Page 6 of Severe Husband Warning

I return the stopper to the bottle with more care than the task requires.

Judging by the level of the liquid, perhaps four proper doses remain. Five, if I begin stretching each spoonful a little thinner than the apothecary intended.

Father notices where my attention has settled.

“How was Lord Malakor?” he asks after a moment.

“The performance went well.”

“And the payment?”

I lower the bottle into the cabinet before answering.

“Not as well.”

His eyes rest briefly on the medicine before meeting mine again.

“I thought as much.”

“I’ll find another engagement,” I mutter as I close the cabinet door.

Father shifts carefully against the pillows before speaking again, “During tithe season? Most houses are searching for reasons to tighten their purses.”

“They’ll still want their neighbors believing they’ve done the opposite.”

A tired laugh escapes him.

“Your mother always said you could find the loose thread in any tapestry.”

“She also said I inherited your stubbornness.”

The market is already alive when I arrive the following morning.

Canvas awnings ripple in the wind while merchants call over one another and buyers weave between the stalls. Fresh bread, smoked meat, herbs, and red dust mingle into a scent every corner of Ti’lith seems to share.

“Looking for miracles again?”

I smile toward the vegetable stall where Cora Bell is rearranging baskets of onions.

“I was hoping you’d started selling them.”

“If miracles could be weighed by the pound,” she says with a laugh, “I’d be wealthier than every spire lord in Ti’lith.”

Cora has traded in the lower market for as long as I can remember. She’s only a few years older than I am, but a hard life had carved a confidence into her that makes the gap seem far wider. Whenever Father couldn’t leave the quarry, she kept an eye on me between customers, slipping me bruised apples or stale bread she insisted she couldn’t sell anyway.

“What can I get you?” she asks.

I open my purse. The copper dalers stare back at me with all the generosity Lord Malakor thought appropriate.

“Half a loaf,” I tell her. “And whatever root vegetables that leaves.”

Without comment, Cora fills my basket with turnips before adding an onion so naturally anyone watching would think I’d paid for it. I meet her eyes, but she only nudges the basket back toward me and reaches for the next customer.

Around us, the market begins to quiet.

Cora’s expression changes first. Whatever she sees beyond my shoulder empties the warmth from her face.

I turn.