Long Live

III

Andrea

Robin and I divided the harvest into sections: what would be cooked now, what would be preserved for the long term, and what would be sold at the market. Robin, despite her insistence that I do not look pretty, admitted that typically I earn the most for our crops when I go to the market. She had demanded that I wear one of our mother's dresses and her nice shoes, convinced that it would be what would find me a husband. She also braided my hair. I complained at first but eventually gave in. As I gathered up the baskets and loaded them into our wagon, I saw a small figure running toward me.

"Andy!" Alexander crashed into me, smearing dirt of some kind onto the dress.

"Alex!" I hissed, trying to wipe the dirt off of the thin fabric. "Don't touch!"

"Sorry..." he shrunk and looked at his feet as he kicked the dirt around. "I just wanted to ask if I could go too."

"Sorry, kid. Robin wants me to try to find a husband and I can't let them think I have a kid already." That was partly true, but anyone in the village knew that Alexander was not my son.

He ran off, back in the direction he had been playing with the boys his age. A part of me wondered if he had just wanted to see if I would buy him something. I climbed into the wagon and waved to my father, who was standing on the porch silently. He nodded and I patted the horse. Wilma was a white mare that was almost as old as me. My father bought her as a filly when I was seven years old. She quickly became my horse as I was the only one she allowed to ride her. Wilma and I did every market trip together.

The journey was only a few minutes before we reached the village square, which was populated by a sheriff's office and courier's post, as well as the best known blacksmith and bakery. The market itself was on the opposite side of the square. I waved to the sheriff as I passed through, though the old man did not wave back. Timothy, the blacksmith's son and also Robin's future husband, waved at me with a smile that I knew was fake. His younger brother, Thomas, did not make any gesture of acknowledgement.

I parked my wagon and tied my horse to a post just outside of the market. I grabbed the baskets and instantly merchants were approaching. Some offered decent prices, but I knew my destination. Past all of the merchants, there was always an elderly homeless woman standing with nothing but her cane and a cup. I handed her a small basket full of the vegetables I knew would not sell well and then headed back into the square. Finally, I began talking to the merchants.

At the end of my time selling the vegetables, I had earned quite a bit. This was a bountiful year for us in terms of high-profit crops, and I knew my father expected a large bag of money to be returned to him. Seamus Wilder was a man who knew his product. Little did he know, I knew how to up charge. The amount I had made greatly exceeded what he had told me I needed to earn. I went over the mental checklist of the items I needed to buy now that I had the means to do so.

For starters, I went around and bought everything I would need for my mother's village-famous cherry cobbler. Next, I bought myself a new pair of black trousers from a seamstress, since I had worn holes in my other pair's knees. I also bought a blanket from her for Alexander. Finally, I bought Robin a pot of what I was told was makeup for the eyes. It was blue, her favorite color, and also a traditional part of a wedding. By the time I was done shopping, I still had enough left to have double what my father expected. I pocketed some of it in my brassiere and then gave the elderly homeless woman some more before I got back on my wagon.

I dropped the bag of money in my father's lap on the porch and then led the horse back into her booth. Once she was secured, I wandered out to the river. The river was a solace of mine, it had begun when my mother died. While my mother was wailing to have the child cut out of her and the village doctor was ignoring her pleas, Robin took me and Alexander out to the river and taught us to skip rocks, then taught me to swim when she realized I did not know. Alexander learned from me a few years later. I quickly became the best swimmer in our family, and possibly our village, as I learned different strokes and tips.

I waited until the sun was setting to get in. Standing on the riverbank, I stripped from my dress and petticoat, leaving me in my brassiere and pettipants. I released my hair from the braid and let it cascade over my shoulders in its usually unruly curl pattern. I smiled at the feeling of the breeze on my bare skin. I ensured that no one was around before I slowly stepped into the water. It was late fall, so the water was nearly freezing to the touch. I loved cold water, though. The tension the frigid temperature put in my muscles was nothing compared to the tension that I held in my mind in all waking moments. Soon after getting deep enough that the water to my neck, I dunked my entire head under. The shock traveled through my flesh and bones and into my nervous system directly. I felt all of the anxiety leave my mind as I focused on the feeling of the water.

I practiced some of my favorite moves, the breaststroke and butterfly stroke that Robin had taught me. I let myself float for a while before I felt someone watching me. I opened my eyes and peered around, but found no one. Dread started to fill my veins and overcome the cold water, so I decided to get out. I used the dress to dry myself, then put it on over my wet undergarments. As I gathered up my shoes, a woman stumbled over to me.

"Hello!" she called when she was near enough for me to hear. The moonlight lit up her silvery-blond hair and pale skin. She looked thin, thinner than the homeless woman that I had given food and money to. At first, I thought maybe it was her.

"Hi?" I squeezed my hair to try to get rid of some of the moisture. "Who are you?"

"I'm Bettie, I'm from the other side of the hills." She held out her hand.

"Sure," I turned away and rolled my eyes before accepting the handshake. "No one can cross the hills."

"Oh, but I can! I work over in the Soil as the help and I came from this village here originally!" Her face lit up as she explained. "I am here on important work for the King!"

"You mean to tell me you got to the Soil, through the gate? And you came back? No one has ever done that before." I had already written this Bettie woman off as a fraud, if Bettie even was her real name. "What kind of work?"

"King Finneas is searching for his future wife!" She huffed. "He sent me to find the candidates for the trials!"

"King Caesar is the King of the Timeless, everyone knows that." I scowled. "What trials?"

"No, no, Caesar has given the throne to King Finneas, his grandson. The trials of marriage! King Finneas's future bride must pass the five trials of marriage!" She grabbed my forearms, almost making me lose my balance.

"What are these five trials of marriage then, hm?" I pushed her grip off of me.

"I am not permitted to know the specifics. All I know is that King Finneas has decided you are worthy of participating in these trials." She staggered backwards a bit. "I need your name and where you live!"

"My name is..." I struggled for a moment to think of a fake name to give this woman, then remembered how angry my sister had made me when she hit Alexander. "Robin Wilder. I live in that cottage over there." I gestured in that direction.

"You're lying." She had me figured out already. "Us Mortals can tell when someone is lying, and you definitely are."

I stood there for a moment in silence, twiddling my fingers together.

"Are you going to tell me your name, or should I tell the King that you are not interested in becoming the Queen?" She placed her hands on her hips gingerly and looked up at me. I had not noticed how much shorter than me she was. Or how green her eyes were, they were almost as green as mine. Something about her seemed familiar, though I could not put my finger on it.

"Fine. My name is Andrea Wilder, and I do live in that cottage." I placed my hands on my hips as well. I knew that I knew her from somewhere. Her mannerisms and eyes were familiar. It was on the tip of my tongue. "Are you sure your name is Bettie? Do I know you from somewhere?"

"My owner, Lady Beatrice, has named me Bettie. That is all I know." She sighed and nodded. "I shall be on my way now to alert the King that the final contestant has been found." With that, she sauntered off into the tavern.

I should have known she was just a drunken old lady telling stories, I thought to myself as I headed into my own cottage.