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“There is one more thing regarding the dagger,” I say. “I need one side of the blade to be iron, and the other to be flintstone. Can this be accomplished?”
Philip rubs his scraggly chin, his attempts at growing a beard dismal at best. “It can be accomplished,” he replies, “but ‘tis a strange request.”
“Good. I will also need a breast plate. Nothing that covers my arms, just something to go around my torso and chest. And I’ll need it straightaway.” I retrieve eight bits from my coin pouch and drop them in his awaiting palm.
“I’ll get right to it, your grace. But I’ll need your measurements.”
“Certainly.”
Philip pulls a measuring strip from his pocket. “Hold your arms out to the side, please, your grace.”
I remove my cloak and hold out my arms. He places the measuring strip around my waist and then pauses when he looks at my bosom.
“It’s fine, sir. Get on with it.”
He does as he’s told. “Very well, princess. I’ll make haste.”
“Have them delivered to my cottage when they are ready.”
“Aye, my lady. I will.”
I pull my hood back onto my head and make my way to the street again. I realize our time is narrowing for the fight with King Urich. This will be the last time I walk in the market square so freely—the last time I am simply Milla.
I round the corner and see the vegetable vendor, his simmering stewpot filled with what smells like potato soup. I inhale the fragrance, remembering how my stomach would growl from within three feet of his decadent concoctions. I glance at each shop as I pass, feeling as though it is the first time I have ever really looked at them. Before, my time spent in the market square was studying the people—which ones looked like they needed warmth. Which ones looked as though they had a hefty coin purse. But being here this way is different. And then it hits me.
I am no longer the match girl.
My eyes set on the bakery when I spy it. I can smell the bread. I close my eyes, remembering how the scent always reminded me of Jordy. Every nerve in my body wants to run through those doors and call out for him, but I back away instead. I can still picture Treena on those steps, Jordy’s face in her hands and his lips on hers.
And then I see him.
Jordy steps through the bakery doors and into the street, broom in hand. He’s sweeping, his muscles visible through his shirt as he works. He pushes a hand through his thick, chestnut hair and then abruptly stops what he’s doing. He leans against the wall of the bakery and rests his arms on top of the broom handle. His forehead is reclining on top of his hands. He’s obviously distressed. I’m urged to move in closer, implore what is wrong, but I back away instead. I turn and head for the last place on my mental list, trying not to think of Jordy. One foot in front of the other, no turning back. Two streets to go.
Master Burgess is busy with a customer when I arrive at the trading post. I take the time while I’m waiting to appreciate his craft, the leather bags and coin pouches, straps and reins. I think about the time it took for him to tan the leather and create his wares, and I admire him all over again. He is a talented man, a good man, and I will miss him when I’m in the palace.
“May I help you, mistress?” Master Burgess says when he finishes with his customer.
I lower my hood. “Well, you have helped me more times than I can recall, good sir.”
“Milla, my sweet girl!” His arms are around me and I sink into his warm hug, craving the comfort of someone who truly cares for me.
“So, a princess?” he says when the hug is through.
“Looks like,” I reply.
“I always knew you were destined for greatness,” he says, as resolute as if he were stating that the sun is bright or that water is wet.
“You know, if anyone else said that to me, I would call them a liar. But I believe it coming from you, good sir.”
“That’s because ’tis true. Every word. Your gram saw it in you too. She’d be so proud of you right now, Milla. I know I am.”
“I wish she were here now,” I admit. “Why does she have to be gone?”
“Now you listen to me, Milla. You remember your gram’s words, her expressions, you carry them in your heart, and they make you the person you are in this hour. Your gram is as much a part of this adventure as you, mistress. She will only be gone if forgotten.”
“And I will never forget my gram.”
He winks. “Indeed.”
