The Faintest Ink (Watty Winner 2015)

Chapter Fifty-Three

If there was anything in the world more staggeringly embarrassing that walking into a stranger's kitchen while only wearing only her underclothes, Hawth had yet to discover it. She stood at the top of the stairs, clutching at the neck of her thin shift and trying to suppress her blushes while five pairs of eyes watched her with undisguised interest.

"Ah!" said a large, disheveled looking man. He leapt from his chair and pulled out an unoccupied one, waving her down to them. "Come. You must be starving." His accent made the offer sound warm and genuine. Hawth found herself smiling in response.

"I didn't mean to disturb you."

"Nonsense. Join us." He smiled. "My oldest girl has decided not to give us the pleasure of her company this evening. It would be nice to have someone capable of decent conversation at this table."

"Excuse me?" laughed the mother.

"Apart from you, my darling. Every moment with you is a pleasure." He tapped the back of the chair encouragingly and Hawth found herself moving down the steps and taking the offered seat.

"Thank you. You're very kind."

"It's our pleasure."

"No really," she said, holding his gaze. "For everything. For letting me into your home." She remembered the angry crowd. She would have been trampled within moments if this family hadn't rescued her. They could so easily have left her out there.

"You brought my daughter back," said the mother, rushing around the table with a shawl, and wrapping it around Hawth's shoulders. "I can never repay that debt."

Hawth pulled the shawl tight around her. "Anyone would have done it."

The mother opened her mouth as if to say something, but then with a little shrug decided against it.

"Well, you may call me Viridian," said the father, taking his own seat. "And this is my..." he cleared his throat. "My wife, Hope. And the progeny: Ochre, Lake and Madder," he said, pointing out the children as he went. Something about the way he talked made Hawth think there was something strange about this family. Perhaps they were Pryvian spies. That would explain the painting. Who else would dare think of such a thing.

"It's nice to meet all of you. I'm Hawth."

"That's an unusual name. Did you pick it yourself?" said Hope. She sat very straight in her chair, and Hawth couldn't stop herself from thinking how regal the woman looked. She looked so out of place in this dingy kitchen, like a character who had been written into the wrong story.

"It's short for Hawthorn. Ma liked to go on long walks through the countryside when she was carrying me."

"And you're from the north?"

It was a natural enough question, but Hawth couldn't exactly admit to her reasons for being in the capital. "Originally, yes. We moved down when I was scarce more that a babe."

"You must be hungry. And seeing as my darling daughter has decided to spend the day elsewhere, there is plenty to go around."

"Is she alright?" she asked, as a plate, laden down with bread and a sweet smelling pottage was set in front of her. "I saw the candle go out in the window. Was that...?"

"A neighbour," said the father, shortly. "A good friend of our daughter's. Of all of us really. He was a nice boy."

"I'm sorry..."

The two of them, mother and father, shared a glance. The children, kept their eyes lowered, focusing on their meals, their spoons moving between plate and lips.