Mave offered Evelyn a slight Domani bow, the kind which competing suitors exchanged as a sign of mutual respect. Evelyn, as ignorant of the veiled insult as anyone else unfamiliar with Domani custom, merely made a slight Hurrump sound as she dragged the protesting Ali away. Mave didn’t envy him the tongue lashing he would likely receive from the Wisdom, particularly after the altercation the previous evening, but this was Ali’s life and she didn’t expect it would prove fatal. 

The village was a riot of color and pageantry. A great table had been laid out over the green, covered with a half dozen tablecloths of splendid reds and whites. Great barrels of porter, piles of fruit and sliced meat had been piled on wooden platters. Here and there were meat pies, pastries and cakes were stacked alongside pots of boiled vegetables. Loaves of bread some of them still steaming, where stacked beside crocks of fresh churned butter and jar after jar of jams and preserves. Pitchers of cider and water sweetened with fruit juice and honey glistened with condensation, clearly having been bought from cellars where they had been kept cool.

Men and women were stacking plates and filling tankards and chatting happily. It was clear that this was a day to which the whole village looked forward and marked the end of the long winter. Mave saw Mayor al’Kagan dressed in an impressive sash of old but well cared for silk. He was speaking animatedly to a gleeman in a patched cloak. Everyone was dressed in their best clothing and Mave, with only her cast off dress to wear, was the odd one out. None the less she was still a center of much interest, a group of girls seemed to hover about her, nervous to ask questions until one plump bloned finally blurted out.

“Are you really marrying Ali?” A barrage of questions followed that Mave answered as best she could. No she wasn’t marrying Ali, yes he had saved her from bandits, yes he was staying at his house, no she hadn’t beaten the wisdom with a bunch of thistles. Yes this was really the best dress she had to wear.She moved through the knot of girls with grim determination heading for the peddlers. There were a pair of them, both standing before wagons which groaned with everything from pots to books to bolts of cloth. A number of goodwives were haggling with the peddlers though Mave had the impression that these were late comers who had missed the early trade. She picked the older looking peddler at random and approached him as a woman hurried off with a roll of lace.

“Ah what can I do for you miss?” he asked, eyeing her dress as a clear sign that she didn’t have much to trade.

“I need a backpack and a knife or short sword,” she said bluntly.

“New boots as well, if you have them. I also need a map, flint, a tinderbox and a new dress if you have one.” 

“And how will you be paying for all this miss?” the Peddler asked, “We usually trade on account for bales of wool and…” He fell silent as Mave pulled her pouch from her belt and jingled it significantly. They got down to business. 

Mave was just sitting down to enjoy a pie and a slice of bread, trying to ignore the looks from the village women, speculative or disapproving depending on whether they had boys or girls or perhaps husbands with wandering eyes, when she was interupted by a near shriek.

“You hussy!” Mave paused with her pie half way to her mouth. Evelyn was standing across from her, chin raised and hands on hips.

“You do plan to steal him away dont you, that’s why he won't marry me!”

Mave pictured herself as a flower, petals slowly opening to the sun. Finding serenity. Saidar beckoned her but she merely wanted to compose her mind.

“For the last time,” she said in a cold quiet voice.

“I’m not here to steal anyone away…”