The late summer sun sprang beads of sweat down the seams of Aylee’s tunic along the linen of her chemise, and she grumbled internally at the impracticality of the extra layers of clothes during times of heat. She looked forward to the approaching autumn, coveting the clouds and chill that would precede the harvest season. Still, she would not complain. Soon, she would pull a block of ice behind her, and until it was deposited into the larder, any breeze that blew past it would mimic an autumn breeze.

“What is your cart for, Miss Hembry?” shouted Master Landro, a young man only a year older than herself who often sought her out for discourse.

She would not encourage him – she had noticed that he spoke to most every young lady with as much friendliness of spirit – but he took her indifference with a similar disinterest, so she engaged with him as a matter of course.

“I intend to carry back with me a bundle of mandrakes for the village witch.”

“That’s a lot of mandrake,” he grinned. “Does your customer intend to curse the whole village?”

“Just the undesirables.”

“Guess I’m safe then?” Landro grinned, feigning anxiety.

“You’re safe enough,” Aylee agreed, distracted as she approached her destination. “As long as you stay away from certain elements.”

Landro’s eyes followed hers to the large storefront where a tall, handsome man stood in state over a small bazaar that teemed with the local population. “So, you have someone particular in mind?” Landro wondered wryly.

In answer, Aylee threw her companion a distracted denial and finished the trek to the store, leaving Landro behind as she approached the tall man behind the wooden table. She despised the fact that she had to work with her father’s competitor at all, but the man possessed some resources her father had not yet acquired. Worse, she had to deal with the man’s son, who seemed unforgivingly intent on snaring Aylee’s interest. If he had shown any ounce of humanity, she might have indulged him a measure of kindness, but Malchus Lorne made a practice of thuggery, utilizing his father’s position to exploit the people forced to deal with him.

As she approached the queue, she recognized the avarice on his face, and it drew her attention to the small woman, Mistress Tarby, who currently engaged in business with Malchus. He was bargaining with her, and by the confusion on her face, Miss Tarby felt torn between the propriety and wisdom of contradicting the miscreant and her wish not to be taken advantage of by a known grifter.

“Dear Mistress Tarby,” Aylee greeted loudly, pulling both her the merchant’s attention away from their business. “What a pleasure to find you here! I heard tell of the mishap at your home yesterday. Tis fortunate that the bags for this grain will replace the sacks damaged by the accident. They make excellent padding for the baby’s bed – fewer prickles.”

A look of gratitude washed over the woman’s face before she turned back to Malchus. “It is true, Mr. Malchus,” the woman commanded aloud. “My Fraylance cannot sleep on the ground tonight, and it was fortunate that I needed these goods today, as delay would have proven quite inconvenient.”

Good show, Aylee nodded her approval. If the woman had returned later in the week, Malchus would have feigned ignorance of her purchase, and she would have lost out on half of her goods. Unfortunately, Malchus had not yet garnered the crooked reputation that he deserved, largely because his father managed most of the distribution. A fair – though greedy – man, Master Lorne would have robbed the townsfolk merely by charging a higher price and shutting down the competition, but at least one knew where he stood with the father. Malchus would charm his victims, knock them of balance with his piercing eyes then catch them where they reeled with his hypnotic smile. A moment later, the customer would walk away with less than he paid for.

When Malchus flashed his typical sneer toward the woman, Aylee caught her breath. His eyes spoke danger and fire and power, and Aylee could not help admiring the latent strength that flowed from him. Something had changed. As if he had heard the breath she held, Malchus glanced up at Aylee. Beside the design she had seen in his eyes a moment before rose a hunger that scared her.

Malchus should never look at her that way, and if she could help it, he never would again. From behind her, a laugh erupted, and Aylee glanced back to see Landro a few yards away, where he stood staring at the encounter with amusement. The distraction cost her because when she turned back, Malchus had slid from behind the table and approached to within a few inches of her.

“Miss Aylee,” he oozed. “I could swear that I heard the voice of an angel whispering in the ear of Mistress Tarby only a moment before she walked away with what should have been mine.”

Malchus inclined entirely too close to Aylee, not at all a proper distance for a young man and woman, but Aylee would not retreat. She narrowed her eyes at him, too bothered by his words to back away. “And what if ye did?” she glared at him. “It takes an angel's voice to break the spell of the devil.”

If possible, Malchus widened his smile, and Aylee lost herself for a moment.

“The devil's not all bad, Miss Aylee,” he stepped closer, and Aylee immediately stepped back.

“Ha!” The declaration actually raised a chuckle from Aylee's gut. “By definition, Master Lorne, the devil is all bad. He only plays with the light so he can snuff it out.” His confident smile faltered for a moment, and Aylee liked the resulting malice even less than his amusement. Still, she did not readily succumb to threats. “And,” she continued, “seeing as I have no desire to be extinguished, I will just take my grain and go.”

Moving around him, Aylee stepped back to her bag where it rested by the table. She opened it and waited expectantly for him to return to his duty. Fortunately, another customer arrived a moment later, so any retaliation Malchus might have planned had to wait. She headed across the square to stand in the shade of the smithy’s wooden porch, taking a few moments to adjust the sacks she held for easier carrying. By the time she turned back, Landro had approached Malchus, and the pair stared at her from across the square. While Malchus fumed, Landro’s eyes twinkled with amusement, but their conversation could not have revolved around anything beneficial to her. Maybe Landro is not so harmless as I imagined, she realized, since anyone who enjoyed an exchange with Malchus must hold less character than she could abide.

Aylee hated feeling forced to deal with Malchus in any way, but with the warm, wet climate over the past few months, Mr. Hembry could not bring the grain from his usual nearby markets. Now, before he could reach his home, the grains would turn. With the iron fist of the Lorne family over the town, no one around her community dared sell grain to anyone else for redistribution.

Since Aylee could remember, her father had traveled days at a time to procure the goods he needed for his store. Now, though, Everett Hembry had to make journeys of several days or even weeks just to find the basic goods to stock his store. He could have found many of his needs closer to home, but the Lorne family kept the town on tight restraints. The townsfolk preferred to do business with Everett Hembry, but when he couldn't provide something, the people had no choice. Knowing this, Wendell Lorne made deals with his suppliers for a higher payout, and in exchange they agreed to sell only to him. As a result, he could charge his customers a high price, offering loans with heavy interest when they couldn’t afford the goods and exacting a steep cost when someone couldn't pay. Malchus exuded every ounce as much avarice as his father, but married it to corruption.

“Chester Hembry!” Aylee cried suddenly as her mind returned to the world around her. “Chester! Get away from there!” She watched helplessly, unsure exactly how she could help without causing further problems. Still, she placed her bags on the ground so that she could act quickly should the opportunity arise.

Rather than answer, Chester dove back under the coach, barely avoiding the revolving spokes as the wheels came to a halt. A moment later, he emerged dragging Winslet, the family hound, his scruff scrunched tightly in Chester's fist. Chester joined Aylee where she stood.

“Chester!” Aylee chided. “You could have been killed!”

“And so could have Winslet!” he sassed. “Was I supposed to leave him to die?”

“Better him than you, little mutton!” Though he now stood several inches taller than she, Aylee mussed his hair. When Chester shrugged his shoulders, Aylee grabbed him into a hug.

“Next time, leave the dog be. He's probably better than ye at dodging wheels.”

Still with no response, Chester began to drag Winslet back toward their home. As Aylee reached down for the bags, she glanced up to where the carriage had paused. An unusually tall, well-dressed man had alit and now spoke in hushed tones to Malchus and Landro. From the open side door, Aylee could spy another young man, about her age, lounging across one of the seats.

With ruddy brown curls escaping from under his cap, he favored the eastern region of Banda, and she couldn’t escape her curiosity. He sat alone, and Aylee could only describe his expression as bored. Or perhaps depressed. No, she realized. Nobles did not suffer depression. She knew the two young men could not be brothers, not with their difference in complexion, but when the taller, darker man turned back to the carriage, the ruddy-haired man exited eagerly enough. Aylee could not discern who deferred to whom, and she believed them at least friends. Certainly, both carried themselves with a better comportment than Malchus.

It had been many months since anything exciting had taken place in Bennigton, and Aylee found herself more than a little curious about the pair of handsome strangers. Rather than rush back to her home, as she would otherwise have done to escape Malchus, she took her time retrieving the bags from the ground, straining to hear the nearby exchange. When Malchus stepped through the threshold of his father’s large abode, Landro took his leave of the group, and the shorter noble seated himself on the carriage steps as the pair began a hushed conversation.

“You suspected right, but what does it signify now? If you don’t manage the right story, you might as well get used to traveling life,” the taller man offered in a hushed tone. Aylee thought she caught hints of a provincial accent, but nothing out of the realm of the educated. “This persona is too close to your own, though. Will not someone deduce the truth?”

Aylee could not discern the reply from the seated man, whose voice rumbled more deeply and harder to discern. She fumbled with the string on her bags as if tying them tighter.

“Maybe a trader or a minstrel,” the taller friend offered, and Aylee noted the muffled laugh from the steps of the vehicle.

“Do you play an instrument, then? My instrument weights a hundred stone, but I can sing…” To prove his point, Jameson burst out in a boisterous folk tune, though his clear tone spoke some study and would hardly blend in a village revue.

“No, that will not do,” Itchy chastised as several of the nearby villagers offered scattered applause. “Something more inconspicuous, I advise.”

Aylee did not applaud, though his voice rang far richer than most she encountered, and she could not help but be impressed. Still, turning her smile to the straw at her feet, she reined in her expression. Their banter challenged her irritation, threatening to soften her opinion of them, so she focused on the inexplicable nature of their words. This persona, the taller man had said. Very strange.

When she heard nothing for a minute, she reached down and retrieved her bags, turning as she lifted them to glance at the conveyance. The two men had stopped talking and were watching her where she stood. She did her best to offer a nonchalant smile, and at that moment, Malchus stepped out of his home and back to the other two men. For him, she could only offer a glare. The taller man walked to the back of the carriage, and Malchus and the other man began a conversation that Aylee could not make out.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Still stalling, she adjusted her bags, exaggerating the struggle to explain her delay. She ambled over to the smith and made up a query about a pot for her mother. She told herself that she only cared about the conversation behind her because it involved Malchus, and a collaboration between the scoundrel and men of means could only signal trouble. Remembering the strangers’ smiles, though, she did not quite believe her claimed reasons. No, she was curious.

Usually, she disdained nobility – nobles had so few problems that they suffered a lack of stimulation. She never envied them, except in their power to do good. Few ever exercised such power, though, so Aylee did not find much reason to think highly of them. In that respect, she almost preferred Malchus to the young men in the carriage. If Malchus was profligate, he at least had to work for it.

Not that their societal class kept her from noticing that the taller man’s eyes were turned up slightly at the corners, offering an exotic note to his rugged looks. Nor that the carriage’s other occupant possessed a slight dimple in one cheek which appeared when, upon catching her looking at him, his face broke into a delightful grin. Aylee instantly turned away, embarrassed. She had always prided herself in not slobbering after young men, as her friends had for the last several years.

True, her friend’s slobbering ways had managed husbands for most of them while Aylee had attracted only moderate attention.

“Only a great man can deserve you, sweet Aylee,” counseled her father. “You scare away all the others.”

Well, then, why could she not scare away Malchus Lorne and his unwanted persistence? Perhaps greatness was more a magnitude than a value. Malchus definitely held great potential, though more directed toward selfishness and greed than any honorable cause. If Aylee had to choose solitude over Malchus's brand of greatness, then so be it.

“Spite the peer,” came the murmur from the blacksmith, and Aylee glanced up into his face with shock. Apparently, she had not suppressed her irritation with the noble as well as she had assumed, because no doubt, the blacksmith thought himself in sympathy with her or he would not have mumbled the words for her hearing. He was mistaken, however. “Spite the peer” constituted a brutal and mindless response to the nobility that Aylee could never sanction.

The Steeple society had recently moved into Bennigton from the surrounding area, largely because of the town’s lack of a noble patron – less power to interrupt the society’s conspiring. Aylee, though, thought of them as outsiders. For every story of nobility who oppressed and mistreated his subjects, there were a handful of stories of horrific destruction by the society. Burned crops, ravaged buildings, and on occasion, a noble family slaughtered or ravaged, usually with the servants and hands on the premises at the time and included in the victims.

No, Aylee did not need that kind of sympathy, and she leveled an even more disdainful glare at the blacksmith before turning back to lift her bundles. In truth, the dissidents spawned mostly from the lower patricians, dissatisfied that they had not managed their own nobility. The hardworking people of the village largely appreciated the jobs provided by the kinder nobles and the expenditures they made in the village.

Of course, she held no great deference for the nobility – as no one in Bennigton needed to – but she bore them no ill will. Despite her earlier characterization, she thought no less of the individuals in the peerdom than she did of individuals of the merchant class or in poverty.

“Spite the peer!” Came a sudden rumbled chorus from the milling crowd around her, as apparently, the mantra had licked like a flame along the fronds of dissent. Aylee’s head jerked up to take in the view of the two men in the carriage, her compassion for them mingled with fear that they would react harshly to the mostly peasant crowd. She was slightly ashamed that people from her village had repeated the mantra.

Had the men heard?

A mild tension in the face of the seated noble belied that he had heard, and Aylee wanted to grip every one of the crowd who had repeated the phrase by the ear and give them a verbal lashing. Instead, she thanked the blacksmith tersely and stepped from under the little porch into the afternoon sun. She heard a laugh that drew her eyes back to the carriage, and she recognized the nervous tension in the smaller man. Malchus had gone, and the two friends stood together again. The one with the reddish-brown curls was raising himself from where he had stooped to retrieve something from the ground.

“Ma’am!” he called out to a disheveled-looking woman whose decimated frame implied that she had foregone many meals to feed the four children she held in tow. “Ma’am, I believe this is yours…” He awkwardly scurried a few steps toward the woman who reached out her hand and gripped the object, a little purse that seemed heavy with coins.

“Oh, master,” she offered, clasping his hand with both of hers. “Thank ye. Thank ye so much. My Henrik was in charge of the purse, and he is so young. I don’t know what we would have done if we lost it.”

Did Aylee register a look of pity on the man’s face? When she turned to the friend, he wore a mien of…pride? As if he took pleasure in his friend’s kindness. Everything in her had believed the younger man some noble or peer, and the companion a servant or lackey. The insecurity on the smaller man’s face, though? His obvious wish for validation? It certainly seemed the response of a subordinate to a rank officer. Perhaps she had misjudged.

Certainly, the voices that rose to “spite the peer” had misjudged. If you men of the village had witnessed this man’s kindness? she chastised silently. If they had witnessed the flash of gold slip from the smaller man’s hand into the woman’s purse? If the woman had not seen it, she would find at least a doubling of the value in her bag, and Aylee’s heart warmed just a hint toward both of the strangers.

At least until they returned to their positions by the carriage steps. She had glanced around her to ascertain that none of the Steeplers would react to the men’s presence, and when she glanced back at the pair, they returned her stare. Perhaps she should have felt flattered, but instead, her embarrassment rendered her contrary. Aylee glared toward the duo as they broke off their visual exchange with her and turned to glide into the Lorne abode. Of course, the wealthy would find refuge in the home of the greediest family in town. Who else would own a home flush with the necessary luxuries to give a nobleman an acceptable stay?

Any associate of the Lorne family must earn nothing but her disdain, so despite the handsome faces of the two men – or maybe because of them – Aylee spun away and headed toward her home. Just as the Lorne's house would have hidden from view, Aylee turned back for one last curious glance. To her surprise, Malchus stood next to the smaller man – who she now realized was not at all small, as he stood shoulder to shoulder with the massive Malchus. He had only seemed “shorter” in comparison to his unusually towering friend. Malchus and the man had paused within the Lorne doorway in conference, and they both stared directly at Aylee's retreating path.

With another glare, Aylee spun back around on her heels, unsure whether to feel insulted, scared, or flattered. A massive man loomed up before her, bent on some goal of his own, and Aylee careened off of him, her hair knocking loose from its clasp and several of her bundles tumbling into the dirt. As she bent to scoop them up, she glanced nervously back to the Lorne doorway, and to her bewilderment, the young nobleman had taken a step toward her, as if he intended to offer her aid. She was much too far away for him to do so, but she would not wait to see if he came closer. Breathing hard, she rushed single-mindedly back to her home.

Soon, she had seated herself in her own room, once again studying the spiraling dust where it danced in the evening sunlight streaming through her window. She couldn't express how grateful she felt to be finally in her comfortable place, and she pressed all thoughts of Malchus or the handsome young noble from her mind.

For the next week, because of Malchus's promise to her father, Aylee listened attentively to any news about the arrival of the portreeve. She had to wonder if she had spied him that day with Malchus, handsome and rich and cavalier. Just the thought irritated her. No doubt, the local baron had sent some idling nephew to take over the governing of the town. As if Bennigton deserved no consideration whatsoever! That loafer inside that carriage had no business governing hard-working farmers and tradesmen.

Within a few days, Mr. Hembry had to leave once again, and Aylee couldn't escape the dread that always swallowed her when his journeys commenced. For some reason, though, this journey seemed to portend something more significant than his usual business venture. Perhaps Aylee feared the new intensity of the attention toward herself from Malchus. Certainly, Malchus had affected her when he threatened her father. She knew no aggressive evil from the young Lorne – just a general greed and artfulness – but he had recently adopted a new confidence that gave him more presence than he had commanded in the past.

What if Malchus grew close in confidence with the new portreeve after their initial collaboration? If Malchus married his malice to true power, he seemed ill-equipped to resist his more insatiate nature. His idle and juvenile threat might turn into a true dragoon that the Hembrys could not ignore. All of Mr. Hembry's consequence could not hold back the influence of a portreeve. Unless Everett Hembry could prove his worth to the new government, Malchus might manage to siphon the entire flow of goods in the city from the Hembrys to himself.

Surely Aylee exaggerated the bleakness of the situation.

As if to answer her nerves, Aylee caught the brush of a whisper as she hurried out the door to bid her father farewell.

“But it will be longer this time,” Mistress Hembry was saying,

“What are a few days, Raehan? I am still young and strong.”

“But what kind of man does this, Everett?”

Unaware of his audience, Mr. Hembry sighed, his face tight with anxiety. “A greedy one,” he posited. “Certainly a bad one. Still, he has done nothing to anyone but me.”

“There are a few vendors within a stone's throw of us who will suffer as well.”

“True,” Mr. Hembry muttered. “But I think that they can still find buyers. Most of their goods are not covered under the new mandate.”

“A mandate purposed to benefit no one but those Lornes!” Mrs. Hembry groused.

“Now, Raehan, none of that! We need speak no ill of others. If there is ill to speak, they will speak it well enough themselves in time.”

“But by then, we will have nothing left. And all in the name of stability! What about all the people in our employ? Poor Mistress Coates will be the first to go.”

“Nay, my dear. I'll not have ye without a maid. No, I'm afraid it will be Henrik.” A gasp emitted from Mistress Hembry's mouth, and Aylee rolled her eyes. Mrs. Hembry should know that her husband might send Chester away before he let Henrik go. “But I'll tell ye what I told Malchus Lorne. I've outlasted eight other portreeves, and I will outlast this one.”

“Are you sure you shouldn't take Chester?” Mrs. Hembry knotted her hands as she glanced anxiously up at her husband.

“No, dear. You have enough to worry about, as do I. I promise that once I have set up a new plan to deal with this portreeve's ridiculous dictate, I'll take our son.”

Though she had no doubt he meant it, Aylee held little confidence in Mr. Hembry's assertion. Every time Everitt Hembry purposed to take Chester, he found some reason to wait until the next time. If he continued to push off the event, Chester would have children of his own before he qualified for helping his father.

Aylee ducked into the buttery as her father grabbed Mrs. Hembry by the hand and led her from the room. A moment later, Mr. Hembry had called his children together and patted each of the boys on the head. He picked up his youngest girl and swung her into a hug before depositing her in her mother's arms. When he turned to Aylee, Mr. Hembry's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“And why be ye so anxious?” he interrogated.

For a moment, Aylee said nothing. She could not let on that she had overheard her parents, and her own idle worries seemed foolish now. Aylee fumbled around for something to avert her parents' attention. “It's probably something best discussed among adults,” she dodged.

“Of course,” Mr. Hembry nodded. “Would you like to ride to the edge of town with me?”

“No need, Father. It can wait until you return.”

Mr. Hembry peered at her intently, not entirely convinced, but she forced a complacent expression, refusing to either smile too big or appear too anxious. Somehow, she managed to keep her voice level, and after a moment, Mr. Hembry pulled his daughter into a hug.

“Well, be sure that I will address it when I return,” he kissed her hair. No doubt he would if he could, she knew.

“Yes, father,” she smiled now. “I assure you it is nothing of significance.”

Just before he stepped into the carriage, Mr. Hembry wrapped his arm around his wife's waist and gave her a full, warm kiss on the lips. Aylee rolled her eyes, but an inadvertent smirk danced at the corners of her mouth. Never did her father do anything half-way, but if anyone deserved so much love, Raehan Hembry did.

Aylee's moment of mirth faded as she watched the dust settle on the heels of her father's departure. Even before she had eavesdropped on her parents, something about the new portreeve had bothered her. She couldn't escape the sensation that an imminent change hung in the air. When she had encountered him a few days before, he had affected her more than he should have. Like her father, Aylee had grown used to the ebb and flow of city leadership, but something in the new portreeve's eyes carried a profound potential, something beyond his office. They did not reflect the world as a flat, empty image as did the eyes of most in authority. The portreeve's eyes absorbed the world around him, sucking it in and rearranging it to his own image. Power like that could hardly bode well for a small hamlet village. Especially in the hands of a bored, spoiled young man.

So much had he affected her that, though she had scurried away from the two men with a nervousness wholly unlike herself, within a five minute she had found her feet dragging, considering turning back for another glance. Perhaps catch one more view of the potential threat: Malchus Lorne the scoundrel in conspiracy with the portreeve of power. A shiver ran up Aylee's back as she remembered the way the two men had appraised her, one with scowling possession and the other with amused interest. What if her father couldn't handle the pair together? True, he had managed others, but this one seemed different. And when the previous portreeve had come to power, Malchus Lorne had been a child. Now Malchus was a man of four and twenty, and more than capable of conspiring for power, to nefarious effect. That portreeve allied with Malchus Lorne just might match her father for wit and strength.

Aylee shook her head to dispel her sense of gloom. Everett Hembry had not raised a daughter subject to whimsy and superstition. Besides, she reasoned, anyone named Shellin couldn't manage too much influence. Aylee laughed at her own frivolity, as if the name she had overheard as the new portreeve’s held any significance. Neither a name nor a pair of eyes could reveal the true character of a person. Mr. Shellin whatever-his-name-was would need more than a perceptive look to intimidate her, and she had dealt with Malchus her entire life. Not only that, but she had to believe that Everett Hembry could manage full-well against any challenge. With that thought, Aylee smiled confidently. She had never succumbed to fear before, and she would certainly not start now.