Maren Goldweaver's Arc

Chapter 40 of 42

By dusk they reached the edge of a village Miller said sat on the trade road two days short of the crossing. Smoke rose from a dozen chimneys. Carts stood by a low well. Maren pulled her hood tight, but the gray wool stopped at her wrists. Her bracelet showed. Her boots showed. City boots, thin-soled, stitched by a shop that never sold to farmers. "Wait," Miller said. He crouched behind a stack of firewood and pulled the food bag off his shoulder. He rolled it tight, then tighter, until it was a lump the size of a small melon. "Put this under your shirt." She stared at him. "They'll look past a pregnant woman," he said. "Their eyes will slide right off." She unbuckled her belt and shoved the bundle up under her shirt. It sat wrong. Miller stepped close and reached under the cloak with both hands. He shifted the bundle higher, smoothed the cloth over it, tucked the bracelet inside her sleeve so it stopped catching light. His knuckles brushed her ribs. She felt her breath catch and hated that it did. "Better," he said. He did not step back right away. She pulled the cloak closed over the swell. "Walk slow." They walked into the village slow. Miller took her elbow the way a husband would. Two men by the well glanced up, glanced down. A woman with a basket looked at Maren's belly and looked away. Nobody looked at her face. Nobody looked at her boots. They moved through the square searching for Gisela and Kato. The supply bag signal had been left three days back. The farmer's cart could not be far ahead now. "Any spare change?" The voice came from a doorway. An old woman sat on the step, gray shawl over her head, hand out. Miller reached for a coin. Maren looked at the hand. Young knuckles. Gold ring turned inward on the third finger. She looked up at the face inside the shawl. Her own face looked back. Gisela had smudged her cheeks with ash and pulled the shawl low, but the eyes were the same, and the freckles under the ash, and the small chip in the front tooth. Maren almost said her name. She swallowed it. "Bless you," Gisela said, and closed her hand on Miller's coin. Her thumb tapped his palm twice. She tipped her chin toward an alley behind the doorway. Maren followed the tip of her chin. Kato stood at the alley mouth with a hat pulled low, watching the street. Gisela stood up from the step. "Come inside, sister," she said, loud enough for the well. "You shouldn't be on your feet." The city woman in gray wool was gone. A pregnant traveler and her mother-in-law and her husband walked out of the square together. Nobody stopped them.