I grew older, and so did my aunt. The gray in her hair increased, and she got weaker. During the winters she suffered illness in her lungs that made her weak and coughing. One winter when I was fifteen she didn't recover, and two months later she died. I had no place to go.

I spent a month out on the street after I was evicted from my home, and that was when I cut my dark hair short and took to calling myself Min, rather than Elmindreda – though I had never liked name, I had a legitimate reason now. I tried to look like a boy as much as possible. Being a lady out on the streets was more dangerous than being a man.

I was wandering the streets, when I came into a district of inns I had never seen before. I spotted a man that looked friendly. Above him a sign swung lazily in the wind, and I read, "The Stag and the Lion."

I walked over to him where he was wiping his hands on his apron. "Excuse me," I said warily. Even one month on the street had given me plenty of cause to be wary, and to use the knives I had bought in the market after the first time someone jumped me. "I'm looking for work. Do you have any jobs for me? I can work in the stables, or…"

"You're a girl, unless I miss my guess," he said gruffly, eying me up and down. "So what are you doing dressed up in men's clothing?"

I met his gaze evenly. "I've had occasion to want to look as much like a man as I can, Master…"

"Fitch." He offered, still looking me up and down. His gaze, friendly though it was, was starting to make me uncomfortable. "And you?"

"Elmindreda," I said automatically, and winced. "Call me Min. Do you have work, or don't you?"

The innkeeper looked at me gruffly. "Well," he said. "Not really…" I shrugged and prepared to walk on by. He called after me. "But…I won't rest easy, leaving a young lady like you out on the streets to fend for herself. So I suppose you can work in the stables, tending horses and the like…or you can help in the kitchens…"

I grimaced. "The horses, please. I have no hand for cooking."

"All right, then. Mutch will tell you what to do. He's just inside the stable. You'll have a room upstairs – not very big, mind you – and you'll be paid fairly and fed well. But I expect you to work hard. If I find you've been slacking, it'll be out the door with you, young lady or no. There's no room at my inn for idlers. Off you go then, miss."

"Thank you," I said gratefully, with a small smile. Then, remembering my manners, I added, "Master Fitch." He grimaced and waved a hand at me, seeming embarrassed by his show of compassion. He turned to go inside, and fire flickered around his head. He would be hurt in a fire, and his inn, too. I opened my mouth to call after him, then shut it, firmly, remembering my aunt's warning. Hard as it was, I had to keep silent. I walked into the stables to begin my first real job, determined to find a place at this inn. Little did I know where my choice of the Stag and the Lion would lead me.