Year of Corwaithe 1245

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They had been so close growing up but that seemed years ago now. What had changed between them, Nola didn’t exactly know, or when it had happened, but it had. And it hurt more than being left by the man she’d been set to marry. Claire was more than her sister. Claire was her best friend, her confidant, her everything; thicker than molasses and stronger than an oak, they had been inseparable since they were kids.

That was, until last week.

Nola wiped the tears from her eyes that bleared her vision. Her memories faded back to when she was nine and Claire was seven. Claire had brought home a lamb from the neighbors that was to be slaughtered. Mom and dad had told Claire to get rid of the pet, because it made their eldest sister Abigail upset. Nola had hidden it in their room for an entire day before their mom finally discovered it was the animal making sounds, not them. Claire had cried that her beloved lamb was to be taken back to the neighbor to be killed. Nola worked for two months straight for that lamb, so Claire could be happy.

Nola pounded back another shot of whisky. Her family was interesting to say the least. Mom and dad doted heavily upon the eldest, Abigail, constantly comparing both her and Claire to their snobby sister. And all she and Claire had were each other. They did everything together. Nola racked her fuzzy brain for anything she might have done to upset her younger sister so terribly.

She couldn’t think of a memory—each one she had was of them laughing and being together happily. Yet, what Claire had done burned more than Nola could ever express. Her sister had changed from being a vibrant, loving young lady to a greedy, spiteful woman. Nola blamed her parents for the changes as they were now all the same – greedy and manipulative.

Claire was a thief. Nola hadn’t thought her sister—her blood—would stoop so low. But Claire had. And the man she had ended up marrying was just as horrible. Wesley had promised Nola forever. He’d promised her a family, a loving marriage with a home out on the Swanshen coast. Wesley had promised to love her—only her—for forever, but he’d lied. The whole relationship was a giant deception, from the moment they’d met to their failed wedding.

On the day that was supposed to be the most memorable, happiest moments of Nola’s life, Wesley left her for Claire. In front of everyone who’d come, her sister and Wesley snuck away, leaving Nola waiting at the altar with the priest. The entire village spoke about how awful it was. Some even going as far as stating that there must be something wrong with her! Truly, Nola felt that way. For someone to do that, wouldn’t it mean she was horrid?

I truly must be something, she thought, the bar chair creaking underneath her.

Nola wanted to break free of this town, to see something new, to experience life to the fullest. But she was alone now. Her mother and father lived in Flowermoss. Claire was gone, taking the only man she’d ever loved with her. All Nola knew was this town.

Vamort Village was a hunting town on the outskirts of the Black Forest on the Swanshé side. Every man was either a hunter or a blacksmith. One man happened to be a horse master, but he was as strange and wild as the beasts he tamed. The men here already had wives. The ones who didn’t, happened not to glance in her direction.

“Nola,” the barkeep called.

Nola flicked a silver on the table top, paying for her pervious drinks and a few more. “Aye, keep them coming.”

Nola drowned her sorrows in the tavern. She sat in the same spot for the past week, drinking and crying intermittently. The only source of comfort was when the barkeep Lewis put whisky in her glass.

Lewis served her a drink, which Nola drank greedily, chasing away her sorrows. Nola hated the smell, the taste, how it slid like fire down her throat, but it made her head all foggy. Whisky allowed her to forget the betrayals of the people who were never supposed to do something like that to her, to family.

Nola banged her cup on the counter. Lewis scraped the coin off the table, the metal grating sent shivers down her spine. Nola’s swimming gaze glanced up. Her eyes were hazy as she stared at the small, shrew-like man still standing behind the counter.

“What?” she asked grumpily.

Lewis shook his head. “You can’t keep on this way. Today is the last I’m serving you.”

Nola stood abruptly, her stool crashing to the ground. “I’m paying you for a service, now serve me.”

Lewis shook his head. “I refuse. Go home, Nola.”

Nola looked around helplessly, her head pounding with the movement. Pitying faces stared back at her. The only sound she could hear was the crackle of the fire.

Forlorn, she glanced back at Lewis. “What home?”

Lewis pointed toward the rotting tavern door that didn’t close all the way.

“All right.”

Nola stumbled out of the tavern, the daylight stinging her eyes with its vibrance. Her legs unconsciously moved forward without her control. Her balance lost on the smoothed road. Her wobbly legs trying to take her in different directions.

She rubbed her eyes, straining to get the haziness to clear, but it only seemed to make everything triple. A man boomed with laughter to her right. Nola scowled, for it sounded just like Wesley. With her hands out, she steadied herself. Her stomach churned with the alcohol and the sickening numbness of Claire’s betrayal.

Nola made her way to her small home. Her ever-nosey older neighbor got the door for her. Nola slurred out a thank you. The old lady’s eyes pinched together as she slammed the door behind her.

Nola stumbled toward the bed, kicking off her boots as she went. She took her long black hair out of its braid. Face planting on the quilt, she cried over Wesley. She missed the idea of what she thought they had. Nola missed how he made her feel: important and loved. She missed what he’d promised her: a family and a home. Those promises stung her heart with treachery. She would never trust a man’s pledges again.

Her stomach churned, and she groaned. Putting a hand to her head, she dared not open her eyes.

“Dammit,” she cursed.

Drinking him away seemed preferable to being a crying, blithering mess. But even when drinking, she cried. At this point, her tears were more from betrayal than heartbreak. The town believed differently though.

Wesley leaving her at the altar hurt more than discovering his love for Claire. Nola tried to convince herself Wesley was the cause of it all, however, it had taken two willing people to plan something as they had. It’d taken two. And they’d both betrayed her.

Groaning, she pushed herself off the bed. Her body swayed as if on a boat in a storm. She faced the wardrobe in her small home. She could leave come morning. There was nothing holding her there. She’d wasted enough coin on drowning out memories that only resurfaced harder with each shot she drank. She couldn’t go home to her parents who would compare her at every turn to the older, more-perfect-than-the-Goddess Abigail. The thought of her mother’s shrill voice made her cringe. Leaving Vamort and struggling was a better option than going home.

Nola snorted. Home was another name for dungeon. Abigail got whatever she wanted, as did her half-brother, Trenton. Her mother, Fiona, doted on Abigail and forced everyone else to as well. Her father, Richard, could not be bothered unless it involved money. Claire and her had been left to their own devices more often than not, and since she was the older one, she’d cared for Claire. They’d always and only had each other.

“Claire,” Nola slurred.

Over the years, Claire had become greedy like their father, manipulative like their mother. Nola hadn’t grasped it until it was too late. Little instances of needing money or always taking more than was necessary. It all made sense now. Nola had taken care of Claire, like she’d always done. Nola had let Claire live with her, provided for her, and done everything she could for her younger sister.

“Backstabbing horse’s ass,” Nola shouted.

Scowling, she reached for the wardrobe door, yanking it open. The force of it almost knocking her off her feet. Nola wobbled, garnering purchase from the other side of the door. Her dresses lay in the bottom, jumbled and wrinkled. Her satchel hung from a peg to her left.

“I’m leaving.”

Why she hadn’t done it sooner, she didn’t know. She had a well-paying job here tanning hides with regular customers. She turned hides into clothing for a decent price. The money had kept her here. After what happened, and with all her work completed, nothing tied her to this town. There would be other villages and new customers. She was leaving Vamort behind her for good.

She closed her eyes, feeling the numbness of whisky take over. Pounding from her door kept her slightly lidded eyes open.

“Go away,” Nola grumbled.

“Surprise!” her mother hollered.

Nola leaned her head against the doorframe and groaned.

“Sweetheart, we came all this way to see you and Wesley!” Fiona called through the door. “I’m so sorry we couldn’t make it for the big day. Please don’t be mad.”

Nola stumbled to the door. With a jerk, she opened it. “There was no wedding,” Nola mocked. “Wesley left me for your other daughter.”

Richard scowled, taking in her appearance. Fiona put a hand to her mouth.

“Are you drunk?” Richard hissed.

Nola grinned, leaning back to see their disapproving faces move in an oval around their head.

“Take her to the tavern,” Fiona hissed vehemently. “We need to keep an eye on her.”

With a giggle, she let go of the doorknob and fell backwards.

The sun was waning down for the night. Jax wondered how the sun and the sky would look out on the ocean waves. He closed his eyes, trying to picture it. Hopefully, it would be a red sky tonight, so there would be calm seas come morning.

Jax wandered his way up to Vamort while his ship was being repaired. Lonely women and hard ale would be his comfort for the next day or two before he put out to sea again. The ocean called his name with the salty breeze and the unpredictable nature of the turbulent blue waves. He loved it. The only way he would ever be tied down to a woman would be if he was paid.

He snorted. That’ll be the day!

Even then, Jax was certain he wouldn’t marry. As he’d learned from a young age, women always left for the next bigger and brighter thing that caught their wandering eye. From his grandfather to himself, women left. No one ever stayed around. And even now, at his ripe age of thirty, women left.

A young couple to his right kissed, becoming giddy and childish afterward. Jax rolled his eyes. He burst through the tavern door, taking a seat at the bar. A scrawny, mousey man cleaned a cup, setting it down in front of him. Jax slammed a silver on the table.

“Food, drink, and a room.”

The man slid two coppers back. “Last room down the hall. If you want a bath, tell Marion.”

Jax nodded, sipping on his cup of ale. Before long, a steaming bowl of stew was thumped down before him with a yeasty plate of bread. He ate greedily, sopping up the broth with the bread.

Out of all the towns he had been to, so far, Vamort was his favorite. Lots of women, good food, and a quick boat ride down Swan River to where his ship was docked. Jax smiled; in less than two days, he would sail down and be out at sea.

His first stop would be Watcher’s Cove, outside of Mercendi castle. He would drop off a load of fresh salmon to the idiots too terrified to fish because of the mermaids. Their decision not to take to the seas profited him quiet well. Those alabaster man-eaters were not that terrifying.

Casually, Jax glanced about the room. A few couples seated themselves about, leaning in close and speaking sweetly. An older couple kept flicking their eyes toward him every so often. He could feel their eyes upon his person, their whispering drowned out by the other conversations in the room. Jax grumbled, drinking down ale.

He turned in his seat. “Can I help you?” he demanded.

The older man straightened in his chair. “Looks like we can help you.”

Jax laughed. “Doubtful, unless it provides a lump sum of gold.”

“It does.” The man’s eyes narrowed. “Four gold pieces and ten silvers.”

Jax picked up his bowl of food and ale, going to sit by the middle-aged couple. He took up a seat, heaving down a few spoonfuls as he stared at them.

“That is a good price,” Jax commented. “What’s the proposition?”

The man stuck out his hand. “My name is Richard Lomarie. This is my wife, Fiona.”

“Jax Paterson,” he stated, taking the man’s hand. “What is it you need?”

The woman fidgeted in her seat. “We should not be doing this again.”

Richard stopped her from speaking further with narrowed eyes. “There is no law against it.” Richard turned back to him. “You look like a sea-faring man.”

Jax perked a brow. “I am.”

Richard turned in his seat, staring down the hallway. Jax turned with him to see what he was hiding. No person greeted his wary gaze.

“I’ll make it five gold pieces,” Richard coughed.

“Let me see them.”

Richard reached into his pocket, pulling out a sack of coins. He tossed it coolly on the table. Jax opened the bag. Sure enough, gold and silver stared back at him greedily. Jax rubbed his jaw.

There has to be a hard catch to this, he thought. And if there is a hard catch, where am I willing to draw the line?

Jax tied the drawstring to the sack, passing it to the middle of the table. He took another bite of food. He called for a refill on his ale. The mousey man came back, looking at them all cautiously.

“What’s the task?” Jax demanded in a low tone.

Fiona got up from the table, heading down the hallway.

Jax glowered, lowering his voice to a threatening level. “What’s the task?”

Richard leaned in close. “Marry my daughter.”

Jax snorted, shaking his head. Like the abyss I will marry a woman for five gold pieces and ten silvers!

The tavern man came back, his ale refilled. Jax returned to his cold food, shoveling it in his face quickly. This was a hard no. He refused to be tied down. There was a desperation in the man’s eye he didn’t particularly like. Jax stuffed the last piece of bread down his throat, glugging it down with ale.

“Not if you had fifty pieces,” Jax said, rising from his chair. “There must be something wrong with her for you to offer that much money to marry her off. Especially to a man you don’t know.”

Richard rose with him. “There is nothing wrong with her other than she is a drunk. How about I sweeten the deal – that sack of coin, plus my father’s fishing ship my son has in Kyrenia.”

Jax paused. “Ship?”

“Aye, a reliable dogger, double mast.” Richard paused. “As a sailor, your word is your honor, of that we can agree, and this ship is well worth the task.”

Jax nodded, agreeing with the man as he rubbed the back of his neck. A dogger was a sturdy ship, slow but could easily handle rough seas. To even have one was incredible as they were expensive in their craftsmanship, not to mention the cost of the double mast. This woman’s dowry was a good one, a hefty one. Jax took up his seat once more. His fingers thrummed on the table.

This man had money. He had a ship Jax always wanted but could not afford. But to marry? Jax stared at his weather-beaten, calloused hands. He had tattoos on his skin of adventures most women found disturbing. Scars from fishing nets and blades pocked his skin from his forearms to his hands. This woman would find him appalling. He was certain of it. Then again, he didn’t have to see her if he didn’t want to. He would be out at sea.

“Can I at least meet the woman first?”

Richard sighed. It was a pained breath, like his daughter caused him deep sorrow. Jax’s brows knit together. He wondered if she was sickly or if she was the type of woman who was mental. Either of those, he wouldn’t handle. He had a business to run, food to put on the table for them both, and that would be hard to do if she was like that.

What in Castre am I even thinking, he wondered, taking a long gulp of ale. He mentioned she was a drunk. Jax’s upper lip curled and he hid it behind his drink.

Richard ran a hand over his face. “I’ll allow it.”

“Her name?” Jax asked, getting up.

“Nola Lomarie.”

Jax drank down the rest of his ale, putting it down on the table roughly. “See you tomorrow.”

“I’ll come get you,” Richard said, sipping his drink.

Jax nodded, leaving the man and the table behind.

Darkness surrounded her when she woke, a waning candle on the night stand affording her minimal light. Nola pressed a hand to her head to dull the throbbing. Glancing around, a pitcher of water sat beside her on the bed stand. Sitting up, Nola guzzled the water, her stomach instantly wanting to retch.

She was fortunately still dressed in yesterday’s clothes. However, she did not know where she was. Wooden floorboards graced her slippered feet, whereas her home had dirt floors. Nola scowled, looking at the rough-hewn door. A window on the other side let in minimal light around its covering.

“Lewis’s Tavern,” she grumbled, her throat thick.

She stood, going to the window. Covering her face with one hand, she ripped open the curtain with the other. Sunlight struck her face, and she groaned, rubbing her eyes. Nola squinted, slowly adjusting to the difference.

With surer footfalls than yesterday, she made her way out of the room to the outdoor privy. The crisp air struck her face, helping to clear her throbbing head. She loved how in the summer mornings the early air was fragrant and crisp but not overbearingly hot. She passed a man with short brown hair and blue eyes looking her up and down.

Nola scoffed. “Eyes on yourself,” she growled.

The man stopped, turning around. “I certainly wasn’t looking at you!” He shot back. “Clean the chunks off your dress!”

Nola glanced down, frowning. “Dammit all,” she muttered, making it to the privy door.

After relieving herself, she walked back to her home, arms crossed over her chest. Thankfully, her nosey neighbor did not see her. Closing the door, Nola locked it, shedding her ruined clothing where she stood. Nola turned to her small kitchen, and her water bucket from yesterday, still full, shimmered in the light through the crack in the shuttered windows.

With a sigh and a wet rag, she bathed herself, having already missed the opportune moment of bathing in the river before anyone else woke.

Her heart ached. Wesley leaving her like he had hurt more than she was able to say. Alone and waiting, dressed up in a fancy Orthilioan silken gown, their friends and Wesley’s family waiting, and he never showed. Wesley’s own father had gone to see what was taking so long and discovered the note he’d left.