Astrid

I find my way out of Ainsfrel, but I do not go far. Perhaps the greenery around me and the path beneath my feet will lead me to Mirkwood. I do not know. I simply wander and wander.

Then I find the garden.

Unfinished white pillars stand in a circle. Thick shrubs and flowerbeds surround the stone floor in the middle of the circle, like walls that conceal my view of what is hidden within as I look on from the outside. My shoes click against the small, broken stone steps until I find the opening between the green wall. Within the circle, a stone bench stands guard beside a very large dent in the ground, as if there had been something big in the middle, like a fountain of some sort. Resilient weeds and flowers sprout from between the cracks in the dent, eager to soak up the afternoon sun.

Gingerly, I sink onto the bench. My one hand still clutches the book I’ve been reading for the past few days.

Only my exhales mingle with the distant songbirds’ cries. There is no other sound.

I open the book and retreat into another world for a long time.

At some point, my gaze halts upon a phrase on the page. Squinting closely at it, I try to make sense of the strange term. My breath tickles my own thumbs as I try to balance the syllables upon my tongue.

“Au…audeer…est…fa-face…”

A twig snaps in the distance.

My head snaps up in alarm. Twisting around, I hold my breath and wait.

True enough, a figure stands concealed behind a rosebush. I rise to my feet and clutch my book, ready to use it as a weak makeshift shield.

“Show yourself,” I order, trying hard to bite down the nervousness in my voice.

The person only comes partially into view. From his sturdy build it is obvious he is a man, but I cannot make his face out under his heavy hood. His cloak, too, is wrapped around his body tightly, as if he is cold under this spring sunshine.

I rise to my feet and ready myself to bolt in the other direction.

“Am I trespassing, sir? Is this your garden?”

He does not answer right away. Instead he, too, retreats by a step.

“No.” His voice is deep, sounding like the scrape of strings against a worn-out musical instrument.

“Then are we both trespassing?”

“Perhaps.” A pause. “You are reading?”

The disbelief in his voice makes me glance down at my book.

“No, I was just staring into a page and hoping divine intervention would inspire.”

He neither laughs nor shows irritation at my sarcastic reply. Instead, he presses, “Which book?”

Stolen story; please report.

I tell him the title.

“That is a young girl’s book, full of wishful thinking and romance.”

“And do you expect me to be distressed if this provides some form of botheration for you, sir?” I retort innocently. Only after the words leave my mouth does it occur to me that, perhaps, I should not be so unkind to a stranger who could brutally murder me where no one will witness.

So, I correct myself: “I was just trying to pronounce a term.”

“Tell me what it is.”

I spell it out, and he hums in acknowledgment.

“Audarie eit fiaceri. Orlinean. It means, ‘to dream is to dare’.”

“I know what it means,” I lie. But I like what it means.

There is another pause. I want to sit back down on the bench, but I also want him to go away. “Are you on your way somewhere?”

“I was…trying to see about the gardens.”

I try to suppress my sigh. Curtsying, I say, “Very well, then. I must bid you good-day.”

Before I can turn, he calls out quickly, “Wait!”

My hand grips the book tighter, but I wait.

“I was…” he clears his throat. “You can read. Don’t leave – please. I just wanted to listen to you read. Will you?”

I frown. “Will I…read?”

“Out loud, yes.”

“That truly depends on what your ulterior motive is.”

He shifts back behind the bush, like he is hiding. It does nothing to comfort me, but at least I know he is trying to put some distance between us.

“I won’t move. Promise. Just read from where you are.”

And so, strangely enough, I prop myself back onto the bench – facing his shadow as I do so – and crack the spine open again. I start with the sentence that holds the new Latin term.

He does nothing but listen for the rest of the chapter. By the time I am finished, I feel a stiffness in my jaw, so I stand up and close the book.

“Will you come back?” he says before I leave.

I hesitate. Promising him otherwise might have its consequences if he is not the gentleman he has presented himself to be.

He must sense my discomfort, because he adds, “I will pay you.”

A surprised chuckle escapes my lips. “Pay me? To read out loud to you? Sir, I must decline -”

“Thirty silver coins a day.”

That stops me.

Thirty? By the end of the week, I will have brought home more than what my father can acquire in one voyage.

“How can I be sure of your promise?” I say.

He simply replies: “You can. Come tomorrow and look upon the bench.”

Foolish an idea as it is, I come the next day at the same hour with the same book in hand. True enough, there is a small leather bag lying harmlessly on the stone bench.

“Where are you?” I call out to the air.

After five heartbeats, no reply comes.

My gaze scans the area for a lurking shadow. Lifting the stick I brought from home, I approach the bench cautiously and look into the bag.

Silver coins. More than I can carry in one hand, more than we can afford in four days.

“You know, hitting me with a stick won’t do much to me.”

A startled shriek escapes my lips. I spring backward. The man’s hooded head pokes out from behind the same rosebush from yesterday.

Much to my irritation, he chuckles in amusement.

“It does not suit a gentleman to petrify a lady while she is on her own devices,” I scold him, taking my place on the bench.

“Who said anything about me being a gentleman?” he replies mischievously.

I narrow my eyes. Instead of responding to his taunts, I pick the book off my lap and search for the fold on the corner of the page.

I read. All I do is read, and all he does is listen. Before the hour is up, he stops me, thanks me, and then his shadow disappears.

The bag of coins, I stash under my bed when I return home. My father will be pleasantly surprised when he finds out about my new employment. And when my head sinks into my pillow that night, I find myself grinning with wild excitement at the thought of the sudden fortune that has befallen me.