Elsa Crane's Arc

Chapter 50 of 66

By first light, word of the frost had reached the driftwood hut. Clara came in with her boots still white at the toe. The turnip pit behind the miller's yard had crusted through. Two apple barrels behind the smokehouse were split. A third of the winter cheese wheels had sweated and gone soft in the cold snap. "The mothers are counting shelves," Clara said. "By tonight they'll be counting mouths. A hungry mother will not stand smiling for a boy king tomorrow." Elsa reached for her shawl. Before she could speak, a boot scraped the step. Bodhi came in with his chalk stub in one fist and snow melting in his hair. He had not waited to be sent for. "Call a meeting at the cottage," he said. "Not you. Me. Larissa and Charlie. And you." Elsa lowered the shawl. "Why those two." "Larissa spoke for the mothers when the shopkeeper grabbed Marta. They listened to her. Charlie has an empty cellar and no husband to feed. If Charlie says the village will eat, the frightened ones will believe her." He looked at Clara. "Bring them to the strawberry tree. Now." Clara went. They gathered inside the cottage under the teal crystal door. Larissa ducked her tall frame beneath the low vines and sat with her hands flat on the table. Charlie came last, her purple sleeves pushed up, brown eyes steady. She had not been called to a table like this before. She looked once at Elsa, then to the boy. Bodhi did not climb onto the chair. He stood. "The ceremony can wait," he said. "The pantries can't. I want every full cellar opened by tonight and shared into six. Charlie, you keep the list of who gave and who got. No one will shame my name for taking. Larissa, you walk the lane with me at dusk. If a mother sees you at my shoulder, she'll open her door." Larissa's mouth opened. "You'd delay your own crowning." "A crown on a hungry village is a joke," Bodhi said. "I'd rather be their boy than their king this week." Charlie set her palm on the table. "I'll keep the list. Straight down the middle. No favors." Larissa looked at Elsa. Elsa said nothing. This was not her table now. "At dusk," Larissa said. "I'll come for him myself." They went out under the vines. Elsa stayed at the door and watched the boy walk between the two women through the frost-bitten lane. He did not look back for her approval. By nightfall, four cellars had opened. By the next morning, eleven. The mothers who had counted mouths were now counting jars into other women's baskets. The ceremony was pushed back three days by Bodhi's own word, and no mother spoke against him for it. Elsa closed the cottage door behind her. Three days left of the seven.