Read Online Wintermore (Aeon of Light Book 1) by Aron Sethlen - Free Book Online Page B

ingredients for the soup and whatever else we might need to get through the week. Yaz and I will meet you outside the market square in thirty minutes.”
    Preta curls her lips, frustrated, and sternly points at her brothers. “Both of you better tell me everything when we get home later.”
    “We’ll see,” Deet says. “Just hurry along.”
    Preta snorts and grabs a burlap sack from the cart and drops the coppers and two silver nibs into her pocket. She heads to the market, feeling betrayed by her brothers. They must think she’s just a little girl and can’t handle the truth . How could they not tell her? She deserves to know what really happened that night. After all, it was her that the light hit, and her who saw the boy die, and her who the woman attacked. They should’ve told her. Preta’s temper continues rising with every passing second as she dwells on their deception. Her body twitches and she swallows funny as rotten fish snaps her out of her rage. Preta glances at a moldy wooden bin filled with day old fish withering in the sun as the flies swarm on the scales and flesh. A fly lands on Preta’s nose. Yuck, get off, and she cringes and swats the bug away as she enters Fishmongers Lane and passes the venders.
    Halona sits on a three-legged wooden stool with one hand propped up on each knee, legs spread wide. Her tattered blue dress hangs over her feet with the ends resting in a puddle of mud. Halona gazes off into the distance with a cold, empty stare. Her leathery, smashed face full of wrinkles, which resembles a prune, makes Preta wonder what she’ll look like at seventy.
    Halona snorts. “What do you want, girl ?”
    “Nothing today,” Preta says, “thanks anyway.”
    At the next cart, Blet snarls at Preta. He squints his right eye and removes his pipe and puffs out yellowish-brown smoke, exposing his purplish-black teeth. Blisters cover his chapped lips, and they quiver as he spits brown liquid toward Preta’s boots.
    “Charming, Blet. You must impress all the ladies. I know what Halona thinks of your high class.”
    Blet spits again. “Shut up, Penter, what do you know about anything.”
    Preta chuckles and leaves the fishmongers behind and she enters the main town square and the market.
    The market is alive with chaotic chatter and commerce.
    Preta scans the carts and shops, mumbling off her list, “Cloth, cabbage, carrots, potatoes, barley, oats, flour, and salt.” She eyes the textile cart next to the blacksmiths and dye makers.
    Preta points to white cloth hanging in the back of the caravan. “I need a roll of plain basic white, please.”
    “Size?” the frail woman quickly says as she glances at the cloth racks.
    “Cut of ten.”
    The woman holds out her boney hand and wiggles her fingers. “That’ll be six coppers.”
    Preta hands the woman the coins then heads to the first spice cart she sees and buys a bag of salt.
    Kilsa stands behind a produce cart and waves with a floppy hand toward Preta. “Hey, you.”
    Preta waves back. “Hey, Kilsa. So you’re helping out your mother today?”
    Kilsa lowers her head. “I wanna go, but—”
    Kilsa’s mother, a round woman with a jolly face and red cheeks to match her red hair, steps in front of her and grabs two red apples. “But she’s got to help her mom.”
    Preta smiles. “Hey, Mrs. B.”
    Mrs. B winks at Preta. “So, the word on the street is that you give a mean right and left hook.”
    “Well, my brother tells me I’m as good with my left as I am with my right,” Preta says with a shrug. “But you can ask Clist next time you see him. He’d know better than me.”
    Mrs. B smiles. “I’ll be sure to do that the next time he comes by.”
    Preta and Kilsa exchange smirks, and another customer steps up, occupying Mrs. B.
    Preta lays her burlap sack on the counter. “I need two cabbages, ten carrots, fifteen potatoes, a small sack of barley, large sack of flour, and a large sack of oats.”
    “No problem, one sec,”