A journey's start

Anaisa stretched in the early morning hours. It had been a week since she had arrived on Trace's farm.

Aside from Katia's absence, it was one of the most wonderful weeks she could remember. She slept so peacefully, and woke without real fear that she would be beaten or neglected. The work was difficult, but satisfying.

There were only three major problems with her life here:

First, was Katia's possible peril. Second, was Anaisa's looming urge for revenge and to get her rightful place back. Third, was the guilt she felt over leading Trace along when she intended to ultimately abandon him… though that intention seemed in doubt some days.

Otherwise, her life was positively idyllic.

She ended each day proud of what had been accomplished. She had even finished sewing a thick, warm coat from the fabric Trace had bought her. She and her sort-of-husband had reached a comfortable, conversational rhythm as they worked side by side. 

Two days ago, Trace's mother and sister had visited, gifting her bright, shiny buttons to sew onto it and helping her alter the clothing they had gifted her the first day. Her wardrobe, though it was not as fine as the fancy clothing she'd had as a noble's daughter, reminded her of people who seemed to genuinely care about her.

The women were kind, and welcoming. Anaisa wondered vaguely if they knew Trace's secret. If they knew, and still loved him as they clearly did, it couldn't be too terrible a secret.

But if they didn't know?

Trace's father clearly did, but that didn't necessarily mean the women also knew. Anaisa pushed the thought from her mind as she donned her newly completed coat. It fit beautifully. The owner of the fabric store had kindly included a pattern, and Anaisa had been able to modify it slightly to suit her taste. 

Buttoning the coat up, she whirled around, enjoying the weight of the new, heavy fabric and feeling like a queen as it skimmed her narrow waist before flaring to allow full skirts underneath. With this, and with Trace herding away the rest of the animals now, they were finally ready to leave for the city in the morning. 

She still didn't fully understand his motivation for all this, but she decided to ignore it for the time being. As long as she was getting what she wanted, it didn't matter why.

Did it?

She kept waiting for Trace to show signs of being a liar, a thief, or a scoundrel, but so far the most objectionable trait she'd observed about him was his tendency to leave clothes on the floor when he changed instead of putting them away.

Overall, Anaisa felt a sense of contentment out here on the farm, overshadowed only by her three major concerns: Katia, Revenge, and Guilt. She scratched her head as she recalled Trace's confidence that Katia was doing well. That was as comforting as it was confusing. 

He hadn't lied to her yet, that she knew... but how did he know whether her sister was all right? The front door opened and Anaisa whirled around. Trace stepped inside only to pause and stare at her for a moment.

"You finished the coat! It looks beautiful on you." He smiled broadly, and Anaisa felt something strange in her stomach. He looked so genuinely pleased to see her. That wasn't an expression she was used to seeing from anyone other than Katia.

"Thank you for the fabric," She stuttered, brushing her hands down over her hips. "It is a lovely color."

"I thought it might go nicely with your hair," His eyes softened as he looked at her. "I was right."

"I thought you just didn't want to get our coats confused," Anaisa replied, raising one eyebrow.

"That too," Trace smiled again, briefly, before changing the subject. "We're all set to leave in the morning, everyone's taken care of except Scruffles, but she'll fend for herself."

"She will?" Anaisa frowned. "All alone?"

"I think she likes it that way, honestly. The mice feel confident moving in without so much activity, and she gets heartier meals." Trace replied.

Anaisa nodded slowly. That made sense, she supposed. She'd spent most of the day preparing food for the journey, things that would last. She hadn't thought about what the cat would eat while they were gone.

"I packed a bag, like you asked," She said, "I'll wear the coat when we leave."

He nodded. "Good. I would advise you on what you'll need, but I'm sure you know the weather in the city this time of year better than I do."

While that was true, she'd never had to plan for it; the maids usually chose her clothing based on her father's instructions. She didn't say so now.

"Did you want me to pack your bag as well?" She queried, wondering if that was the polite thing to offer. The bridal lessons from the government had mentioned something about it, but she couldn't recall exactly. 

"You don't need to do that," He smiled. "But I do need to clean up the barn tonight so that it's not a disaster when we get back. If you want to get started for me, that would be helpful."

She nodded and smiled as he left. He was, at least so far, consistently deferent to her. He never ordered, didn't command, and was always appreciative.

It was unlike any man she'd ever met. She didn't always know what to make of it.

Turning to the new task, she shed her coat and laid it lovingly over the back of a chair. She'd worked her fingers raw to finish it so quickly, but it had been worth it.

Trace's pack was stored on top of the cabinet, and Anaisa had to stretch to pull it down. On her tiptoes, she still had to jump slightly to reach it, catching the edge with her fingertips and pulling.

It came down suddenly, and she lost her balance, falling to the floor as the bag landed on top of her.

"Ow!" She complained aloud, though there was no one to hear. Sighing with frustration at herself, she rose and rubbed her sore behind.

A piece of paper fluttered down from the top of the cabinet, landing at her feet. Obviously, she'd disturbed it when she got down the bag.

She picked it up, intending to replace it in its original location, but curiosity made her scan the first few lines. Her lips moved slightly as she whispered the words she read.

"--arranged for you to be provided a wife that Conlan believes will suit your particular tastes–"

"-- arranged for your new sister-in-law and her husband to visit the city and partake in its culture–"

Her face flamed and her eyes widened as she snapped the paper away from her face. She breathed deeply as her temper boiled to the surface, ready to explode.

Conlan was the name of that vile man in the shop, the one who had given Trace a letter–this letter, probably.

Conlan believed she would suit Trace's tastes? The thought of being assessed in such a way reviled her. The mysterious letter writer also mentioned Katia, though not by name. If it was a mere visit to the city, why hadn't Trace told her so?

It accounted for his confidence that Katia was all right, but nothing else made sense… As she managed to control the red clouding at the edges of her vision, she turned her eyes back to the letter in her hand.

Her rage turned to confusion. She didn't know what to make of it. The handwriting was that of nobility–the same loops and swirls that she and Katia were strictly taught by their tutors, like all children of the upper class. 

Trace had apparently refused to help the writer, resulting in these events. He was being blackmailed? What sort of help was he denying this mysterious person?

She didn't know how long she stood there, trying to process what she read, but she suddenly realized Trace would be back at some point, maybe soon. Scrambling, she replaced the letter and began packing Trace's bag for him.

She had just finished gathering appropriate outer garments when Trace came back, and she let him take over the process while she got dinner started, briefly amazed at how quickly they'd formed a nonverbal rhythm of tasks to be done.

Trace quickly completed his packing and put the bag by the door so it would be ready to go at first light. He had explained how long the journey was, and the stops they would make on the way. The first day was to be the longest, so they needed to leave early.

As had become a bit of a tradition, as Anaisa set the table for dinner, he posed a question they would both answer while they ate to learn a little more about each other. She was amazed at how much she enjoyed the process.

"What is your favorite season of the year, and why?" He tilted his head as he sat down.

Anaisa paused for a moment and internally debated whether to bring up the fact that she'd seen the letter. Would it be better to have that out in the open, or to be watchful and see what she could learn?

Straightening her shoulders, she spoke.

"May I ask a different question instead?"