Chapter Eight: Currency
924 Words
Morning light filtered through my window, and I sat at my table, the ten gold coins arranged in a neat row before me.
I picked up each one, feeling its weight, examining the unfamiliar markings. Royal seals I didn't recognize. Faces of kings long dead. Each coin was worth more than I'd ever held, and together they represented something I'd never had: freedom.
Freedom from the market. From Thomas's cruelty. From the villagers' contempt and their warding signs. With this gold, I could buy months of supplies—fabric, candles, oil, flour, salt, everything I needed. I wouldn't have to see their faces, wouldn't have to endure their hatred while begging them to buy my eggs.
The irony wasn't lost on me. A demon had given me more kindness than any human ever had.
But it was Father Benedict's face that kept appearing in my mind. The priest. The man who was supposed to represent God's mercy, who was supposed to protect his flock. He'd helped arrange my sacrifice. He'd tried to have me killed, my soul delivered to a demon.
Why?
The question burned in my chest like hot coals. What had I done to deserve that? What had my mother done? We were poor, yes. Marked by features that frightened superstitious villagers. But that warranted death?
I closed my fist around one of the coins, feeling its edges bite into my palm. Anger warred with relief, confusion with bitter acceptance. The priest had tried to kill me, and the demon had saved me. The world made no sense anymore.
But I had gold. I had a chance to survive without their judgment, at least for a while.
I gathered the coins into a small leather pouch and tucked it into my bodice. Today, I would buy everything I needed. And then I would stay away from Thornhaven for as long as possible.
—
The market was busy when I arrived, and the familiar weight of stares followed me through the crowd. But this time, I had purpose. This time, I had money.
I went to the fabric merchant first—a sour-faced woman who'd always looked at me like I carried plague. "I need fabric," I said, keeping my voice steady. "Enough for three dresses. Wool and linen."
She looked at me with suspicion. "You have coin for that?"
I pulled out a single gold coin and placed it on her table.
Her eyes widened. Then narrowed. "Where did you get this?"
"Does it matter? It's good coin, isn't it?"
She picked it up, bit it, examined it closely. Then she looked at me with something between fear and avarice. "It's good. But this is too much for fabric."
"Then give me what it's worth. And I'll need thread, needles, buttons."
She worked quickly after that, measuring out deep gray wool and cream linen, adding supplies. When she handed me my change—silver and copper coins that still felt like a fortune—her hand didn't quite touch mine. Some things never changed.
I moved through the market with growing confidence. Candles from the chandler—a dozen thick ones that would last months. Oil for my lamps. Flour, salt, dried beans, honey, herbs. A new knife to replace my dull one. Soap that actually smelled pleasant instead of the harsh lye I made myself.
Each purchase felt like armor. Each item meant one less reason to return to this place.
The villagers watched me with confusion and suspicion. The marked girl with gold. Where had it come from? What had she done? I could hear their whispers, see their warding signs, but for once I didn't care. Let them wonder. Let them fear.
I was loading my purchases into my basket when awareness prickled across my skin—that sudden, visceral recognition that made my breath catch and heat flood my body.
He was here.
I turned slowly, scanning the crowd, and found him standing near the blacksmith's stall. Lord Rene. Tall and imposing in his dark clothing, those silver eyes surveying the market like a predator surveying prey. He wasn't looking at me, wasn't acknowledging me at all, but my body knew him anyway.
My n*****s hardened beneath my dress. My core clenched with sudden, desperate need. Heat flooded through me, and I grew wet just from his presence. It was humiliating how my body responded to him, how it recognized its master even in broad daylight.
Why was he here? Where was he staying? What game was he playing, appearing in Thornhaven as Lord Rene while claiming me as Valdin each night?
I wanted to march over to him, demand answers. But I remembered last night—his hand around my throat, his c**k punishing me for daring to question him.
Don't mistake that for kindness, little mortal. Don't mistake it for anything other than possession.
He'd made it clear. I wasn't entitled to answers. I was entitled to nothing except what he chose to give me.
The frustration was almost painful. He was right there, standing in the sunlight like a normal man, and I couldn't approach him. Couldn't ask him anything. Could only stand here with my body betraying me, aching for him while he ignored me.
His gaze moved then, finding mine across the crowd. For just a moment, our eyes locked. I saw hunger there, possession, and something else I couldn't name. Then he looked away, dismissing me, and turned to speak with the blacksmith.
I gathered my purchases with shaking hands and fled.
- Writer
