The Truth-Teller's Tale

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Authors: Sharon Shinn
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merely motioned Lissette over and stuffed a few coins in her hand, with the admonition to “let me know if this doesn’t cover it.” Then, with his characteristic heavy step, he stalked back to the door and out onto the street. I couldn’t see well enough to notice if he exchanged a few sharp words with the offending groom or not.
    I couldn’t scramble into my clothes fast enough. “Roelynn!” I squealed, running back out to the front of the shop and grabbing her hands. “How frightening! What a terrifying man your father is! But you were so calm!” I turned to look at my sister. “And you—”
    Adele pursed her lips and nodded at me, clearly enjoining silence. I abruptly shut my mouth. All her good work would go undone if the other women in the shop realized that the wrong twin had proclaimed Roelynn’s innocence to her father.
    â€œYou were very brave,” I ended lamely.
    â€œI am only glad we were able to reassure him,” Adele said. “But Roelynn—and forgive me, but I must speak the truth—I think it is time your behavior was more circumspect. I know, I know, you have done nothing wrong, but perhaps you should be more careful of the impression you give your father. You don’t want to give him additional reasons to suspect your actions. You would hardly want to see such an unpleasant scene reenacted in a more public place.”
    â€œNo, you are quite right,” Roelynn said, sounding both more subdued and more sincere than I heard her in quite some time. “I must be better. I will be better. I do not want such a thing to happen ever again.”
    And that really was the end of Roger. But it was hardly the end of Roelynn’s illicit romances with unsuitable men. But then, none of us had really believed it would be.
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    As it turned out, Roelynn did have a chance to wear the blue velvet gown over Wintermoon. Most folk celebrated the cold, year-end holiday with traditional bonfires and small family gatherings, but Karro did things up in a much grander style. So he planned a lavish dinner party for Wintermoon night and invited the richest families from Merendon and the neighboring towns.
    Adele and I were not on this list, of course, but we were intimately informed of all the details of the event as they were finalized, because Roelynn came by every day or two to fill us in. We knew who had accepted the invitation, who had declined, what the menu would include, and how the house would be decorated. In fact, we helped gather some of the greenery for those decorations on a frosty expedition one winter afternoon. Roelynn and a stablehand (not Roger) came by in a well-sprung cart to pick up Adele and me in front of the inn, and we set out for the wooded acres that could be found a few miles outside the city limits. The three of us sat in the back under a heavy quilt and chatted while the driver made his way down the frozen, rutted lanes to the outskirts of the forest.
    â€œI can’t take the cart no farther,” the driver announced at length. “I’ll sit here and make a fire, and you girls run in and chop down what you like.”
    We scrambled out of the cart and chased each other into the woods. We really didn’t have much to hunt for, since our father had gathered most of the spruce ropes and oak branches that would be used to weave the Wintermoon wreath for the inn, while servants had performed the same function for the Karro household. But everyone wanted to add something special to a Wintermoon wreath—a sprig of holly, a spray of rowan, a raven’s feather, a river stone. Every year since we’d been seven or eight, Adele and Roelynn and I had searched for truelove vines; every year we had failed to find them. We continued to look for those and other treasures.
    According to tradition, every household designed its own Wintermoon wreath and displayed it for a week or two during midwinter. The basic

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