All Chapters of FATED MATES IN THE SHADOWS: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

The first thing Selene noticed about the almond was that it tasted of lavender. Gwen had produced it from the hem of her apron with the triumph of a smuggler. The sugar crust was cracked down the centre, and a little white powder clung to her fingers. "Half," she whispered, snapping it between two ink-stained thumbnails. She shoved the larger piece into Selene's palm while keeping one eye on the pantry door. "Stole it right off the sweetmeat tray while Nella was arguing with the baker about candied citron. If I have to beat seventeen wool blankets before the freeze, I'm taking my pay in sugar." Selene let the almond rest on her tongue. Its sharp sweetness was an astonishing contrast to the bitter parsnip mash and chicory she had eaten for the past three days. "If Mrs Hallowell catches you chewing on the gallery stairs, she'll put you on the poultry pluckers until midwinter." "Mrs Hallowell is down in the cellar counting salt firkins," Gwen retorted, wiping the confectioner's sugar

A mule’s iron-shod hoof struck the frozen gravel, ringing like a flat chime in the pre-dawn dark. “Cinched tight on the off-side, Tam,” Uncle Darragh grunted. He hauled on a grease-stiffened hemp rope, his shoulder throwing its weight into the knot before he tucked the loose end beneath the tailboard. “Watch the tongue on the grade. If the snow packed into the ruts overnight, that rear axle will drag before we clear the tollgate.” The crossroads below Lowfell was already alive with hurried movement. Two heavy freight wagons stood in the icy slush, loaded with strapped casks of salted lard, bundles of nail-rod and sacks of coarse wheat flour covered in oiled cowhide. Forty paces up the rising road, the Western military baggage train was assembling beneath a line of torchlights. Armoured outriders sat on broad-chested horses while men checked harnesses and tightened the straps on the baggage carts. Darragh's wagons were to follow behind the Western train. They carried iron fittings

“Two bits of copper for four pints of bran sweepings is robbery, Vance, and you know it by the light of the sun!” Widow Cora shook her patched flour sack against the mill's damp timber counter. A fine puff of white dust rose into the freezing morning air. Her grey wool cap sat crooked on her head, and her apron was pinned with bone needles. “Take it or leave the board, Cora,” Miller Vance barked. He stood behind his double-beam wooden scale, a heavy horn scoop dripping pale grist back into a split-oak bin. His leather sleeves were dusted white to the shoulders, and his nose was red from the damp chill rolling off the river weir outside. “The High Keep gave eighty stone on credit, aye! But the road toll still has to be paid. The carters took their share for hauling it, and my waterwheel has three broken cogs from the frost. You want soft white flour? Go marry an elder in the upper fortress. Down here, you pay the grist-toll or you chew dried peas.” The queue outside the stone grist

"Tell me why a woman needs six servants to fold one blanket." Gwen stood at the entrance to the Western guest wing, watching two laundry girls wrestle with a heavy wool coverlet. "Because she has never had to fold one herself," Clara answered. "Then I hope she sleeps under all six servants tonight." Selene lowered the bundle of bed linen in her arms. The corridor was crowded with baskets, empty trunks and rolled carpets. Most of Lord Cassian's travelling party had crossed the river bridge the previous morning, leaving behind rooms that looked as though a small army had slept in them. The guest wing smelled of cedar chests, cold ashes and the sharp perfume Rebecca favoured. Doors stood open along the passage. Servants were stripping beds, collecting discarded packing straw and checking the rooms against Donald's inventory. Gwen picked a loose thread from her sleeve. "They have left enough work to keep us here until the next snow." "You said you wanted more hours." "I wanted mor

"Those are not cakes. They are stones with ambition." Gwen stared at the cloth-covered basket in Selene's hands. "They are spelt cakes." "They are small." "They are meant to be." "Then why are you charging a whole copper for each one?" Selene adjusted the cloth over the basket. "Because flour costs money, firewood costs money, and I don't intend to spend the morning feeding people for free." Gwen considered this. "That is a very unpleasant way to look at friendship." "You can have one when you pay." Gwen gave her an offended look. They stood just beyond the lower gate, where the path from Lowfell met the outer yard of High Keep. Selene had brought twelve cakes from Martha's shop. Master Crane had said he might send someone to buy them, but she had decided it would be easier to take them herself. The gate guards were changing shifts. Two men were checking the hinges while another rubbed his hands together over a small brazier. A pair of scouts sat on a bench near the wall, t