Jaenelle smiled. “You finally informed Lucivar that he wasn’t getting another dinner until you had the proper tools to cook with, didn’t you?”

“Not exactly,” Marian muttered.

“You’re Lady Marian?” the proprietor asked.

“Yes.” Maybe she shouldn’t be surprised that he’d heard her name. After all, she and Lucivar were the only Eyriens living near Riada.

“Are you sure you have everything?” Jaenelle asked.

“Yes, I’m sure. I thought about—”

But Jaenelle was already heading toward the part of the shop that held household goods, and remembering their last shopping trip, Marian rushed after her.

“I don’t need the large cheese grater,” Marian said a few minutes later, trying to keep her voice from edging toward desperation. It wasn’t a question of taste, as it had been when they’d shopped for Lucivar’s furniture, it was Jaenelle’s unflagging idea that if Marian needed one of something for the kitchen, two would be better.

“Why not?” Jaenelle said. “You only have the little one.”

“The smaller one is all I need. Really.” She took the cheese grater out of Jaenelle’s hands and put it back on the shelf.

Since she couldn’t hold Jaenelle back, she tried to steer the direction of that energy and enthusiasm, so it wasn’t really her fault that they ended up buying a set of dishes . . . and glasses . . . and silverware . . . and a corner shelf for what use she didn’t know except Jaenelle thought it would look nice in the kitchen.

Numbed by the sheer quantity of purchases, she watched the proprietor tally up the cost and wondered how many years of tithes had just been eliminated.

Then the proprietor turned to the smaller stack of items on the counter.

“No,” Marian said. “Those don’t go on Prince Yaslana’s account. Those are my purchases.”

As he tallied up her purchases, she called in the wallet she’d bought on her last shopping trip. Most of her wages were tucked in the back of the dresser drawer that held her underthings. The wallet held the funds she allowed herself to spend freely. She opened it and riffled the copper marks just as the proprietor finished his tally.

Heat flooded her face. Not enough. She hadn’t come to the village to shop for herself and hadn’t checked to see how much was in her wallet before she left the eyrie. And she hadn’t expected to find that wonderful, soft wool material that she wanted to make into a robe for Lucivar as a Winsol gift. She could still afford the material, but . . .

After a wistful look at the two books she’d selected, she cleared her throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t bring enough with me.”

“Perhaps the Lady would like to open an account?” the proprietor asked.