The Lost Kingdom of Bamarre by Gail Carson Levine

Author:Gail Carson Levine
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2017-03-13T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“WHO ARE YOU?”

My cheek stung. I was Lord Tove’s daughter! Who was she?

The woman leaned toward me, her chin jutting out, too. She matched my fury until her eyes began to show surprise.

Realization dawned. I should cower and apologize.

But I wouldn’t.

Still, I mustn’t strike her back. I pulled in my chin and relaxed my shoulders. Words! I needed words. Which words?

Remembering my supposed illness, I forced myself to speak slowly. “My name is Nadira, Mistress.” What else?

I felt a frightened stillness from the kitchen behind me.

“I’ve been ill with phlegm fever. It’s made me clumsy. I’m Goodman Adeer’s aunt, if you please. I came to help Goodwife Shoni.”

“How lucky we both are. I hope to be elsewhere when you’re not being helpful.”

I remembered she thought herself a wit. My smile was probably a grimace.

“Clean up your mess.” She went into the kitchen.

Halina, what must I do to free us?

I slipped back into the kitchen. Her Mistress-ship was telling Mama what she wanted served for dinner. Mama stood in front of her, nodding, but her eyes shifted to me. Annet was chopping onions again. I got the dustpan and brush, returned to the vestibule, and left the door a few inches ajar.

Her Mistress-ship said, “Chicken brewet, then milk soup with leeks . . . Our guests are a trifle piggy, so give them roast pork next.” She waited, I supposed, for Mama and my sister to laugh.

Mama chuckled. I heard nothing from Annet.

“Pudding, almonds, and dates at the end. Bread, certainly.”

I swept up the spilled rushes.

Her Mistress-ship continued. “It’s a good menu. I will not be criticized for it.” Her voice rose in volume and pitch. “I will not!”

That was a Mood? To shriek? To hit an old woman?

I heard Her Mistress-ship start for the door. Hastily, with my real speed, I left the house and emptied the pail as directed. When I returned to the kitchen, Mama was alone, because Annet was setting the table in the solar, where, as in a castle’s great hall, a family dined and entertained guests.

“Why was your cheek red before, Nad— Aunt Nadira?”

I explained, though I wouldn’t have mentioned the slap if she hadn’t asked.

“I see.” She changed the subject. “Can you catch and kill a chicken, if you don’t mind?”

I said I could. I was a warrior.

Mama pointed me to a door in the back wall, which led to a wooden pantry that held barrels of apples and winter vegetables, sides of beef and pork on hooks, and crocks of spices. The pantry opened into a yard with a stable and a chicken coop.

I caught a chicken easily, wrung its neck, and enjoyed the feeling of success when the bird hung limp in my hand.

“Thank you. You were quick about it.” Mama was fast, too, chopping currants and walnuts. “If only the pudding could be made that readily.”

“Will you have it in time?” Dinner would be served early in the afternoon.

She shrugged. “We’ll delay. They’ll laugh at the Bamarre sluggards. Her Mistress-ship will be criticized for our slowness.

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