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She looked to her right and saw Sebastian, Mayor Fischer’s son, with concern etched onto his boyish features.
Red nodded and looked away.
Everyone around her began to stand—it was time for the building portion of the day. To show the others what she could offer to the community. All Red had was the bread her mother had helped her bake and a jar of freshly churned butter. Last week the bread had not risen, and the mayor expressed his disappointment with a few words about her impending failure to satisfy her future husband.
Red had no desire ever to satisfy a husband. The very thought made her stomach roil.
Red clutched her basket with sweaty hands as everyone began to mingle and show off their new skill, be it embroidery, sewing, or blacksmithing. Surely no one will dare try my baking again, she thought.
She jumped when a hand touched her shoulder.
“Rose, you mustn’t be frightened so easily. Certainly not by me,” Sebastian said, removing his hand. He was just one year younger than Red but never grew out of his childish looks. His round cheeks always looked flushed, as though he’d been running in the cold, paired with a slightly crooked nose.
“I’m not afraid of you,” she replied, finding her voice. It was true; she wasn’t afraid of Sebastian. She was afraid of what could happen should a boy find her pretty enough to seek her affections.
Behind Sebastian, Alina was approached by the mayor. He gestured to her hair and said something Red couldn’t hear. Alina merely looked down at her loose locks and shrugged. Mayor Fischer shook his head and gripped her shoulder.
Red felt the blood in her veins ripple with disdain. Sebastian was speaking to her, but she heard nothing.
“Excuse me,” she said.
Leaving Sebastian behind, she hurried through the crowd towards Alina and the mayor. When she was close enough, she made brief eye contact. For a moment, every word disappeared from her thoughts. “Mayor Fischer, you must try what I’ve baked,” she finally managed.
Alina, who had previously looked bemused, let the corner of her lip creep upward. Her eyes lit up with understanding and appreciation.
The mayor sighed, released Alina, and turned his attention to Red. “Rose, I was speaking with Alina.”
“Your words about my inability to satisfy my future husband perturbed me.” The words coated Red’s tongue with disgust. “Please, I must know if this will suffice.” She thrust out the basket and pulled back the cloth, revealing a perfectly risen loaf with marks etched in the crust just as Mama had shown her.
As the mayor reached in, Alina caught Red’s eyes and mouthed, “Thank you.”
Her heart fluttered even as Alina left the hall, fleeing before the mayor could chastise her any further. Red didn’t listen to the feedback the mayor had to offer. Her ears were crimson, and she heard her blood throbbing in her head. She nodded along and mumbled, “Yes, sir,” when she thought it appropriate.
“Papa!” Celeste, the mayor’s daughter, was in tears. She tugged at his hand, pulling his attention away from Red.
Red slipped out of the hall while she could, not wanting to be caught by any more of the Fischer family. Though they were kinder than her own family, they left her exhausted. The autumn sun was soft upon her skin, and Red leaned against the side of the building. She closed her eyes to calm herself down.
“Thank you, Red.”
Red’s eyes bolted open, and all the calmness she had mustered evaporated. It was Alina, the one who gave Rose the nickname Red for the crimson cloak she wore each day.
“You’re welcome,” Red replied, unable to shake the jitters from her voice.
“Let me offer this as a token of my gratitude,” Alina said. She reached into the bag draped over her shoulder and pulled out a bundle of sticks wrapped in a strip of fabric.
Red took it from her. “What’s this?”
“I tell the others it’s a fire starter,” Alina said. “But I’ll let you in on a secret.”
Red could hardly contain her nerves. They sparked like flames with every breath. A wind blew over the tops of the trees, rustling the leaves. The branches rattled, and half a dozen leaves were released, fluttering through the air as they fell to the ground.
“They’re magic,” she said. “Imbued with an ancient power.”
“Alina…” Red trailed off. She dared not accuse Alina of witchcraft. Mama warned me of the temptations of witchcraft—that I’ll be drawn to it because of my blood, she thought.
“They will burn for longer than regular wood,” Alina explained. A sympathetic look crossed over her face. “And they ward off anyone who wishes you ill will, should you choose to burn it.”
“I—”
