Taking a deep breath, she headed down the footpath once more.After trudging the long way, she made it to the edge.The sun rose higher in the sky and there, on the edge of the village, was the sheriff’s familiar carriage.
She swallowed hard.Whose house was he in?The Brightwood’s?The Fullhide’s?Hornraven?Not wanting to linger, she forced her feet to move and hurried into the village.As she neared her small home, the door to the Hornraven home burst open.Mrs.Hornraven ran out sobbing, her face red and splotchy.Her cheeks were stained with tears.Mr.Hornraven followed, carrying the smallest child.Their two other children were on either side of him.
And then, stepping out after them, the taxman and the sheriff.Urbano Lackman strutted like he owned the village, his greasy hair matted to his head, that familiar sneer plastered on his face.Cold.Heartless.He was glad to see them thrown out.She could feel it.He craned his neck and looked up at the home that was barely more than a hovel.But it was all the Hornravens had.
“That should cover it,” he said to the sheriff.
“We paid what we could,” the woman sobbed.“Please!Please, I beg you.Give us more time.”
Her husband was at her side, reaching for her arm and tugging her toward him with a gentle nudge.
“No extensions,” the man said, his tone cold and unrelenting.“King’s orders.”
Guilt bloomed in her chest like fire.It’s them.Not us.Not today.That truth cut worse than any blade.The oldest boy’s face was devoid of emotion.The middle girl clutched her doll, all she had left, as giant tears rolled down her face.The man was red with fury but said nothing, for he knew the punishment for speaking out against the king’s men.
“Where are we supposed to go?”Mr.Hornraven asked.
The taxman shrugged.“Don’t know.Don’t care.”Then to the sheriff, “Next house!”
He knocked on the Fullhide’s door while Mrs.Hornraven continued to wail.
Serena fled, eyes down.She didn’t look back.She didn’t want to see another family fall.Her front door clicked shut behind her, and only then did she let herself breathe.
As soon as the door closed, she heard a deep cough coming from her father.Her younger sister, Maris, came from the bedroom with an expectant expression.
“Where have you been?Papa has been asking for you.”
Serena pulled the edge of her threadbare cloak closer to hide the satchel of gold.She hurried through the small cabin to the room she shared with her sister.
“I had an errand,” she called.
“An errand?For what?Today is tax day, Serena.How are we—”
“I know,” she said, cutting her off.She half-turned to look at her over her shoulder.“I’ll handle it.”
“But—”
Serena closed the bedroom door, cutting her off.She stood for a moment in the solace of the room, closing her eyes and taking a long, cleansing breath.She was trying to make sense of what she’d done.What she’d seen.And what it might cost her.She hurried to her narrow bed and dumped the satchel.Coins clinked, forming a golden mountain.Quickly, she counted, knowing she needed three hundred for the taxes.
When she surpassed three hundred and went all the way to a thousand, her fingers trembled.She’d asked for enough.But this…this was too much.Why?Was it a mistake?A trap?Or something worse?The man’s voice echoed again.What will you pay?Her breath hitched.What had she already paid?
A pounding on the door startled her.She scooped the money back into the satchel and stashed it under her pillow.
“Serena?He’s here,” Maris called through the door.
She smoothed her hair, but her palms were slick with sweat.She must remain calm.Smile.Lie, if she had to.She opened the door.
“Go tend Papa.”
“But—”
“Now.Let me handle it.”
Another pounding on the door.When her sister failed to move—her eyes ringed in fear—Serena gave her a gentle nudge toward their father’s bedroom.Once the door was closed, she greeted the sheriff and taxman.
The sheriff looked tired, haggard, annoyed.The taxman, though, had a gleeful gleam in his dark eyes.She hated him all the more for it.
“Wait here,” she said before he spoke.
