Free The Forest at the Edge of the World by Trish Mercer

the window coverings, tabl ecloth, dish cloths, and pink dye rubbed on the wooden cabinets.
    “But you see, new linen arrived for my ladies’ sewing night, and—”
    “What did you hear about it?” Mahrree stared at the simple mug her mother gave her. It wasn’t one of her expensive kiln-fired cups. Mahrree didn’t mind being treated like a child that night; she felt more at ease holding the mug that cost fewer slips of silver, since she wasn’t sure of her grip on anything.
    “I heard the linens came from a dyer near Coast and—”
    “No, Mother,” Mahrree said patiently. “I meant, what did you hear about the debate?”
    “Oh. Ahh! Well, I heard,” began her mother, pulling up a chair across from her daughter, “that a very handsome young man has come to the village!” Her voice was filled with the glee of a teena ger, despite her forty-eight years. She began to wiggle excitedly, and the wiggle rolled through her round body up to her plump face and to her brown and gray curls. “And that he took you on very handily.”
    Mahrree’s head snapped up. “No one won! I should have, because he pretty much quit before I could finish him off, but he didn’t ‘take me on’!”
    Her mother sat back and giggled. “My! So there is something there.”
    “Who told you that?”
    “The Densals left just before you arrived. Hogal told me you did very well, but that he’d never seen you turn red so often. I told him you did that when you were little and looked at a boy, or you needed to relieve yourself.” Hycymum took a sip from her shiny cup.
    Her mother was often a rich source of information. The most embarrassing kind, unfortunately.
    Mahrree buried her face in her hands. “Mother—you didn’t!”
    “Well, it’s true,” she said, unsure of why her daughter was so upset. “So, was he handsome?”
    “How should I know?” Mahrree wasn’t really lying, she was just asking another question. She reached for a piece of bread from the basket and noticed a layer of herbs encrusted on it. She never understood her mother’s need to embellish everything, from her head to her food. Hycymum also insisted everything should be a meal . That meant taking three extra hours and twelve extra ingredients and stirring them into something no one would recognize anymore, then giving it a made up name like la-zhan-ya. 
    Then again, it was her job as the head cook for Edge’s Inn, the finest establishment north of Mountseen, as its sign proclaimed. There wasn’t much competition; Edge was the only village north of Mountseen, and the other inn—misleadingly named Inn at Edge—served food that they culled from Edge’s Inn’s trash heap. Or so Hycymum claimed.
    “You know, the rector said the new officer comes from an army family. Something like that,” Edge’s finest cook vaguely waved her thick hand. “His father did something with someone . . . with the new administrators. Maybe.” 
    Mahrree sighed. The only way her mother would become interested in politics was if they started taxing polka dots or cucumber slices.  “Is he related to a general?” she suggested. During the walk from the amphitheater to her mother’s, Mahrree tried to remember where she had heard the name Shin before. There was only one man she thought of, but the captain certainly couldn’t be his son.
    Her mother looked up at the wood-planked ceiling for an a nswer. “General? Maybe . . . that’s the highest rank, right?”
    “Yes,” Mahrree said slowly.
    Her mother shook her head. “Doesn’t sound familiar. Anyway, he’s supposed to come from a good family. There!” 
    Mahrree gave her a weak smile and took a taste of the bread. She couldn’t define any one flavor in it. Not that it was bad, just complicated . Everything seemed unnecessarily complicated tonight.
    “Anyway,” Hycymum said again, “Rector Densal said the col onel—”
    “Captain,” Mahrree corrected.
    “Whatever—was the kind of man your father would approve