Self-Made Scoundrel by Tristan J. Tarwater Read Free Book Online

himself to work alongside the smith, the baker, the field hand and many more, trying to gain an understanding of their crafts and callings. He listened to their suggestions and valued their input in interpreting the patterns and trends he saw in the carefully kept records. Dershik had kneaded bread and pumped bellows and planted seeds in the ground. It meant the servants forgave his obnoxious hobby of lurking about the house, hiding himself in spaces long forgotten and revealing
himself in the
most surprising manner possible.
    Dershik was still laughing when the servant woman grabbed him by the arm. “You ass-eared boy, hiding about, and Jerila’s been having labor pains since the start of the watch. We’ve been looking for you!” Dershik’s smile melted from his face and he pulled his arm from the servant’s grasp, running ahead of her.
    “My brother?” he asked, calling over his shoulder. He heard the servant shout Ceric was already there. Quickly Dershik ran through the keep, barely avoiding colliding with a pair of servants filling up the lamps. He shouted an apology behind him before he clipped up the stairs, throwing open the door and rushing into the room where other men were waiting. Dark blue eyes met his and Dershik ignored the other men in the room, grabbing his brother by the shoulders. “Is she all right?” He wanted to ask Ceric if he was all right but he couldn’t, not here in front of everyone.
    “As far as we can tell,” Ceric managed, looking paler than usual. He had reason to worry. It was his child Jerila was birthing in the women’s room. Dershik was legally married to Jerila, as his father had commanded. He and Ceric’s hope his brother and Jerila’s love for each other would wane was for nothing. Jerila and Ceric had written to each other in letters while Ceric was at Whitfield. Dershik would never have Jerila’s heart and he was fine with it; he didn’t want it. When Ceric came back to the keep for Dershik’s wedding, he had been the one in the marriage bed. Dershik waited out on the balcony while the pair consummated their love.
    “She’ll be fine,” Dershik said. Jerila was strong. She had handled her pregnancy extremely well. Just yesterday they had gone horseback riding through the estate and she was frequently seen walking about the keep, helping her mother-in-law with her portion of the household duties. Ceric nodded, tears in his dark blue eyes as he went to sit down on one of the benches.
    The seal had already been placed over the door. The rope and a special knot tied in the rope to keep malevolent wishes or spirits from entering the room also hung there to keep the energy of the women within to aid the laboring mother. Sister Kiyla would be with her and Cira…Dershik tried not to think about her. She would be inside, her dark hair slipping out of its plait, her round, beautiful face encouraging Jerila as she did whatever it was mothers did. She and Dershik kept up their friendship, but after his brother told him Cira knew about Whitfield…there were enough secrets kept between them. They were close but not ‘skin to skin,’ not the best friends he had hoped.
    Everyone in the room stood and Dershik looked up, startled out of his own thoughts. Ceric pulled him up in time for them to rise as his father entered, dismissing the people’s formal stances with a nod of his head. “Any word?” his father asked. He was still wearing his riding clothes, gold and silver hair swept by the wind, his cloak fastened about his shoulders.
    “No,” Dershik said. He had only gotten out of the meeting with the owner of the new silver mine because of Jerila’s impending labor, but had spent the day sneaking around the house and hiding in the weeds. He had scared Big Hilik the smith when the bulk of a man had come across his hiding spot in the outhouse and then shared the story of the Bleeding Tree with some of the servant children, keeping his voice low and shaky so their eyes went