The morning sun offered no warmth, filtering through the cracked windowpane in dusty, grey ribbons. Madeline moved like a ghost through the small kitchen, her hands trembling as she chopped the last of their wilted vegetables into a thin, watery broth. Her mind was a whirlwind of silver coins and cold smirks. She poured the soup into a jar, wrapping it in a rag to keep it warm, but as she reached for the door, it swung open before her fingers could touch the latch.
Standing on the threshold were the two people who knew her soul better than she knew it herself.
Charlene stood at the front, her black hair pulled back into a practical, tight ponytail that highlighted the sharp concern etched into her face. Her brown eyes swept over Madeline, immediately landing on the tell-tale puffiness of her lids. Behind her loomed Miguel, a tall, steady presence with chestnut hair ruffled by the morning wind.
Madeline looked at Miguel, and for a fleeting second, she was ten years old again, standing between him and a group of cruel boys who had been throwing stones at his tattered boots. She had fought for him then, and he had been her protector ever since.
"Maddy," Charlene whispered, her voice cracking the fragile silence. "You look like you haven't slept in a lifetime. What happened?"
The dam finally broke. At the sound of Charlene's voice, Madeline's blue eyes filled, and a single, hot tear tracked through the dust on her cheek.
"Who did this?" Miguel stepped forward, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous rumble. He didn't wait for an answer before pulling her into the familiar, sturdy warmth of his embrace. "Tell me who hurt you, Maddy."
"It's Grandma," she sobbed into his chest, the words muffled by his wool tunic.
Through broken breaths and shaking hands, she spilled the story of the garden, the unconscious form on the frost, and the herbalist's grim diagnosis. But when she reached the part about Mr. Woodsman and the debt, she felt Miguel stiffen beneath her touch.
"I was just about to go to her," Madeline said, pulling back to wipe her face with the back of her hand.
"We're going with you," Charlene said firmly, grabbing Madeline's cloak from the hook.
As they navigated the narrow, winding streets toward the herbalist's shop, the weight of the previous night began to settle into a cold, hard reality. Charlene broke the silence, her voice hushed as if the walls themselves were listening.
"So, you're saying Mr. Woodsman just... gave it to you? Ten silver coins?" Charlene's mouth was agape, her eyes wide with disbelief. When Madeline nodded, Charlene stopped in her tracks. "Maddy, that isn't a loan. That's a death sentence. Where in the world do you plan on getting that kind of sum? You could work until your hair turns white and never see ten silver coins at once."
Madeline stared at her worn-out shoes. "I was desperate, Char. I'd have signed my soul away to hear her breathe again. I'll figure something out."
"Figure it out?" Charlene hissed, her worry turning into frantic energy. "Maddy, that man is ruthless. He's a wolf in a silk coat. And he gave you two weeks? Only two weeks to return a fortune?"
The deadline hung over them like a guillotine. Two weeks. Fourteen days to perform a miracle.
Miguel, who had been silent, watching the shadows of the alleyways, finally spoke. His voice was calm, but his jaw was set tight. "I've been putting bits aside for a new forge hammer," he said, looking Madeline directly in the eye. "I have two silver coins. They're yours. We'll find the other eight. We have to."
Madeline felt a surge of love so strong it hurt, but she shook her head, her jaw tightening with a newfound, bitter pride. "No, Miguel. You worked a year for those coins. This is my burden. I won't pull you down into the dirt with me." She looked at both of them, her blue eyes turning as hard as flint. "The only way you can help me is to help me find work. Anything. I don't care how dangerous or how dirty. I need a job that pays in silver, not copper."
They turned the corner, the herbalist's hanging sign creaking in the wind. The smell of bitter herbs and woodsmoke greeted them as they pushed inside.
There, sitting propped up against a stack of moth-eaten pillows, was Maria. Her eyes were open, filmy and tired, but open. The relief that flooded Madeline was so intense it made her dizzy, but as she looked at her grandmother's frail, shaking hands, she knew the battle had only just begun. The price of that life was ten silver coins, and the clock was already ticking.