Read Online The Fairytale Keeper: Avenging the Queen by Andrea Cefalo - Free Book Online

We try to coax Father to bed, but he refuses to rise from the table. Perhaps he knows what I had learned earlier, that lying in his bed next to the empty groove where Mother once slept is a cruel reminder she shall never return to us. Even with eyes shut tightly, her lavender scent still wafts through the room.
    Galadriel climbs the ladder back to the loft and into my bed. Her skin is still grey and I am sure she has been sick a few more times for she reeks of vomit. I am alone and think for a moment about helping Ivo’s family with their tilling, but know that I, inexperienced in such tasks, shall only hinder their progress.
    My stomach howls and I push at my belly with both hands in an effort to silence it. We have no food and I know I must go to the market so we’ll have something to eat, though I doubt anyone shall rise for supper.
    My cloak is still wrapped around my shoulders and I pull the hood up around my face, though it is far too warm on this warm spring afternoon to do so. I descend the stairs to Father’s shop. He’s slumped over the table, snoring in that odd way he does, folding his lips on the inhale and blowing out with long, slow “foo”.
    I bend and whisper in his ear to ask permission to get food, but he is too deeply asleep to hear. I nudge his shoulder gently and then roughly, but he does not wake. I reach gently for the purse attached to his hip, untie it, and attach it to my belt. I ensure the purse is near my good arm and remove all silver from it just in case there are thieves about.
    I walk down Filzengraben, which has more people on it than earlier in the day. Hay Market is crowded and bustling, although I do not know why I expect it to be any different. I have always had to push my way through crowds here.
    I hope no one recognizes me and offers their condolences. But with crowds like this the vendors shall be keeping their eyes peeled for beggars whose hungry bellies sometimes cause them to have sticky fingers. Today is Tuesday and Mother and I usually went to market on Monday mornings so I doubt anyone shall expect me anyway.
    I make my way towards Salz Alley, weaving through the crowd toward the bakers’ stands carefully to avoid our usual baker Matthew, for I know he shall ask where my mother is if he does not already know of her death. The idea of crying in the midst of Hay Market’s crowds terrifies me and I tug on the brim of my hood to hide my face even more.
    Keeping my head down to shield my face from view, I set my pfennig on the table, and the anonymous baker hands me three crusty loaves of bread. I find the dairy stalls and buy a pound of Danish cheese. We still have oats at home, but we are low on spices and out of dried fruits. It matters not to me as food seems tasteless now, but perhaps Father or Galadriel would like them in their porridge.
    I buy a pound of raisins and almonds in the spice market, but decide we have enough spices for one day. Spices are expensive and I probably shouldn’t purchase any more until we sell a week’s worth of shoes. Besides, my sack is getting heavy for my injured arm. We need something to drink though, so I pick up some inexpensive wine and hurry home.
    The house is silent. I carry the sack up the stairs and put the food in its place. I cut a slice of bread and cheese for Father and me. I eat and then water down the wine, pouring two mugs. I set Father’s food and wine before him. He no longer snores, though his eyes dart back and forth beneath the lids. I untie the purse from my belt and attach it back onto his. He doesn’t even stir and I doubt he shall eat what I have set before him.
    Next to him lies a wax tablet Mother had used to keep track of his accounts. I gently slide my finger across the words and numbers. We did not know many women who could read and write, but Mother was the only surviving daughter of a steward.
    Her mother had died during breech childbirth, and the baby soon followed her to Heaven. My mother was only a