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“What about her?” he asked.

“Mistress Prout intends to throw her out if I ever leave the foundling home or abandon my job here at the tavern.”

“Then bring her with you.”

“Are you sure?” I frowned at him. “She is a young child. They are rarely quiet or unobtrusive. And Mela tends to be very talkative. Won’t that annoy your mother?”

“Perhaps, but Mother can tolerate it for a time. Just until you get another position—and figure out another place to live—if you wish.”

It was strange. Despite the hesitation in his voice and manner, my sense that he truly wanted us to live with them came across very strongly.

“Have you spoken to your mother about Mela?”

“No, but—”

I cut him off with a shake of my head. “And what if she hates having a child underfoot?”

“She loves children.”

I rolled my eyes. “Loving children and living with them constantly are two very different experiences.”

His hooded face regarded mine with a strange intensity. “I was a troublesome child, Rue, and she still enjoys the company of the village children whenever she can spend time with them. I am confident she will tolerate Mela just fine.

“And if she doesn’t, we will work it out. The important part of this is that you and Mela will have a safer living situation. You will be free to earn your own keep and save for the future. Right now, you are being exploited, threatened daily with eviction, and stalked by a thug who inflicts harm whenever he can get close enough to touch you.” He gestured to my bruised wrist. “Surely inconveniencing my mother for a few weeks or months is worth avoiding that.”

When I didn’t respond immediately, he let out a heavy sigh. “I will move out into the garden shed if it will make you feel more comfortable.”

Even before he finished saying it, I was shaking my head. “I have no fear of you harming me.” It was strange how completely I trusted him. “I am only worried about what else could happen. What if Master Hobb fires you for persuading me to leave?”

“I would find work.” He shrugged off the potential difficulty with all the confidence of a male with a multitude of skills.

What did I have? I could scrub, clean, cook a little, and tend children. Not unique skills or marketable qualities. Almost every woman could do the same. I wasn’t special.

The last bit of grime scrubbed away, from a sticky spot on the floor. I climbed to my feet, surveying the floor one last time to assure myself I hadn’t missed anything. Kent picked his way across the floor toward the door, avoiding the damp places that hadn’t dried yet. He checked the bolt and pulled the shade down over the front window.

“Shall I put out the light?” he asked.

The familiar question triggered a sense of loss. So much would change. There were benefits, yes. No longer having to deal with Misha’s pestering or the double standard that my position inherently brought would be a pleasant change. However, I would miss Master Hobb, Broan, and the regulars. They weren’t quite friends, but they had become friendly faces. They knew my name and looked for my arrival each day, which was more than I could say for anyone else, aside from Mela—Mela and Kent, I amended. Kent looked for my arrival and appeared to care genuinely for how I felt and what I did. I blinked and realized I was staring blankly at the floor while my mind raced.

“Rue?” Kent prompted.

Recalling Kent’s question, I nodded. After claiming my pail, I backed through the kitchen door, leaving Kent to extinguish the scattered lanterns.

“Almost ready for you,” Broan called over his shoulder without a glance. “Let me bank the fire, wash the last of the dishes, and take out the waste bucket before you start on the floor.”

Fetching the mop from where it rested against the wall near the hearth, I set it in the still somewhat sudsy water in my pail. Leaving it to soak, I began upturning the chairs onto the clean kitchen tabletop.

“Ruuueah!” Yurtin’s slurred voice right outside the kitchen door sent a chill of alarm down my spine. Magic flooded my senses as Kent appeared in the darkened common room doorway.

“He’s drunk,” Broan commented.

“He was drunk when I ejected him from the common room earlier.” Kent regarded the closed door to the back of the building grimly.

“Ruuueah! Come owwt!” Yurtin pounded on the unbolted door. “I know you are in there. I have something you want!”

“Did the idiot drink away his common sense?” Broan asked.

“Most likely,” Kent muttered as he strode across the room and grabbed the door latch, pulling it more securely into the frame. Half turning toward me, he asked, “Do you want me to deal with him?”