And now this, for all the world as if she is inviting me to have dinner with her, complete with table and a sweet treat. The pie islayered with her own scent, so I know that the pie was made with her own hands. Food she made, food that takes hours of work, and she wants to share it with me.
Warmth floods my chest, but I don’t budge as her eyes narrow, sweeping the area where I’m crouched; my heart pounds. I shouldn’t be this close. I know better. But the scent of the food, combined with the invitation to eat in her own way, makes me feel bolder than I should be. I’m entirely too large to be hiding in these berry bushes already plucked clean of their fruits, but it’s too late to move now.
I could swear that her eyes settle on me for a moment. She goes still, and I forget how to breathe, pushing down panic. I’m not ready to meet her, not properly. I have work to do yet, and I don’t want her to fear me, almost a certainty unless I can figure out some way to leave this form, even for a little while. If I approach her too soon and she is afraid of me, all of my work will be for naught.
An indeterminable amount of time later she finally turns away, heading inside only once she had checked the placement of the pie and ensured the bowl of water wouldn’t fall off the table. It pains me to see her leave, even for such a short distance.
CHAPTER 6
Maris
If I am nothing else,I am petty, and I’ve come to accept that.
Petty enough to come to the village’s light festival, even when they all hate every breath I take. Petty enough to use what little flour I have left to bake a loaf of berry bread and bring it to share, even when I know no one will dare touch it; even now, the ladies at the long wooden tables of food scoot the other food away, as if my bread might contaminate it somehow. I’m surprised they haven’t tossed it on the ground and stomped it yet, honestly. I'll consider sidelong looks and whispers to be an improvement, actually.
One of the women holding the cups of wine, a wooden tray, balanced on her shoulder, cringes so violently away from me that she nearly drops the tray; the cups, clatter violently, and I snatch one out of the air before it can fall. The liquid within sloshes as I raise it in toast. She blanches.
I take a sip of it, then went, nose, wrinkling. It's some sort of berry wine, flavored with honey, and too sweet by half. Or perhaps I'm just unused to anything but water. Everything Ihave, I have made with my own two hands, and I don't bother with wine or juice of any kind, not when the berries are better served to fill my belly.
Still, I force myself to drink it all before I return the cup and go in search of something to eat. The food is the main reason. I'm here in the middle of the festivities when I would far rather be at home. Everyone here hates me, but they won't turn me away, not when the elders of the church are here for the celebration.
As much as the villagers hate me, they don't dare show it outwardly, not without proof. Then they will have to explain why they have suffered a "witch" to live for so long, that they are too cowardly to face me truly, and would rather sneak their snide comments and jabs at my back.
It is the reality of my life that I am unwelcome here, and yet the scant pile of coins hidden away beneath my bed will never be enough to leave this place. I eat only enough to live, never spending coins, but it is not enough. Lest some demon or angel take me away, I am doomed to remain here in this place. And if that is the case, this village that hates me may as well feed me as well as anyone else at the feast.
I mingle with the crowd, trying to force myself to eat slowly, so as not to overwhelm my stomach, even managing to hide a few rolls and other small bits in the pockets of my dress; my mother and I loved to add pockets to nearly everything we sold, and I send up a silent prayer of thanks as I slip a few strips of dried jerky into my pockets. I didn't dare steal too much, just in case, but anything is better than what I've been managing of late.
I have no idea how I'm going to get through the winter without my garden, but I've been doing my utmost to put that from my mind. What will be, will be, and I don't have the energy to worry any more than I already am.
Eyes burn into the space between my shoulder blades and I tense, breathing deeply in an attempt to keep my heart rate fromrising too much. If I look guilty, every one of these vultures will sense it, and no amount of polite decorum under the guise of thinly veiled threats will stop them from tearing me apart. I must not show fear.
I turn slowly to face the group, keeping my hands open at my sides to show that I'm not a threat. The whole area is filled with people, yet this little group is clearly different, standing apart like a bushel of mushrooms in a wheat field. I would refer to them as a pack, but that is an insult to Gray and her brothers and sisters.
"Arcas. Are you enjoying the festivities?" I ask, doing my utmost to keep my expression placid. I'm doing nothing wrong, not really, at least nothing that will do any harm to anyone else. But that isn't how they'll see it.
Arcas smiles. There's nothing friendly in it, and it doesn't reach his eyes. I've known him too long to believe it for even a moment, but the others will take their cues from him. As long as he doesn't snap, I might still have a chance at getting out of this unscathed.
"Maris. I see you're partaking in the refreshments. Are you enjoying the festivities?"
I can hear the accusation in his tone, the edge to his voice, but it's not an outright accusation. As far as I know, this is the longest conversation we've ever had without an insult or accusation of some kind being hurled by one or both of us, and there is a cautious flutter of hope in my chest.
Perhaps there is progress being made. Perhaps me keeping to myself has made them feel less threatened by me, more secure. Perhaps there is hope yet.
And that is only confirmed when Arcas' smile widens and he takes a step back, his posse shifting as well, then gestures toward the forest.
"A group of us are stepping into the trees to tell stories."
Behind him, a young man shakes a bottle lightly, some sort of amber liquid swirling inside, and my heart leaps. My excitement isn't about the alcohol; it's about the invitation. I've grown up with this crowd, and this is the first time they have ever willingly sought me out to do anything other than to threaten or mock me. A tiny voice in the back of my head warns that I shouldn't get my hopes up, but I can't help it. I'm so tired of being made to live a solitary life when all I want is to thrive with friendships and companionship. I yearn to feel included.
"Yes! I'd love to join you."
There's a brief moment of silence and I tense, my heart pausing a beat, suddenly terrified that I've mistaken what they mean. It wouldn't surprise me at all to think that they are simply mocking me somehow, that this is all a ruse to humiliate me. They will act like they are inviting me to join them, only to say that that isn't what they intended at all, that they won't allow me to ruin their good time.
Then the moment passes, and Arcas smiles cheerfully. It still doesn't reach his eyes, but it's easier to ignore now.
"Of course. Follow us."
Arcas motions for me to follow and I do, trying to ignore my skin crawling from how close the rest of the party is behind us, closing the gap forming up around us like guards around a king.
