Crucible Read Online Free Page A

onions as she hung up her cloak. Supper for the staff came after the dinner service but before the Bard’s performance. The staff filtered in by singles and pairs. Attikas arrived with his daughter, who spun a silver-and-blue top on the table while they waited for dinner. The pot-scrubbers and maids came in next, followed by Orenn and Eel.
    Last came the innkeeper, Sharlot, practically draped over Ferrin and laughing obsequiously at some joke he’d just told.
    â€œI’m telling you, dearest,” he said to her, continuing his jest, “you ought to send a bill to Selenay.”
    Sharlot giggled. “Oh, stop.”
    Ystell set a marvelous collection of cottage pies, bacon pies, and cheese-and-onion pies on the table. Everyone served themselves, with Ferrin pouncing first.
    â€œWhy not?” he continued, helping himself to slabs of both cheese-and-onion and cottage pie. “They’re eating
your
hay, taking up
your
stalls. Did Selenay ask
your
permission to house them in
your
inn?”
    â€œI’m sure you’ll get a chit to put toward taxes,” Orenn said. “And it’s
Queen
Selenay, Ferrin.”
    Ferrin met Orenn’s gaze with a smile. “So it is, Orenn. Silly me. I keep forgetting she’s my Queen.”
    Eel and Sharlot snickered.
    His voice took on a treacly wickedness. “Highjorune didn’t used to be part of Valdemar. Maybe it needs to remember that. Don’t you agree, Orenn?”
    Bree felt a pressure building against her skull with his every word, as if someone were pouring honey over her head. Beside her, Orenn nodded. “I . . . I guess . . . I mean, Highjorune used to be part of Lineas . . . a long time ago . . . but. . . .”
    â€œSee?” Ferrin said, voice a velvet purr. “It’s not such a stretch.”
    â€œNot a stretch,” Orenn agreed, echoing him.
    The pressure on Bree’s head receded. Orenn blinked, then picked up his fork and stared at it as if he didn’t know what to do with it. A moment later, he started eating again. Ferrin watched, smirking.
    Bree felt sick.
He’s making people dance to his Gift.
    Ferrin shoveled food in his mouth, and at least some of the tension drained away while he stuffed pie into the hole in his face. Bree poked at her own serving, suddenly lacking an appetite.
    â€œDaddy,” Suze said, her high child’s voice cutting through the clatter of dinner, “more sheepypud?”
    â€œSheepypud?” Ystell said, confused. “You mean the cottage pie?”
    Attikas flushed. “We call it ‘sheepy pudding’.”
    â€œSheepypud?” Ferrin howled the words. “Gods above! What are you, Holderkin?”
    Attikas lowered his head. Ystell jumped to his aid, saying, “To be fair, it’s just lamb mince, and it’s baked, like most puddings . . . no one true way, hm?”
    â€œâ€˜No one true way’,” Ferrin sneered. “Our Queen stands for everything, which means she stands for nothing.” He smirked. “At least she stopped standing long enough to make an Heir.”
    His sycophants hooted and laughed.
    â€œWell,” Ferrin said, “I’m off to tune my voice and my gittern. Ystell, thank you again for a marvelous . . . sheepy pudding!”
    A fresh round of chortles. Attikas’ head lowered a little more. His daughter looked up at him, confused.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with sheepypud?” Bree heard her ask her father.
    â€œNothing, honey,” he murmured.
    Ferrin didn’t bother to drop his plate or cup off in the soak-bucket when he left. Bree hated him a little more for that.
    Stay focused. Opportunity is coming.
    She offered to help with cleanup, then offered to help with wiping down the tables and putting up the chairs, then renewing the firewood. Finally no one remained but her and Ystell.
    â€œQuite a night,” Ystell