As soon as their embrace ended, Marin and Tilly walked their separate ways. He glanced over his shoulder once, maybe twice, to watch her form slowly get smaller and disappear around a bend and out of view. She would tell his father where he was going, and that gave him some peace.

He took Tilly's advice and headed towards the eastern gate of Curander. And it was only once he was through the western gate and had already walked along several streets that something dawned on him. How had Tilly known that he had a brother? He knew nothing about her family. Not if she had sisters or brothers. Or if she was the youngest or oldest or somewhere in the middle. It wasn't something that they talked about. So, how had she known about Hobson?

As Marin passed by a bakery, his stomach growled. He had eaten nothing all day. The sun was still several fingers breadths above the horizon, so he figured he had time for a quick stop. He walked through the open threshold to where stacks of bread and a row of cakes tempted him from behind the counter. He felt his pockets and decided he should show some restraint.

"A loaf of bread," Marin said as he fished for a coin and placed it in front of him.

The old woman happily handed him a fresh loaf. He thanked her and continued on his way, ripping a crusty chunk off the top of the loaf and taking a large bite.

Chewing, Marin tried to remember what Tilly had said about his mother. Did she say that she didn't know that Maggie had children? Or that she didn't know that Maggie had a son named Marin? Because Marin knew that his mother told no one that she had a son named Marin. She said she had a daughter by a different name.

Yet, if Tilly knew his secret, then why hadn't she said as much?

As Marin took another bite of his bread, he shook his head to clear it. It was too much. And it was a distraction. What he had to focus on was getting a ride to as close to Addersfield as possible. His brother would help him figure things out, just like he always had.

Marin marched down the wide avenue that connected the west and east ends of town, hustling by merchants and sidestepping peddlers. There was no time to wonder about Tilly. And no sense in feeling sorry for himself.

But, as he passed by the town's center, he couldn't help but turn his head to the left and look down the road that led to Greggory's tavern. He slowed down just long enough to see the back of a blond woman turning down a side ally. Jocelyn. Or someone who looked like her. He felt an immediate pang in his gut. A twisting. Everything he was giving up, he was doing so voluntarily; he reminded himself. He was taking on her guilt for himself, and even though the price he was paying was higher than he had expected, there was no point in feeling regret.

He forced himself to turn his head back down the road he was walking.

There was a market just before the eastern gate with wooden stalls set up in a semi-circle. Farmers stood about with their carts, offering their produce to the tavern owners, housekeepers, and other customers who came to inspect the piles of carrots, turnips, and cabbages. As their carts emptied, they hooked up to their donkey's harness and headed out the gate and back home.

Marin had spent little time in the markets and didn't know any of the farmers personally. When he had visited his brother in the past, he had been with his father, who seemed to have a better knack for approaching strangers. But Marin knew that he didn't have much choice. So, he walked through the market and went to stand by the gate.

The first farmer who was leaving said he was heading south. The second one was travelling with two of his sons and a large dog. Marin didn't even bother asking if they had room for him. The third farmer said he was stopping at a local tavern before heading back, but Marin was welcome to wait for him. Luckily, the fourth cart leaving through the gates was being driven by a lonely farmer who was heading east and willing to bring Marin along for the company.

His name was Harlow, and he made his living growing a variety of vegetables. He also had an orchard with several apple trees, he proudly told Marin. "And what brings you to the road?" he asked.

"Visiting my brother."

"I always wished I had a brother. Someone to help with the farm." The man said as he loosely held onto the reins of his donkey. He had a pleasant voice and rough hands.

"Do you have a wife? Children?"

Harlow grimaced, a flash of pain crossing his features, and Marin regretted asking.

"I have two daughters," he answered after a long moment. "They do their best to help around the house. But, no one helps with the farm. I hire a few hands every season."

Marin decided not to pry, and instead turned the conversation to safer topics, like the weather. They continued along the road at a steady plodding pace as it twisted up and over the foothills. Even if they weren't traveling much faster than he could walk, Marin was grateful to be sitting in a cart for this leg of the journey, with its upward incline. The sun had just dipped below the western horizon, leaving a splash of orange and pink clouds painted across the sky. He knew that the nearly full moon would rise soon and assumed they would make it to Harlow's farm soon after that.

And, as predicted, soon after the first stars dotted the sky, Harlow turned off the road and steered the cart down a narrow path between two wide fields. A farmhouse and a barn stood at the end of the path. A warm fire made the oil-skin-covered windows glow.

Once the cart was detached and the donkey stabled, Marin followed Harlow up the steps to his home, where his daughters greeted them. And immediately Marin understood the look that had flashed on the farmer's face earlier. Both girls appeared sickly. Their skin wan and waxy and their hair stringy and thin.

"These are my daughters, Berta and Agnes," Harlow said, gesturing first to a tall slender girl who looked to be around fifteen, and then to a slightly younger girl with auburn hair.

"So nice to meet you both." Marin smiled at them warmly as they invited him into their home. Stew was bubbling in a pot over the cooking fire, and the delicious smell immediately made his mouth water.

They bowed and nodded. "Welcome," one replied in a thin, wheezy voice.

Supper was as delicious as it smelled. Marin slurped at his bowl greedily, enjoying how the warmness filled his stomach, as Harlow told his daughters about his day at the market. Marin drank of their ale and felt satiated and full. Once the meal was over and the dishes cleared, the family remained sitting around the table.

"Are you a medic?" Agnes asked shyly. "Your robes give you away."

"Yes, I am."

"The medics have been to our house before," Berta added.

"Girls, he is our guest," Harlow reprimanded.

"No, I don't mind," Marin quickly interjected. "In fact, if there is anything I can do to help while I am here, it would please me very much to be of service."

"There is nothing that a medic can do for my daughters."

"I don't mean to sound boastful, but I have been known to have certain talents," Marin said. "And, if you tell me what ails you, I may help."

A look passed between the three of them. "I'm afraid that..."

"Oh, father, what could be the harm?" Agnes interrupted her father.

Marin wasn't sure what the hesitation was. He hadn't heard of anyone turning away a medic's help before.

"You see," Harlow began, "my daughters' health waned after my wife left us. Ran away. The infection seems to live in their hearts as much as in their bodies."

Marin nodded. "There is a connection between our hearts and our health."

"It's not just that," Harlow continued. "It's a curse. My wife broke her vows and ran off with some, some sorcerer." He spat the last word out.

"A sorcerer?"

"We caught them," Berta explained, a tremble in her already weak voice. "And he put a hex on us."

"And then they ran away, leaving us," Agnes added.

"What sort of hex? Just words, or did this evil man have any concoction or amulet to aid with his spell?" Marin asked.

"He held up an amulet. Looked to be a carved red stone."

Marin pondered what sort of curse could have afflicted these girls. He walked over to his satchel, which he had hung on the wall, and examined the contents. In a small wooden mixing bowl he poured in some dried dill weed, a pinch of crushed lavender flowers, and a sprig of parsley. Using a special healing crystal, he mixed the herbs into a fine powder as Harlow and his two daughters quietly looked on.

"Two mugs of boiled water," Marin said, looking up.

Berta scurried away and came back moments later with two steaming mugs. Marin carefully measured out a scoop of powder into each mug and then stirred while muttering healing words.

He then handed each girl a mug. "Drink it quickly."

Within minutes color had returned to the checks of each girl. Agnes coughed, hacking something loose from her lungs. When her coughing fit passed, she cleared her voice and spoke. "My chest feels..." she stopped mid-sentence. Her voice was so full of volume and depth, nothing like the frail sound it had been before. "Berta?" she questioned her sister.

Berta opened her mouth to speak, and immediately she gave a shallow cough, the words sticking in her throat. She coughed again, this time a loud, clearing sound. And when she spoke again her voice was as strong as her sister's had been, "Agnes, I feel so, so relieved."

Harlow looked at disbelief, first at his daughters, and then at Marin. "Your voices," he said. "Your cheeks."

"I will make you more to keep in your cupboards," Marin offered. "Drink it each night before bed. Soon, your hair will also thicken and regain its luster."

"I don't know how to repay you," Harlow's voice cracked with emotion.

"You've given me a ride and a meal. All I ask is a place to rest my head for the night." Marin answered. A warmth spreading across his own chest. He had a gift. And he loved using it.

What did he love more, though? His gift, or Jocelyn? He didn't know what the answers were, but he hoped that tomorrow his brother could help him sort things out.