. She heard voices and laughter overlapping, and she felt safer already. Spirits wouldn’t dare attack a crowded marketplace. Joining the flow of shoppers, Naelin stepped onto the platform.
Men and women fell silent as she passed. Heads turned, and eyes tracked her. She heard whispers start up in her wake, and she told herself it was her imagination—they weren’t talking about her. She greeted a few neighbors she knew by name as she hurried by, and they warily waved back.
Trying to ignore the stares and whispers, she chose her supplies, haggling only when the miller tried to inflate his price beyond what was reasonable. She handed him a small pile of coins, the bulk of what she’d earned selling her last batch of charms, and he accepted them with a loud moan that she was bankrupting him. She thanked him as if he weren’t being ridiculous, and she tucked the sack of flour into her larger pack.
Across the market, the town hedgewitch, Corinda, waved to her. “Naelin!” Corinda hurried through the crowd, jostling people out of the way with her plump elbows. “Oh, Naelin!”
“Corinda, I’d been thinking that I should bring you more charms to sell—”
The woman embraced her. “I’ve been so worried for you!”
Naelin patted Corinda’s back awkwardly. All right, that’s . . . nice? She wasn’t outwardly affectionate with people who weren’t her children very often, and Corinda had never greeted her with a hug before. “You have? That’s . . .” She searched for the right word. Sweet? Odd? Alarming? “I’m fine. We’re all fine. Why would you be worried?”
Corinda leaned close enough for Naelin to smell the honey-bread on her breath and faintly sour sweat on her skin. “Because of them. You know. I was there when Renet told them about you. I tried to shush him, but you know how he is.” She hugged Naelin again. “Oh, I thought they’d take you for sure!”
Naelin wished that Corinda wouldn’t talk so loud. She glanced right and left—the other shoppers were listening in, and a few didn’t bother to hide it. “There’s no reason for them to take me,” Naelin said in a loud, steady voice. “I have no powers.”
“But they think you do,” Corinda said. “They’ve been in town, asking about you.”
Naelin felt herself grow cold. I didn’t fool them, she thought. I should have known. “I thought they’d left.” She pulled away from her friend and glanced through the crowd, half expecting to see the champion and guard watching her. Her skin prickled with goose bumps. “I have to get home.”
“Of course,” Corinda said. “Go safely. But Naelin, you should know that they’re talking to everyone. And people are mentioning . . . you know.” She nodded significantly northward, toward the school.
Oh, no, Naelin thought. She’d hoped that everyone had forgotten. It had been years since anyone had mentioned it. Erian had been little, younger than Llor was now, when a rogue wood spirit had split the base of the tree that held the school. The tree had teetered, all the children trapped on the platform high above. Down below, with the other parents, Naelin had seen it all happen. She remembered knowing with absolute clarity that if she didn’t do something, the tree would fall and all the children with it. And she remembered watching, with the other parents, as the spirit was forced to heal the tree, knitting the base together, strengthening the trunk with vines, holding it upright until the children could be rescued—and then Naelin had fainted, which was when the rumors began that she had done it. “No one has any proof.”
“People don’t need proof to spread rumors,” Corinda said. “You’d better get home and lay low. The queen’s own champion, well, it’s the most exciting thing to happen in Everdale in ages, and everyone wants to talk to him. Pretty soon, they’ll be making up stories about you just for the chance to look at the man who chose the woman who became queen.”
“I’ll stay home,” Naelin promised. “Once they move on, people will forget. Something else will happen, and they’ll talk about that.”
Corinda brightened. “Ooh, you could always have an affair with someone. That would change the conversation. Or I could have an affair with someone . . .”
Naelin flashed her a smile, and hoped she didn’t look as worried as she felt. “Thank you for the warning.” Waving goodbye, she abandoned her plan to buy enough supplies for the week and instead hurried through the market.
As she pushed through the crowd, Naelin was acutely aware that people, her neighbors and supposed friends, were indeed staring at her and whispering about her, and she felt anger grow in the base of her stomach, right next to the fear. Those strangers had no right to come here, to her home, and muck up her life. She’d made a nice life for herself and her family. She fit in, or she thought she did. She’d worked hard to be just another woodswoman. It wasn’t right that they’d torn all that open.
Reaching the rope bridges, she didn’t stop. She hurried over the swaying path, glancing back over her shoulder frequently. She’d never felt unsafe in the market before. It was supposed to feel familiar and friendly and—
Rounding a corner, she halted. The champion and the guard lounged against the rail of the bridge, casually, as if they’d been waiting for her, and her anger bubbled over. “What are you still doing here?” Naelin demanded. “I told you I’m not who you need.” Part of her recoiled. I can’t talk that way to a champion! But she didn’t back down. This wasn’t just about her—she had to be strong for Erian and Llor.
“We like what we heard about you,” the champion said.
“You heard lies.” Naelin tried to hold on to the anger—it was better than feeling the fear. “Everdale is a boring little town. You’re exciting. People will tell you whatever you want to hear, just so you’ll stay longer.”
“Except you,” the guardswoman pointed out.
Is that what gave me away? Naelin wondered.
“I’d like to propose a test,” the champion said, watching her. “We will rile up a few spirits. If you lack the power to send them away, we will leave you alone. If you don’t . . . then you drop the lies and listen to what your queen and country require of you.”
Naelin backed along the bridge. This was . . . unfair, her brain supplied. Dangerous. Stupid. Stupidly dangerous. “You’ll get me killed.”
“Not if you use your power,” the guard said.