Free Seventh Bride by T. Kingfisher Page A

dread. New clothes for this place meant that she was staying, that it wasn’t just a visit, that it mattered.
    Maria put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. It was brief and comforting; the woman’s large forearm as heavy as a hug. “As you wish, child. As you wish.”  

CHAPTER NINE

    At dinner, Rhea summoned her courage and asked “Why does Lord Crevan get six wives?”
    Sylvie turned her head toward Rhea’s voice. Ingeth glared, her drawstring mouth drawing tighter.  
    “Look around,” said Maria. “Who’s going to stop him?”
    “But—I mean— legally —”
    “Laws for the gentry aren’t laws for us,” said Maria. “You know that, child.”
    “But that can’t be right,” said Rhea. “I mean—yes, okay, obviously. Most laws, sure. But they don’t let the king have six wives!” She paused, scowling down at her mashed potatoes. “Well…not all at the same time, anyway.”
    Ingeth pushed her food away, and walked out of the room.  
    “Don’t mind her,” said Maria. “She’s still angry for being taken in.” She gestured with a piece of bread. “Think it through. A king can’t have six wives—but if a peasant girl turned up and swore that she’d been married to the king in a secret ceremony, how far do you think she’d get?”
    Rhea nodded glumly.
    Well, it was no more than she’d worked out for herself. Although—
    “Why does he want six wives?”
    “Bit of a collector, isn’t he?” said the cook, and snickered.  
    Rhea felt the tips of her ears getting hot.
    “Don’t tease,” said Sylvie suddenly. “He marries us because he can make better use of our gifts than we can.”
    Rhea blinked.
    “Don’t start that crap again, Sylvie—”
    “Oh, but we deserved it!” said the blind woman, nodding.  
    “Hush,” said the cook heavily.  
    “We did! When did we do anything of use with our gifts, but please ourselves? I was vain, so vain, like a young peacock. I spent hours before my mirror. And what did Ingeth ever do with her voice but pray and sermonize at all hours until she drove everyone half mad around her?”
    “They were our failings,” said Maria. She stood up and began slamming down pans. “Our gifts to waste or not, as we chose. Whether we used them well or not, he had no right to be judge and jury and executioner.”
    Maria dropped a cast-iron pan on the stove. Sylvie flinched. Her shoulders shook and she made a small, thin noise into her hands.  
    It took Rhea a few minutes to realize that the other woman was crying. Wet splotches formed on the cloth over her eyes.  
    She sat there awkwardly—did she get up and comfort Sylvie? Would she welcome it? Would she be embarrassed?
    “Hey,” she said softly. “Hey—um—”  
    Syvie didn’t hear her.
    “Hey—Sylvie—uh—”
    The cook turned around and sighed. “Oh, hell. Sylvie, I’m sorry.”
    “We must have deserved it,” said Sylvie. “Oh, Maria, we must have! It wouldn’t have been allowed otherwise.”
    “Allowed by who?” asked Maria. “The king? The priest? Ingeth’s picky little god? None of them know what goes on in this house.”
    Sylvie looked around, her white hair hanging in wisps. “Maria, don’t—please don’t yell—”
    The cook’s expression softened, and she put an arm around the other woman. “Hush, Sylvie, don’t cry. I’m in a bad mood because he’s done it again, I shouldn’t take it out on you.”
    Rhea had a pretty good idea that he’s done it again really meant and she’s sitting here at the table. She twisted her fingers together. The silver ring was cold.  
    He makes better use of our gifts than we can? What does that mean? What gifts? Is this a magic thing? But what does staring into the mirror and sermonizing have to do with magic?  
    For that matter, Ingeth had been sermonizing? This must have been before her terrible throat wound. What had happened to her?
    Sylvie leaned her head against Maria’s large shoulder and sighed. It did not seem like a