A Turn of Light Read Online Free PDF

of their consequence, Jenn Nalynn.” Uncle Horst did his best to look stern but the lines beside his mouth creased into little dimples, the way Jenn knew meant he wasn’t really angry and was having a hard time not smiling. She gazed up at him through her lashes and waited. As if sensing he’d lost his advantage, he went on, “I’m an old man. I won’t always be here to do your chores while you play in the meadow.”
    Of course he would.
    “Let me do your laundry,” Jenn offered. He wouldn’t ask for himself. Not for supper. Not for anything. “It’d be no trouble.” Well, it might be. His clothing ran more to well-aged leather than homespun, and as a hunter he was particular about the scents that touched his things.
    “No need, thank you.” The smile she’d been waiting for. “Now go. Behave yourself. You can tell me tomorrow about the asters.”
    Jenn stretched up to kiss his stubbled cheek. “I promise.”

    Being the best sister imaginable, Peggs had left Jenn’s shiny black shoes, as well as a damp rag, by the kitchen door. Jenn sat on the barrel by the washtub and quickly wiped her feet, rubbing them dry on the inside of her skirt before working on the shoes. She was supposed to wear stockings with them, but her only pair had made a fine lining for her mittens last winter.
    She stood gingerly, getting her balance. That was the worst of shoes. They tipped the world in a most uncertain manner. She drew herself up straight, shoulders back, and, upon consideration, used the rag on her hands as well. With less result. She should have washed them in the river. Maybe the green nails wouldn’t show.
    Jenn folded her hands together and walked decorously through the door.
    Peggs smiled. “Welcome home.” She plucked a stem of grass from Jenn’s hair, then licked her thumb and applied it lightly to the tip of Jenn’s nose. “Pollen.” She resumed arranging bowls and spoons on a tray. The bowls were white porcelain, decorated with long-feathered birds in blue; the spoons were lovingly-polished silver, with handles shaped like horses jumping. The bowls were chipped, the spoons weren’t the same size, and the tray was a slab of wood Jenn had painted when she was little. Normally, she didn’t notice. Today, with leaving and cities and plans filling her thoughts, Jenn wondered what elegant matched settings graced homes in Avyo.
    “Any pebbles?”
    She blinked, back in the kitchen. “Some pinks. And a nice white one.” She tipped them from her pocket into the pottery jar waiting by the fireplace, then wiped her hands again. “What can I do to help?”
    Peggs held out the tray. “Hold steady while I fill these.” She’d made a stew, brimming with late summer vegetables and topped each bowlful with a dollop of cream. A fresh loaf of bread waited beside the pot of butter and a berry pie sat in the bake oven, steam and purple juice bubbling through slits in the crisp golden pastry. Basic fare, Aunt Sybb called it. Her mouth watering, Jenn wondered what could be better.
    Another reason to see the world, as if she needed one.
    Peggs’ sketchpad leaned against the windowsill, illuminated by sunlight. Charcoal sticks of varied lengths poked up from the broken-handled baby cup she used for brushes, when in a painting mood. She’d been working on wildflowers again. “I forgot to bring asters from the meadow,” Jenn said apologetically. “They’re out now.”
    “And was your meadow in a good mood today?”
    No one else knew of Wisp. Whether Peggs believed or played along out of kindness wasn’t important. She listened. “No,” Jenn admitted. “We argued. But it was his fault,” she emphasized. “He said I’m never to leave home. Never!” The tray tipped, bowls sliding, and she quickly firmed her grip.
    Her sister pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Do you know why?”
    “There isn’t a ‘why.’” Jenn couldn’t help the sullen note to her voice. “No one will let me do what I want with my