A few months later
, "Faun! Thief, I'll tear your red head off!"
The fox brazenly stuck out his red tongue and leaped into a deep snowbank, never letting go of the pine arrow in his mouth.
"Faun! Give it to me, now! A viper bred on my own breast," the girl muttered, quieter, pouring water over the fire and putting on her brown leather jacket. The fox she had saved in the fall had become a strong representative of its species by January. It was astonishing how the terrified, staggering, emaciated pup had transformed into a mischievous, swift rogue.
"FAUN!"
The mother had not long been choosing a name for her charge. Faun—a god remembered from the mythological tales of his father, and later his uncle, a Son of the Forest, a cunning thief, and guardian of animals—fitted this one's personality perfectly. The girl could have sworn that at night her ward transformed into a faun—a dark-eyed youth in a green tunic with bits of bark and moss in his thick hair.
"Yeah, and he dances around the fire. What nonsense!" she snorted mockingly, interrupting her thoughts. The fox jumped beside her, daring her to play. She firmly took the arrow from him and said,
"No way. We're going to town today. And I expect you to behave."
***
The town market was held every Sunday, but Macierzanka rarely attended such events. Both her father and uncle lived in seclusion, growing their own vegetables, and had a small flock of sheep, from which her aunt and Lily of the Valley spun wool. They didn't need cows, geese, or rabbits—sheep, her father's horse, a few pitch-black shepherds, and a ginger cat were the only animals on the farm. Shepherds and hunters needed animal skins and meat – and a skilled hunter could make a good bow himself.
Now, however, circumstances forced Macierzanka to go to the village. For the animals she skillfully hunted and dressed, she would receive money, which she had been desperately needing lately.
She packed the meat and skins into a bag, tied Fauna to a leather leash – she couldn't leave him like that – the fox wasn't used to roaming freely in the forest, and besides, she certainly wouldn't find him later – and with a quick, even pace, she headed towards the town.
***
The Sunday market was a noisy, chaotic gathering of vendors and customers. The shrill shouts of the vendors, always touting the "most beautiful" animals, the jugs and pots painted with natural paints, and the sweet fruits gleaming with colors at the stalls, cut through the air.
She adjusted her coat. It was quite cold.
"Easy, Szafir," she reassured her mount. "It's okay."
The horse snorted anxiously, but obediently stepped into the commotion. The girl on his back scanned the entire market square with narrowed eyes. It was pathetic how gullible people could be – oh, for example, that fool in the green robe had already bought a wretched piece of clothing that wouldn't have cost more than two dozen. The seller rubbed his greedy hands together – well, a great sale indeed.
"Passage for the Bright Courtier! Passage for the Bright Courtier, daughter of the Golden Courtier!"
She frowned. Idiot, she'd come here specifically for a bit of freedom! Not to be called a title! Damn your father and his heralds!
"Go back to the palace," she hissed at the herald, simultaneously pulling on the reins, "and I don't care a damn what my father says about it! I have the right to anonymity. Go!" She pressed her feet against the horse's flanks. Sapphire whinnied and set off down the city road at a brisk trot. Jasna pulled the velvet, navy blue hood of her cloak over her head. "Courtier!" Something! As if a title of nobility made her superior.
She headed for the nearest jewelry stall. Necklaces, bracelets, rings, and earrings were spread out on a clean, white canvas. There were also plenty of clasps and pins. The jewelry shimmered in a riot of colors—the gold of amber, the purple of amethyst, the crimson of rubies, the green of emeralds, the white of opals, and the black of agate. The most beautiful was a large cape clasp in the shape of a dragonfly shimmering with blue and navy sapphire. Jasna took it in her hand. It was surprisingly light.
"How much are you asking?" she asked curtly of the stocky, bearded merchant, whose sharp, dark eyes seemed to be mocking her. The jewelry seller smiled beneath his gray mustache.
"Three dozen and it's yours," he replied. Jasna's eyes widened. Three dozen was the price of an average-sized mount. Is he mad? That much?
"I think you're overestimating me," she replied coldly, placing the ornament back on the light canvas with some regret. The old man beamed slyly and grabbed her hand.
"I heard who you are. Three dozen for such a trinket is probably a bargain for you, isn't it?" A sly smile flitted across his tanned, sun-baked face.
"A vile viper," Jasna growled, pulling a purse from deep within her cloak. She counted out three silver coins and with a single movement of her hand scooped up a gleaming blue dragonfly. "Here, vulture. And be glad I paid."
The old man laughed loudly and unconcealedly as he stuffed his latest haul into his saddlebag. Jasna looked at him one last time with open distaste and spurred her horse in the opposite direction
.
The Bright Courtier. Daughter of the Radiant and the Golden Courtier. A pure farce. A parody. She snorted derisively. And how was she supposed to be better than anyone else? She remembered those humiliating admonitions from her father, servants, and tutors. "Miss Bright, please stay away from the horses," "Please leave that, we'll focus on the grammar lesson now," "Bright, for the love of the Creator of the World, can't you behave like normal girls?"
"I'm not a normal girl, Father," she whispered to herself. "You made it so."
She turned onto a smaller, slightly more crowded street. The brooch rattled rhythmically in her bag as she led Sapphire through the crowds. She frowned. Her father had guided her life, had planned for her. Always, ever since..." She gritted her teeth. Her thoughts were interrupted by a scream.
"THIEVEL!" the City Guild commander's thick bass ripped through the air. Jasna glanced in that direction. The guards were struggling with a teenage girl dressed in a woolen blouse so white that the snow lying so thickly on the roofs of the colorful houses and on the side of the road seemed a dirty gray. The captive's worn leather jacket lay in the mud, where the snow had already melted. The girl shifted her gaze to the deputy captain. In his large, broad hands he held a fox. The animal struggled, terrified, trying to escape, but the man tightened the collar around its neck so tightly that the fox surrendered in resignation, glaring warily at its pursuer with amber eyes.
A fox in a collar? Something didn't seem right...
"Sapphire, let's go," she decided. "We'll take a closer look at this scene.
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