Graceling (Graceling Realm #1)(94)

When most of the houses were dark, and when light shone from only one of the windows in the storekeeper’s home, Katsa and Bitterblue crept from the trees. They passed through the yard and snuck to the back door. Katsa wrapped her fist in her sleeve and thumped on the solid Sunderan wood as quietly as she could and still hope to be heard. After a moment the light in the window shifted. After another moment the door was pushed open a crack, and the storekeeper peered out at them, a candle in his hand. He looked them up and down, two slight, furry figures on his doorstep, and kept a firm grip on the door handle.

“If it’s food you want, or beds,” he said gruffly, “you’ll find the inn at the head of the road.”

Katsa’s first question was the most risky, and she steeled herself against the answer. “It’s information we seek. Have you heard any news of Monsea?”

“Nothing for months. We hear little of Monsea in this corner of the woods.”

Katsa released her breath. “Hold your light to my face, storekeeper.”

The man grunted. He extended his arm through the crack in the door and held the candle to Katsa’s face. His eyes narrowed, then widened, and his entire manner changed. In an instant he’d opened the door, shuffled them through, and thrown the latch behind them.

“Forgive me, My Lady.” He gestured to a table and began to pull out chairs. “Please, please sit down. Marta!” he called into an adjacent room. “Food,” he said to the confused woman who appeared in the doorway, “and more light.

And wake the – ”

“No,” Katsa said sharply. “No. Please, wake no one. No one must know we’re here.”

“Of course, My Lady,” the man said. “You must forgive my… my…”

“You weren’t expecting us,” Katsa said. “We understand.”

“Indeed,” the man said. “We’d heard what happened at King Randa’s court, My Lady, and we knew you’d passed through Sunder with the Lienid prince. But somewhere along the way the rumors lost track of you.”

The woman came bustling back into the room and set a platter of bread and cheese on the table. A girl about Katsa’s age followed with mugs and a pitcher. A boy, a young man taller even than Raffin, brought up the rear, and lit the torches in the walls around the table. Katsa heard a soft sigh and glanced at Bitterblue. The child stared, wide-eyed and mouth watering, at the bread and cheese on the table before her. She caught Katsa’s eye. “Bread,” she whispered, and Katsa couldn’t help smiling.

“Eat, child,” Katsa said.

“By all means, young miss,” the woman said. “Eat as much as you like.”

Katsa waited until everyone was seated, and until Bitterblue was contentedly stuffing her mouth with bread. Then she spoke.

“We need information,” she said. “We need counsel. We need baths and any clothing – preferably boy’s clothing –

you might be able to spare. Above all, we need utter secrecy regarding our presence in this town.”

“We’re at your service, My Lady,” the storekeeper said.

“We’ve enough clothing in this house to dress an army,” his wife said. “And any supplies you’ll need in the store.

And a horse, I warrant, if you’re wanting one. You can be sure we’ll keep quiet, My Lady. We know what you’ve done with your Council and well do for you whatever we can.”

“We thank you.”

“What information do you seek, My Lady?” the storekeeper asked. “We’ve heard very little from any of the kingdoms.”

Katsa’s eyes rested on Bitterblue, who tore into the bread and cheese like a wild thing. “Slowly, child,” she said, absently. She rubbed her head and considered how much to tell this Sunderan family. Some things they needed to know, and certainly the one thing most likely to combat the influence of whatever deception Leck spread next was the truth.

“We come from Monsea,” Katsa said. “We crossed the mountains through Grella’s Pass.”

This was met with silence, and a widening of eyes. Katsa sighed.

“If that’s hard for you to believe,” she said, “you’ll find the rest of our story no less than incredible. Truly, I’m unsure where to start.”

“Start with Leck’s Grace,” Bitterblue said around her mouthful of bread.

Katsa watched the child lick crumbs from her fingers. Bitterblue looked as if she were approaching a state of rapture that even the story of her father’s treachery couldn’t disturb. “Very well,” Katsa said. “We’ll start with Leck’s Grace.”

———

Katsa took not one bath that night, but two. The first to loosen the dirt and peel off the top layer of grime, the second to become truly clean. Bitterblue did the same. The storekeeper, his wife, and his two eldest children moved quietly and efficiently, drawing water, heating water, emptying the tub, and burning their old, tattered garments.

Producing new clothing, boy’s clothing, and fitting it to their guests. Gathering hats, coats, scarves, and gloves from their own cabinets and from the store. Cutting Bitterblue’s hair to the length of a boy’s, and trimming Katsa’s so it lay close to her scalp again.

The sensation of cleanliness was astonishing. Katsa couldn’t count the number of times she heard Bitterblue’s quiet sigh. A sigh at being warm and clean, at washing oneself with soap; and at the taste of bread in one’s mouth, and the feeling of bread in one’s stomach.