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“Bak!” I giggle.
“A surprise for you today, love. A friend for you to meet.” He kisses me before setting me on my feet, then steps aside. “This is Oshin of the Blackhearts.”
The male doesn’t look familiar, at least not yet. He’s tall and wears a wicked goatee that’s dusted with silver, though his hair is dark green, nearly black.
And I realize I’m staring at him. My mom and dad, and Bak’s parents, stand next to him and all of them watch me expectantly.
“’Tis all right if ye don’t remember me, lass. We stopped by to ride with ye all to Creede today. Brought our massive carriage for the females to ride in, since yer mum’s been eating way too many ribs.” He eyes my mother’s swollen belly, making everyone laugh.
And while I don’t remember him, I remember the quiet girl standing at his side. “N-Negan?”
Her eyes grow wide.
“You remember my daughter?” Oshin asks, surprised.
“Aye.” I reach out and grab her, pulling her toward me to hug tight, and then Hisa joins in.
“All three of them in the carriage, then,” Oshin decides. “Along with you two,” he says to the moms.
I know he brought it because he doesn’t want my mom to be uncomfortable riding a horse to Creede. Grandpa Brachard mentioned this trip a few weeks earlier. In fact, we’re making a big deal of it. Brachard and Aga left early this morn, along with a lot of the males. I’ll be meeting my Aunt Rosemary, though everyone’s been warned that my memories don’t come back easily or all at once.
The first week after the death of the rogue clan, I had memories popping up daily. They slowed after about a week, though, and I grow more frustrated the harder I try.
Even the dreams that comforted me for so long while in the rogue clan’s camp don’t console me. They’ve vanished too—though, to be fair, they’ve been replaced by a happier real life.
“If you’re riding in the carriage, do you want to dress up with us?” Hisa asks Negan. “Mum made you a pretty gold dress for Christmas, but I’ll bet she’d give it to you early.”
My mother, as sweet as can be, agrees with her, stepping in to hug Negan too.
“Yes, I look forward to dressing like a fairy princess whenever I come here.”
“Bah,” Oshin grumbles. “Makes no difference. Yer beautiful dressed in leather and with a blackened eye.”
Negan sighs and we giggle as we pull her away to my mom’s cottage. Surprisingly, Hisa knows exactly where it is, grabbing it from the sewing room that was added on to maximize the light and keep out the brats.
“My father, Bakog, and Tok are riding there now,” Negan says. “Making sure the roads are cleared for the rest of the party.”
“They’re making such a big deal of this,” I grumble, irritated because I haven’t seen much of Bak today. ‘Tis almost like the fool is avoiding me.
“Creede is going to be packed,” Hisa says. “’Tis not often that they allow us to pretend to be princesses. We always had to beg in the past, so let’s consider ourselves lucky, eh?”
Negan giggles. “Aye, Shally. Took me three years to get my father to buy that carriage. He had to make a deal with Bakog’s other grandfather in Serenity. Bitched and moaned about how much gold Lord Montierge demanded.”
Hisa winks. “The old goat didn’t tell you it took three years because he insisted on making sure it was tested for safety. Wanted to see how the wheels would hold up in mud. In rain. In snow. Had it filled with orcs, and had it tested with just two orcs inside. Had it balanced and unbalanced in case a lady changed her mind and didn’t want to ride. Even wanted to know if windows would add in air or heat. It couldn’t be too wide for narrow roads. It couldn’t be too narrow for wide roads. Grandfather Montierge said he should have charged him double, which made him scowl.”
We laugh and then Hisa unravels Negan’s braids so she’s a softly frizzy mess, then twists two smaller braids off her temples to wrap around the head and keep the bouncy hair contained. She twists some jewels in—much like she did for me after lunch.
“Are you sure we normally dress up this much to go to Creede?” I ask again for about the hundredth time. I don’t remember the visits, but this seems excessive. More like we’re attending a wedding. Or that we’re royals, arriving in a carriage.
“Yup. Even the mothers will be dressed. You’ll see.”
Nervously, I stare in the mirror. I’m about as far from Jogug as can be. Nay, this image is total Shalia. A soft pink gown, Hisa’s wearing peach, and Negan’s in gold. Loose hair, all of us.
I wish I could cover up the mating marks. I reach for a tube of makeup on my mother’s dresser and go to swish it over the marks, but Negan reaches for my hand.
“Leave it,” she says softly.
It would probably look worse anyway. Would probably draw the eye to the odd color in the spot and wouldn’t even cover the black lines. And who knows? With her being Blackheart, it might even be an insult to cover the marks.
