The heavy oak table in the council eting room still bore the marks of their earlier argunts. There was no one in the room, except for Sara. She was gathering the scattered papers with deliberate movents, stacking them neatly into her leather satchel. The lantern’s fla danced weakly, casting long shadows that made the room feel emptier now that the others had left. Bezos’s gruff farewell echoed in her mind, but she pushed it aside, focusing on the crinkle of parchnt under her fingers. ’Finally, so control,’ she thought, a small satisfaction warming her despite the lingering tension from the debate.
She snapped the satchel shut and stood, smoothing her dress. The door creaked as she pushed it open, stepping into the cooling evening air. The village outside buzzed with low voices, groups of won clustered near the well and shop fronts, their heads close together. Whispers floated like smoke: "...in the market..." "...priest’s girl..." "...stripped by that boy..." Sara caught snippets as she passed, but she lifted her chin, keeping her pace steady. ’Damn Gossip,’ she told herself, the kind that flared up and died by morning. Nothing worth her ti, not after wrangling the council singlehandedly. She now had a strange confidence inside her after winning the guild settlent’s deal from the other council mbers.
The path ho wound through narrow lanes, lanterns flickering on as dusk deepened. A pair of won fell silent as she approached, their eyes darting away, but one murmured just loud enough: "...I tell you...that boy made her do it..." Sara’s step faltered for a second, an odd prickling at the back of her neck. But she shook it off, quickening her stride slightly, the hem of her dress brushing the dirt. But even if she was ignoring them, more whispers trailed her, all seed to speak about the sa thing. A boy made soone strip at the village market today. The words nagged inside her, like an itch she couldn’t reach. ’What type of rumor is this now?’, she repeated inwardly, but her hands tightened on the satchel strap.
By the ti her house ca into view, the whispers had woven into a hum that set her teeth on edge. The sturdy wooden door swung open under her push, the familiar scent of woodsmoke from her house greeting her. "Bertha! Lena!" she called, her voice sharper than intended as she set the satchel on the entry table.
Footsteps shuffled from the kitchen. Bertha appeared first, wiping flour-dusted hands on her apron, her round face creased with curiosity. "Miss Sara? Back already? Did today’s eting go well?"
Lena hobbled in behind, leaning on her crutch, the wood thumping softly on the floor. Her leg, bandaged from the break a few days back, slowed her, but her eyes were sharp. "Huh, why are you calling us in a hurry, Miss Sara? What’s the rush? You look like you’ve seen a ghost."
Sara waved them closer, glancing out the window where a neighbor passed, head down. "I think sothing’s going on outside. Everyone’s whispering about so commotion in the market, or so it seems. You two hear anything?"
Lena shook her head, easing into a chair with a wince. "Not . You know I haven’t stepped out since I broke my leg. Bertha’s the one running errands; she might’ve heard sothing."
Bertha nodded, her fingers twisting the apron edge. "Well, I did hear a bit when I fetched the bread earlier. Folks are saying there was a big ruckus at the market square. A boy made the priest’s daughter, Lady Selene, strip her dress right there, over so misbehavior with a waitress girl. Spilled water or sothing petty, I guess. A huge crowd watched the whole thing, they say. That’s it. I don’t know much more than this."
"Huh, you telling ’That Selene’ got stripped in the open market? Damn, now that’s sothing I certainly missed for sure. I wonder who had the balls to do sothing to her like that." Lena comnted on it while laughing lightly.
Sara nodded to her words at first. But then suddenly her breath caught, a chill running down her arms despite the warm room. For so reason, Lys’s face flashed in her mind, his attitude toward everyone, his strange and unpredictable behaviour. The boy they were talking about matched him quite well in her mind. ’No way.’ The thought lodged like a stone in her throat.
"It can’t be him, right?", The words fell from her mouth without her even knowing.
Bertha tilted her head, brows furrowing. "Who, Miss Sara? Who are you talking about?"
Sara blinked, shaking her head. "No. No one. Just... thinking." But the unease coiled tighter, her fingers drumming on the table. Even though she was telling herself it was not him, yet she didn’t sit, didn’t even remove her shoes.
Instead, she crossed to the hook by the door, pulling her coat over her shoulders. The fabric settled heavily, like armor. "Co with , Bertha. We’re going out."
Bertha’s eyes widened. "Huh, Now? But it’s getting dark. Where to?"
Sara tied the coat’s belt, her movents quick. "Lys’s house. I need to check sothing." She stepped out without waiting for Bertha to follow, the door creaking behind her as Bertha hurried to follow, crutch thumping of Lena forgotten in the rush. The evening air nipped at her skin, whispers from distant groups fading as they walked, but the knot in Sara’s gut only grew as her pace got faster by seconds.
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