Chapter 5
The pair of shoes I had painstakingly planned to buy was sold out. Sold out! My jaw tightened, and my thoughts immediately spiraled into absurdity. Was someone secretly cursing me? Which imbecile had swooped in to buy the last pair? I ought to demand they return them.
"Is there anything I can help you with?" A frail, elderly man approached me. Judging by his apron, I assumed he was the shopkeeper.
"Do you have any men's shoes, size eleven, for five silvers or less?" I asked, layering my tone with the kind of politeness one reserves for saints.
"The last pair in that price range was sold about an hour ago."
An hour ago. An hour ago! "When will the next shipment arrive?"
"In two weeks. However, we do have one pair in that size for seven silvers."
"Surely, sir, you could make it six?"
"Seven silvers."
I begrudgingly handed over the full seven silvers.
Clutching the shoes, I exited the shop with a strained smile, muttering curses under my breath. "May you find yourself poorer than me in your next life, you wretched miser."
As I trudged down the bustling street, the scent of freshly baked bread floated toward me, halting my stride. My gaze landed on a mobile cart brimming with pastries. Kyle adored sweet things, and it had been far too long since we could afford such luxuries.
"Buy some bread! Only ten copper coins!" The vendor's voice rose above the hum of the crowd.
I approached, reaching into the small pouch tied to my waist. "Excuse me, I would like to purchase one."
It wasn't as though I couldn't bake bread at home. I could, and quite well. But sugar? Sugar was a treasure hoarded by the wealthy and rationed sparingly in my own kitchen. Yet, Kyle's insatiable fondness for sweets tugged at my resolve. Surely, just this once, I could indulge him.
I handed over the coins with a twinge of reluctance. The vendor grinned as he placed a warm loaf into my hands.
"Thank you, miss!" he chirped.
The journey home stretched out before me like an endless trial, and my left leg began its incessant throbbing a mere ten minutes in.
With a weary sigh, I scanned my surroundings for salvation and spotted a small park nearby. Its shade beckoned me. Limping toward the nearest tree, I sank onto the grass.
The bread was still warm in my hands. I was just about to take the tiniest, most deserved bite when my moment of solace was rudely interrupted. Out of nowhere, something small and swift barreled toward me.
Before I could make sense of it, the blur collided with my lap. The bread slipped from my hands, entirely forgotten as my reflexes kicked in. There, tangled in my skirts, was a child with wild white hair and eyes so red they seemed to burn. Vincent Vaneeri.
The boy looked up at me and erupted into a fit of giggles. Before I could gather my wits, his tiny hands shot upward and grabbed a fistful of my hair.
"Excuse me?" I said sharply. "What precisely do you think you are doing?"
The boy ignored me entirely, his laughter growing louder as he tugged at my hair. My indignation flared, and I straightened my posture, fixing him with a steady gaze.
"You," I said again, this time with the weight of authority, "what exactly do you think you are doing here? Quite naughty, is it not? Have you no sense of decorum?"
Vincent looked up at me with a radiant smile. "You have white hair like me!" he exclaimed, grabbing an even larger chunk of my hair with both hands.
I stared at him, rendered speechless. This small tyrant had not only assaulted my hair but had also declared our similarity as though it were the revelation of the century. "Yes, child. How very astute of you. Shall we alert the scholars to document this groundbreaking discovery?"
But Vincent merely giggled.
I let out a long sigh. "You should not be running about like this. What if you were to get lost?"
"Shhh!" he whispered, pressing a finger to his lips. "I am hiding from my mother!"
"Hiding? And what is so dire that it warrants hiding from your mother?"
"She forced me to eat beans!"
"And what, precisely, is wrong with beans?"
"They are nasty!"
"Well, then eat something else! Now, ouch! Would you kindly release my hair before I am rendered bald?"
With a reluctant sigh, the child finally let go. His red eyes darted toward the bread, which lay pitifully on the grass. A sense of foreboding crept over me. Surely, he was not-
The child and I lunged for the bread at the same time. Naturally, I reached it first, being an adult with longer arms and superior speed. I held it high above my head.
"Give it to me!" the child wailed, throwing himself against me like a determined little warrior, his small hands clawing at the air in a frantic attempt to retrieve the bread. "I am hungry!"
"It is dirty!" I snapped back. Truly, had the Duchess raised her child like this? Let us review: disrespectful? Check. Whiny? Check. Naughty? Absolutely. Rude? Beyond a doubt. Grappling strangers and fighting for dirty food? The list of offenses was growing by the second.
Before I could deliver a lecture, the child took matters into his own hands, or rather, his teeth, and bit my right shoulder in a fit of frustration.
"Ow! You little-"
The bread fell from my hand in my shock, and like a victorious hunter, the child snatched it up and dashed away with it.
"You are not eating that!" I shouted, grabbing my cane and attempting to chase him. But alas, crippled left leg was no match for the sheer velocity of a small, determined boy. He disappeared before I had managed more than a few steps. I stood there, utterly baffled.