“She had a small child with her. A girl that looked like her. Big eyes, gold hair.”
“That’s Hilda, dear,” called the old woman from the hearth, where she was rearranging chairs.
“That’s Hilda, then,” said the man. “Sweet lass. Keeps to herself much of the time, especially since her mother died. Travels into the forest to speak with the witch, keep her happy and away from the Fair. She’s the finest tailor in town, if you need something made or mended.”
“And the little girl, that’s her sister?”
“Oh no, her daughter. Little Henrike.”
“She’s married?”
“No, no, not that I know. And you don’t get married in Greymist Fair without the whole village knowing.”
Unmarried and with a child. Even better. He had never met a person with a child who didn’t want a companion to make them whole.
The old innkeeper narrowed his eyes good-naturedly at the prince and wagged the index finger not preoccupied with a heavy mug. “Now there, you aren’t crafting some scheme to steal young Hilda away, are you?”
“Of course not,” said the prince with a happy smile. “I would never.”
He wouldn’t have to. She would wish for him.
Three
Hilda the tailor lived in a cottage on a hill bordering the forest. The prince could see it from his room, small in the distance and half-hidden by the branches of a towering linden tree. A light burned in a tiny window.
The next day the prince gathered one of his brocade coats and several shirts that had become frayed and torn through the course of his travels, with the intent to ask the tailor to mend them. Evren was to come with him, but when Evren emerged from the inn, he was toting Ilyas. The boy had been crying recently—it was rare when he didnotcry—and hid himself behind Evren’s legs as he let himself be led forward.
The prince glanced down at him pointedly.
“I know,” Evren said, “but I wasn’t going to let his father whip him again just for looking at roses. He won’t get in your way.”
The prince doubted that, but turned and marched up the hill without arguing.
The little girl, Henrike, was playing with a doll of sticks beneath the linden tree. She watched them as they approached the cottage, her gaze quickly finding Ilyas and sticking to him. She was like a small lion, wary golden eyes and a posture that suggested a new hunt. A dried bundle of herbs hung from the cottage door. The sun was peeking out between the clouds, casting a watery yellow glow against the warped panes of glass in the window.
Before the prince could knock, Henrike called out in a high, bell-chime voice,“Mama!”
The door swung open. Hilda appeared before them, brushing hair from her eyes, looking surprised. Behind her stood a large loom, hung with thread. Hilda looked quickly toward Henrike as if to make sure her call hadn’t been for anything more serious, then turned back to the prince.
“Good morning,” she said. She gave a brisk nod. “Can I help you with anything?”
The prince introduced himself and Evren, then held up his stack of clothing. “I was told you were the best tailor in the village. I was hoping I could employ your services.”
Henrike had scampered over from the tree, but instead of standing beside her mother, she went straight for Ilyas. She held out her stick doll for him and, after enough prompting, he carefully took it.
Hilda watched them. “Yours?” she asked, motioning to Ilyas.
“No,” the prince replied quickly. “He’s with the caravan. Evren is looking after him for now.”
Evren had knelt down with the two children and was facilitating play. Ilyas’s tears had dried and he was smiling as he cast furtive glances at Henrike. Perhaps the prince had been wrong, then—the boy wouldn’t get in his way.
“Could we step inside?” the prince asked Hilda, motioning past her. “I can show you what I need.”
“Oh—of course,” she said.
The inside of the cottage was cramped with tools and other odds and ends the prince assumed were for tailoring. His eyes passed over the details and saw the larger picture. One room, not very large and cluttered besides, a single bed for both mother and child. It got better and better. Whatwouldn’tshe wish for? Beauty and youth, he supposed—she had plenty of both, at least for now.
“The clothing?” she said, pulling him from his thoughts. Her gaze had sharpened since he’d come in; her eyes were honey gold in the shaft of sunlight entering through the open door.
