"She's old enough," The woman had spoken dismissively. "And it gets her out from under my feet! How much longer do you expect me to put up with the wretch? How much more humiliation will you allow me to go through? Haven't I suffered enough for your indiscretion?"
"The boy is an idiot," her father had replied unhappily. "It's well known that he can't be trusted with a sharpened knife, and certainly not with a woman. He's a prolific whoremonger! Do you really want that as part of our family?"
"Not unlike you then!" The woman had snapped back. Her tone softened as she continued. "It's a good thing, if you think about it. The dowry will be low because no one else would allow their daughter to wed him. And since she's only here out of the kindness of my heart anyway, and not a real part of the family, we only need wash our hands of the affair once she's been taken back to Hytbold."
"And then you can finally get your hands on the necklace her mother left for her?" he questioned wryly.
"Why, I rather think I should have it as payment for taking care of the brat for all these years!" the woman shot back sternly. "It's not like you were going to give it to her anyway!"
That conversation had taken place nearly six weeks ago. She had not meant to listen in, she wouldn't have overheard it all had the woman not demanded she scrub the floors that day. Indeed, when she had been found to be in the area, legitimate task or not, she had been beaten for daring to to eavesdrop. Oddly, there had been nothing of the like since. No physical punishments had come her way, no days spent locked in the barn cubby. She had still had to endure the taunting and name calling, of course, so her respite hadn't been entirely complete, but it was better than nothing.
Her eldest sister, Yanna, had been livid when the news had been broken at the breakfast table only a week ago. "Why does she get a new dress?" she had demanded, pale cheeks flushed with anger. "Blue suits me far better!" "Why is she to be married before me?" she had cried, hand pressed to her breast as if mortally wounded. "Am I not older? Prettier? Better than she?"
Sairona had not cared to listen to the whining or the insults leveled her way. This was her chance! Her chance to be rid of these people once and for all! Surely life would be better away from here, with a husband to love her, a new family to care for and, best of all, half-way across the Sutcrofts in Hytbold, of all places! She'd never have to see these people again! Who cared if she had never so much as laid eyes on this boy? Who cared if he was as bad as her father had said? It had to be better than this!
Now, she sat abed in the dark of night, too excited to sleep. Only yesterday had she met the boy in question. Tall and fair, both of hair and features, with sparkling brown eyes and broad shoulders. He was handsome enough, she supposed. But more important than his good looks was the fact that tomorrow would be her fourteenth birthday. Tomorrow would be her wedding day. Tomorrow her life would begin anew!
She slipped from beneath the worn, thin sheet, bare feet padding silently over to the corner of the room where her wedding dress hung upon a roughly shaped dressmakers doll. She ran her fingers over the sky blue cotton, softer and finer than any she had been allowed to wear before. All of her other clothes had been old, frayed affairs, handed down to her when they no longer fit her elder sisters, or messily sewn together from potato sacks. This one was new, pretty, smooth and all hers. How she looked forward to wearing it on the morrow!
Sneaking back to her bed, she lay down once more and closed her eyes but sleep would not come. When her tossing and turning threatened to wake her youngest sibling, she rose again and, as silently as she could, made her way through the house and out into the yard. A walk would calm her nerves and tire her enough that she might get a few hours rest before her big day.
She made her way toward Antoth's hut, pausing on a rise some distance away. She was sorry that she'd not be able to care for it anymore. She was sorry that he'd not be here to see her finally gain her freedom. She missed him still, but there was naught to be done about any of that now. Perhaps, if he came back, he'd learn of her joyous nuptials and come to visit.
Her feet took her the long way back to the house, around the fields and past the barn where she pulled up short. What were those noises from within? Soft creaks and quiet groans. Was someone trying to rob them? Whilst she cared little for the ill-fortune of these people, she knew that the blame would somehow be laid at her feet did she not try to intervene. Of course, on a normal day she'd be punished anyway for being out of bed when she should have been sleeping, but with the events of the morrow, she would be beyond the reach of that woman and her various implements of battery. Better that she check, she thought, lest something occur to spoil her wedding.
She tiptoed closer, setting her ear to the wood. She heard a murmur from within but could not make out the voices or the words. When the creaks resumed, she opened the door just enough to slip inside. At first she saw nothing. She could hear the noises coming from further within but there was no immediate sign that anything was amiss. Curious, and perhaps a little emboldened, she made her stealthy way forward to the stalls where a candle shone its soft light from within a glass lantern.
Of all the things her pessimistic imagination had conjured as explantion, she had never expected to see this. There, upon the cubby Sairona had spent so many days and nights inside, with her eyes closed and features sharp with spite, Yanna sat, legs wrapped loosely about the hips of none other than Sairona's future groom. Quiet moans escaped her sister's lips, punctuated by the concentrated grunts of the boy.
Sairona's hands flew to her mouth to prevent a squeak of horrified surprise. She might have laughed at the sight of him, lily white buttocks bare to the air whilst his breeches pooled around his ankles, held up further than he might have liked by his boots. She might have laughed at the lack of passion either party displayed. In later years, she would laugh at the arrow so barely dodged. But on that night she felt nothing but shock and scorn. Yanna, envious and malicious. Yanna, so alike her mother that she had spent over a decade inflicting pain upon her half-sister, usually in the dead of night when the girl was too groggy from sleep to get away. Yanna, so vindictive that she couldn't even allow Sairona this one thing without having had it first...
Well, if she wanted him, Sairona reasoned, she could have him!
Quietly retreating, the spurned bride made her way back to the house. She took a small satchel from the coat pegs and packed what few things she could carry, what few things she thought she would need; a hairbrush, a cup, a fork, a plate, a dull old knife and a small battered pan. She then made her way into her father's bedroom, so very careful not to disturb the pair sleeping so peacefully in their bed. She knew where the necklace was kept, she knew that it had been meant for her - a gift from her birth mother, sent along with a letter that no one could decipher. It was but a matter of moments for her to take both and sneak back outside.
She ran back out into the night, in the opposite direction to the barn, stashed the satchel beneath a bush and went back in. She crept into the room belonging to her brothers, gently shook awake the eldest of them, whispered that she had heard someone outside, that they had made their way to the barn, and then waited for him to go check on it before rushing back to where her satchel was secreted.
She couldn't help but smile when she heard the yells; shock at being discovered from the boy, indignance from Yanna and anger from Anasis, Yanna's twin brother. In the silence of the night, sound carried well. As tempting as it might have been to see the result of her moment of mischeif, Sairona knew that there was no time to lose. The rest of the household, guests included, would soon be awakened by the commotion and she did not want to be around when they learned the reason for the uproar.
Barefoot, ill-equipped, ill-prepared and wearing naught but a light cotton shift, the future Treasure Hunter fled into the night.
