Soul of the Fire (Sword of Truth 5)

“Master Dalton offered me a position—”

“And I suppose you’ll be looking forward to next penance assembly so you can hear about what those Haken beasts in their fancy uniforms did to those helpless women.” She leaned toward him. “You’ll like that. It will be almost as much fun for you as if you were there watching.”

Fitch stood with his jaw hanging as she huffed and stormed off into the night.

Other people walking down the street saw the tongue-lashing she had given him, a filthy Haken. They smiled in satisfaction, or simply laughed at him. Fitch stuffed his hands in his pockets as he turned his back to the road and leaned a shoulder against the tree. He brooded as he waited for everyone to move along on their own business.

It was an hour’s walk back to the estate. He wanted to be sure those returning there had gone on so he could walk alone and not have to talk to anyone. He considered going and buying himself some drink. He still had some money left. If not, he would go back and find Morley, and they would both get some drink. Either way, getting drunk sounded good to him.

The breeze abruptly felt cooler. It ran a shiver up his spine.

He almost leaped out of his boots when a hand settled on his shoulder. He spun and saw it was an older Ander woman. Her swept-back, nearly shoulder-length hair told him she was someone important. Streaks of gray at the temples told him she was old; there wasn’t enough light to see exactly how wrinkled she was, but he could still tell she was.

Fitch bowed to the Ander woman. He feared she might want to take up where Beata had left off, and take him to task for something or other.

“Is she someone you care about?” the woman asked.

Fitch was taken off guard by the curious question. “I don’t know,” he stammered.

“She was pretty rough with you.”

“I deserved it, ma’am.”

“Why is that?”

Fitch shrugged. “I don’t know.”

He couldn’t figure out what the woman wanted. It gave him gooseflesh the way her dark eyes studied him, like she was picking out a chicken for dinner.

She wore a simple dress that in the dim light looked like it might be a dark brown. It buttoned to her neck, unlike the more revealing fashion most Ander women wore. Her dress didn’t mark her as a noble woman, but that long hair said she was someone important.

She seemed somehow different from other Ander women. There was one thing about her that Fitch did think odd: she wore a wide black band tight around her throat, up close at the top of her neck.

“Sometimes girls say mean things when they’re afraid to admit they like a boy, fearing he won’t like her.”

“And sometimes they say mean things because they intend them.”

“True enough.” She smiled. “Does she live at the estate, or here in Fairfield?”

“Here in Fairfield. She works for Inger the butcher.”

She seemed to think that was a little bit funny. “Perhaps she is used to more meat on the bones. Maybe when you get a little older and fill yourself in more she will find you more appealing.”

Fitch stuffed his hands back in his pockets. “Maybe.”

He didn’t believe it. Besides, he didn’t figure he would ever fill in, as she put it. He figured he was old enough that he was about how he would be.

She went back to studying his face for a time.

“Do you want her to like you?” she asked at last.

Fitch cleared his throat. “Well, sometimes, I guess. At least, I’d like her not to hate me.”

The woman had one of those smiles like she was well pleased with something, but he doubted he’d ever understand it.

“It could be arranged.”

“Ma’am?”

“If you like her, and would like her to like you, it could be arranged.”

Fitch blinked in astonishment. “How?”

“A little something slipped into what she drinks, or eats.”

Understanding came over him all at once. This was a woman of magic. At last he understood why she seemed so strange. He’d heard people with magic were strange.

“You mean you could make something up? Some spell or something?”

Her smile grew. “Or something.”

“I just started working for Master Campbell. I’m sorry, ma’am, but I couldn’t afford it.”

“Ah, I see.” Her smile shrank back down. “And if you could afford it?”

Before he could answer, she squinted up at the sky in thought. “Or perhaps it could be ready later on, when you get paid.” Her voice turned to little more than a whisper, like she was talking to herself. “Might give me time to see if I couldn’t figure out the pro

blem and get it to work again.”

She looked him in the eye. “How about it?”

Fitch swallowed. He surely didn’t want to offend an Ander woman, and one with the gift, besides. He hesitated.

“Well, ma’am, the truth is, if a girl’s ever going to like me, I’d just as soon she liked me because she liked me—no offense, ma’am. It’s kind of you to offer. But I don’t think I’d like it if a girl only liked me because of a spell of magic. I think that wouldn’t make me feel very good about it, like only magic could make a girl like me.”

The woman laughed as she patted his back. It was a soft, lilting laugh of pleasure, not a laugh like she was laughing at him. Fitch didn’t think he’d ever heard an Ander who was talking to him laugh in quite that way.

“Good for you.” She gestured her emphasis with a finger. “I had a wizard tell me as much once, a very long time ago.”

“A wizard! That must have been frightening. To meet a wizard, I mean.”

She shrugged. “Not really. He was a nice man. I was a very little girl at the time. I was born gifted, you see. He told me to always remember that magic was no substitute for people truly caring about you for who you were yourself.”

“I never knew there were wizards around.”

“Not here,” she said. She flicked a hand out into the night. “Back in Aydindril.”

His ears perked up. “Aydindril? To the northeast?”

“My, but aren’t you a bright one. Yes. To the northeast. At the Wizard’s Keep.” She held out a hand. “I’m Franca. And you?”

Fitch took her hand and held it lightly as he dipped to a knee in a deep bow. “I’m Fitch, ma’am.”

“Franca.”

“Ma’am?”

“Franca. That’s my name. I told you my name, Fitch, so you could call me by my name.”

“Sorry, ma’am—I mean Franca.”

She let out her little laugh again. “Well, Fitch, it was nice to meet you. I must be headed back to the estate. I suppose you will be off to get drunk. That seems to be what boys your age like to do.”