An Unexpected Apprentice Read Online Free

behavior in his own well-schooled daughters. Both Mig and Lisel kept their eyes aimed modestly toward the floor whenever Tildi glanced their way. All she could see was the top of their white-capped heads. Behind the Sardbrook bench, her friends Joybara and Nolla Coppers smiled but didn’t move. A quick tilt of the head in the direction of their very conservative father showed Tildi why. His choleric face was the same shade of red as his hair.
    Not that Tildi spent the time entirely by herself. Many of the young men stopped by briefly to chat with her. The first was Dyas Holt, the youngest child of the local butcher. He was a bit slow-moving, but kind and considerate. Tildi often danced with him at meetings, the other girls complained he stepped on their feet, but she was quick enough to get out of his way. Tildi was good friends with his six sisters and Aine, the girl married to his elder brother.
    “Evening, Tildi,” Dyas said solemnly. He hovered over her, just a little too close. She pulled her feet up a bit and concentrated on keeping her nose out of the lavish embroidery on his pale blue shirtfront. She recognized it as his best tunic, which usually came out for Year’s End parties and weddings. The finery reminded her once again, as if she needed it, that ornaments and decoration were forbidden to her now. She would be in mourning for a year. Her dark blue dress, the plainest thing she owned, had a white sash to compliment the sleeves and neck of her white chemise that peeked out at wrists and neck. Her neat, soft leather shoes were plain, too, tied with simple black ribbons.
    “Evening, Dyas,” she said with a cordial nod.
    “My sympathies on your loss. My family’s, too.” Dyas stopped short and turned red. Tildi understood. It was hard to think of what to say after a tragedy. She owed a visit of condolence to Jinny’s family.
    “Thank you, Dyas.”
    Dyas struggled for something else to say. His big, kind face contorted. Any moment now he would sputter out something awkward and retire in confusion, as he always did. Tildi usually offered a subject of conversation that he could take up with ease, but she didn’t feel up to making the effort.
    “Are you troubling the poor lass, Dyas?” asked Gorten, sliding smoothly up beside him as if cutting in to a dance. The weaver, about Gosto’s age,
came from the western quarter of the Quarters. He specialized in linen fabrics, so every woman in the southern quarter knew him well. He was quick-witted and a trifle cruel.
    “Not at all, Gorten,” Tildi said quickly. “He came to offer his sympathies.”
    “Why, so do I, Tildi.” Gorten picked up her hand in his long fingers and bestowed a light kiss upon it. He was tall for a smallfolk, about half the height of a human. “What a terrible thing. Why, it could have been anyone, but all your brothers! They were fine men. You did not deserve such ill luck. Is there anything I can do to help?”
    “I … I hardly know yet, but thank you for asking.”
    “My father and I will be over to help finish the haying tomorrow,” said Jole Bywell, coming up with his twin brother Nole. Their family owned the land that ran along the western border of the Summerbee fields. “Our sisters are cooking up pots of food so you don’t have to trouble yourself at all for us.”
    Tears sprang into Tildi’s eyes. She leaned forward to clasp their hands. “That is so kind of you both.”
    Nole looked abashed. “It’s just the neighborly—”
    “I will help with the cutting, too,” Gorten said suddenly, interrupting him.
    “And I,” added Dyas, pushing forward.
    “Aah!” Tildi gasped, as he trod on the foot she had just set down.
    “Tildi!” She looked up to see the frustrated, swarthy face of Ronardo, the herbalist’s son, peering at her between the solid shoulders of the Bywell boys. “May I speak to you after the meeting? Will you wait for me? I’ll walk you home.”
    “Thank you …”
    “Nonsense, she’ll come