One of the other islanders called, “Why’d you come back?” Unlike the centaur, her tone wasn’t friendly, and she was glowering so hard that her eyes vanished into wrinkles.
Taking a breath, Kiela went with the same line that had worked so well with Larran. “I’d had enough of the city.”
That won a few scattered nods, especially from the centaur.
The old man on the ground playing the game snorted, though. “We don’t need cityfolk here. Mark my words: she’ll just bring trouble.”
The four-armed woman whacked him on the top of his head with a napkin.
“Ow.”
“Didn’t you hear Eadie? She’s not cityfolk.”
The centaur, Eadie, said loudly, “She’s Binna’s girl. Just look at her.”
Everyone stared again, and it took every ounce of Kiela’s courage to stay standing in one spot and not pivot and race back to the steps and the overgrown cottage that was both familiar and unfamiliar—and, she reminded herself, currently smoke-filled, because she was incapable of getting a fire going well enough to feed herself. “I’m just looking to purchase a few supplies, and then I’ll be on my way.”
“On your way? You aren’t staying?” Bryn asked. She looked disappointed. “But you just arrived—you haven’t even tried a fish pastry. It’s my own recipe—the secret is to caramelize the onion and don’t skimp on the garlic.”
That wasn’t what Kiela had meant to say. She’d meant “on my way” as in back to the cottage where she could hide from all these staring, overly interested eyes. “I’m staying in the house. My family’s house. I only meant I’m not staying here, in town, in this spot.”
“Youdidcome home,” Eadie said smugly. “Everyone always does.”
“Her parents didn’t,” the grumpy man said, which earned him another whack from the harpist. But a few of the others nodded with him, as if that was the expected fate of anyone who left Caltrey. She felt the urge to defend her parents and their choices. They’d only wanted a better life for their family. What was so wrong about that?
Bryn stepped forward and made shooing motions with her hands, as if scattering chickens in front of her. “That’s enough, all of you—you’re going to frighten her off.” Coming up to Kiela, the friendly baker hooked her arm through hers, which made Kiela want to flee even more. “Come with me, and I’ll get you set up with whatever you need.”
Guiding her inside, Bryn pointed to a flour-dusted stool and insisted Kiela make herself at home. Kiela perched awkwardly and wished she’d had a better option than coming to town. While Bryn bustled behind a counter filled with buns, rolls, and loaves, Kiela glanced out the open door and wondered if all the customers were gossiping about her.Probably.The harp music had started again, but she could hear voices murmuring beneath it.
“They don’t mean any harm,” Bryn said. “Don’t mind them.”
How could she not mind? But Kiela said, “It’s fine.” “Hmm, if you’d rather be offended, that’s okay too. We Caltreyans can be a lot: nosy, pushy, and opinionated—and that’s just me. Now, what do you need?”
Everything,she wanted to say.
She needed her library back. She needed her parents, even though it had been so many years. She needed to feel safe again. And she needed to have a purpose again. She needed to be needed—and to be wanted.
But what came out of her mouth was: “Food. Seeds. And maybe a chicken?”
Chapter Five
Bryn squeezed icing onto a cinnamon bun and handed it to Kiela.
“I can’t afford—”
“A welcome present,” Bryn said. Kiela thought of the basket from Larran with the same buns in them, as well as the same words in his note. If cinnamon buns were the traditional welcome on Caltrey, she liked it. “Or, if you prefer, a good-luck present for your new start.”
A new start.The bite of cinnamon bun hardened into cement in her throat, and she swallowed hard.Is that what this is?She suddenly felt as if her head were spinning, and she was glad she was already sitting. She’d liked her life; she hadn’t planned to leave it.How do I start over?
The baker brushed the flour off her furry cheek before climbing on her own stool. “If you don’t mind me asking,” Bryn said, “why uproot yourself and make such a change? And all the way from Alyssium—is it as grand and glorious as they say? I’ve never even been there—I’m originally from the southern isles, left home after a family issue went bad, came straight to Caltrey, and never looked back.” She chattered so fast that her words tumbled over one another like a stream over rocks, and then when she finished, she waited expectantly, even eagerly, for Kiela to answer.
Not thrilled to be the focus of anyone’s attention, Kiela squirmed on her stool. Shedidmind Bryn asking, and she had no idea how to answer. She doubted that news of the revolution had reached this far north, so she’d have to explain all of that. She knew how that would go: lots of intense questions about her escape, and it wasn’t an experience she wanted to relive. And assuming she was able to choke out the story, she’d be admitting she was a librarian—what if they figured out she took the books? What if they guessed she hadn’t had permission to take them? What if they thought she’d stolen them? What if they contacted an imperial investigator? Kiela felt a chill thinking about them. Imperial investigators were called in whenever there was a suspicion about the mishandling of magic, and they had near limitless authority to punish offenders. What if they had her arrested and the books impounded? Or worse, destroyed? Illegal possession of spellbooks was a crime with very, very serious consequences. If she were arrested, what would happen to Caz?
Bryn asked with sympathy in her voice, “Was it a lover?”
“No!” Kiela realized she’d answered that too vehemently, and she felt herself blush. “I mean, it wasn’t anyone. There isn’t anyone. It was just . . . time to leave.”
Bryn nodded sagely. “Ah, you don’t like talking about yourself—I understand, and I won’t ask any more questions.”
