Brenna and Morna's aunts came a fortnight after their parent's death. The letter announcing the arrival of the aunts preceded them by only a day, and it bore no mention of Adair anywhere in it. Adair wasn't that surprised. They were related to her only by her father's marriage to their sister, and so Adair was probably no more than a forgotten side-note. She pretended that it didn't bother her that they only wished Brenna and Morna well, but she planned to sneak off to spend the day in the barn behind Nurse's small cottage.

The aunts came with a grand carriage painted black with canary wheels. They were in the latter part of their life, with graying hair and old fashioned dresses. They smelled of strange lands and brought along a pair of matching dogs that could have fit in a hatbox and which had an annoying habit of licking shoes. Adair found the aunts and the dogs of an annoying breed.

"Hello, niece," one aunt said, austerely. She bent and embraced Morna stiffly. Adair would have tensed, repulsed by the bony elbows and wrinkled neck, but Morna melted into it, a smile stretching her face. Brenna smiled nicely, dipping into a curtsey. Adair stood with Nurse in the doorway of the cottage, her mouth pressed thin and her arms crossed over her chest.

The elder of the aunts, Nora, held her skirts out of the mud that been churned up by Nurse's brother's cart, and looked around at the ramshackle and erratic out-buildings that came with a small farm. Her eyebrows drew together and her thin nostrils just barely flared. She leaned toward her sister, Perta, and whispered loudly, "You'd think our nieces would have at least warranted a room in an inn. This... dairy farm isn't fit for the cows it milks." Perhaps it wasn't meant for Nurse to hear, but she heard it all the same. Her large ears went red and she shuffled indoors to try and shine the smudges off the tea-cups once more. Adair stayed put as the aunts edged forward, led by Morna and Brenna.

"Nurse made some tea and some bread for you," Brenna said, as if this offering was something that was her idea and thus she should deserve all the credit. She flipped her hair over her shoulder, forgetting that she was dressed in rough homespun and not her usual finery.

"We ate before we arrived," Perta said, although the last inn they would have passed had been at least four hours away.

Morna and Brenna entered the cottage first, dashing to the table and Nurse. Adair waited by the doorjamb, her eyes following Perta and Nora.

"The innkeeper is very loyal to Allica's officers," Adair said as the aunts passed her. "We would have been lined up and shot in the head if they'd taken us there to stay."

Perta's mouth popped open and Nora looked about to say something, but Adair pushed away and out of the house, heading for the stable. Her stomach was empty, but she couldn't stand watching those two women ignore her and insult Nurse. She could find better company in the old nag that had been retired to permanent stable care last season.

The stable was really only a small barn with three pens. One for the nag, one for the workhorse, and one where they occasionally kept any of their dogs that were whelping. Straw covered the floor and the smell of animals and oats filled the air. It was not a place that would be familiar to Adair, but perhaps that is why she liked it. Better to start over in a completely different place than to try and hold onto what fragments of the past life that she could scrape together.

She gathered a little mountain of straw together in the empty stall and draped an old horse blanket over it. The prickly horse-hairs and the rough fibers of the blanket conspired to rub her exposed skin raw, but she was too stubborn to care. She wanted a seat and she wasn't willing to get straw stuck to her dress and hair. So she sat on the blanket and tucked her legs into her skirt, staring at the far wall and hoping the aunts would not stay much longer.

She had two more hours to wait.

When finally the sound of the carriage being brought back around front jostled Adair from her almost-sleep, she sprung to her feet and crept to the barn door. It was almost always open during the day and today was no exception. She was forced to hide in the shadows, staring out toward the cottage.

Perta came out first, an annoying little dog tucked under one arm. She wore a relieved face and made a big show of breathing in deeply. Nora followed along, dusting off her skirts and plucking her gloves from her fingers to stow them in her purse like a soiled handkerchief. Brenna and Morna tagged right behind like ducklings, wafting in the wake of the stately aunts. Nurse hung to the interior.

"They've no luggage?" Perta asked. Her lips thinned.

Nurse shook her head slowly. The deep blush hadn't yet left her cheeks. "They came here in their nightgowns, and those were fair ruined by the time we were abed. I loaned them a couple of dresses each, but I didn't think... well, I didn't think they'd be quite suitable for your ladyships' home." She ducked her head and buried her hands in her apron.

"Hm," Perta sniffed. "More than likely true."

Adair locked her legs to stop them from running out with her where she'd tell Perta and Nora just what she thought of their fancy home and fancy carriage and horribly fancy dogs.

"I suppose they can stay in these until we are in a town with a decent seamstress," Nora said, fingering the sleeve on Brenna's dress. Brenna flushed and bit her lip, the sign she was embarrassed. Adair wanted to ask her sister if she preferred being in the pond-stained nightgown that carried the memories of a night they all wished to forget.

"Here's a little sum to repay you for watching after our nieces in the wake of the tragedy," Perta said, pulling a small silk pouch out of her purse and dangling it by its scarlet ties. Nurse's eyes grew wide and she shook her head.

"Oh, ma'am! I didn't take them on for any sort of profit or reward," she said, voice earnest and slightly anxious. "They were in my charge at the big house and I only thought it fitting that they stay with me. Their parents wanted it that way while living and I think they'd have wanted it that way in death."

"Be that as it may, you might as well take what is offered you," Perta said, raising her eyes to heaven.

Nurse looked conflicted, but the glares from the aunts combined into something so forceful that she darted forward, grabbed the pouch, and darted back to the cottage doorway in order to escape it.

"Now that that's done, we can be on our way," Nora said, picking her way over the muddy path and taking the driver's hand to sweep into the carriage. Perta waited with the girls, maybe making sure they didn't have second thoughts and dash off, or maybe thinking Nurse might want to keep them for a better price. Adair thought perhaps the latter a more accurate description of the state of the aunts' true feelings.

Brenna, true to what was expected of her, gave Nurse a cheery wave, turned on her heel, and followed Perta toward the carriage. It was Morna who hung back, her face undecided. Her hand drifted into Nora's as her aunt pulled her in one direction, but her eyes clung to the cottage and Nurse. A glint in her eye betrayed tears building, and her bottom lip quivered. Adair felt her heart lurch at the sight of her little sister standing frozen in the middle of the track, caught between the familiar and the unknown.

"Wait," Adair said, sliding out from the barn and running to Morna's side. Nora's eyes widened at the sight of Adair, perhaps finally remembering her brother-in-law's other child for the first time. Adair ignored her look and scooped Morna into a tight hug, kissing her soft hair and whispering what comforts she could think of.

"Be brave. Don't cry," she murmured. "And try to keep Brenna from becoming too much of a brat."

Morna giggled wetly, wiping her eyes on Adair's arm. "I wish you could come," she said.

"I'm not part of that family," Adair replied, the words pricking like thorns. "But you are, so don't waste your thoughts on us anymore. You keep Brenna close."

Nurse came up at that moment, given courage by Adair's appearance, and took her turn in squeezing Morna. Morna nearly burst back into tears, but Nurse sang her a silly song that Adair remembered from when she was little and it seemed to calm her. While Morna was saying goodbye, Adair approached Brenna, who waited with Perta at the side of the carriage.

"Goodbye, sister," Adair said, offering an embrace to Brenna. To her credit, Brenna accepted, pressing her hands into Adair's back, but there was no warmth there. They hadn't left yet, but Adair knew that Brenna was already far away, in the land of her aunts, a girl in a fine house again. She had no use for Adair or the cottage any longer. It was as simple as throwing out a pair of worn boots.

Adair released her sister and took a step back, nodding to Perta. "Goodbye," she said, not bothering to tack on a title or a name. The aunts ignored her completely, ushering the two girls into the carriage before the unsightly emotions became any worse. Adair stood where she knew Morna could see her and waved until the carriage disappeared over a knoll. The real end of her old life.