The Kindness Curse

husband had made rather large blunders. For instance, the Gifting of his great-uncle. He should have ingratiated himself with the old healer, and played on their family connection. The doddering, idealistic fool should never have Gifted his healing magic to that milk-and-water, goody-goody farmer princess.
"Enough." Merrigan shook herself for good measure. Wasting time nattering over things she couldn't change and people she couldn't bring to justice only drained her.
Very well, she would go to the town that had cheated the miller's son and set the balances right. Maybe that would please the Fae and earn some help in the future. Maybe all she had to do was help someone, to earn a champion who would perform some magical quest to rescue her. She tried to ignore that totally unreasonable sense of guilt at not knowing the miller lad's name.
Merrigan straightened her shoulders as much as she could and set off down the road to Smilpotz. At least there was enough gravel packed into the road that the mud wasn't too awful, and she had shoes she didn't mind getting muddy. Not like they were satin slippers, or her favorite dancing shoes with the blue crystals. Leffisand had said it was like she danced on water when the light glistened on them. He would be horrified to see her walk through the mud in those particular slippers.
Then again, if he were here, she wouldn't be in this mess.
"Leffisand," she said with a sigh, as she trudged down the road. "For such a clever man, you were rather an idiot, weren't you?"
An odd twinge threatened a headache. Honesty compelled her to admit the true idiot ... was her. If she had just held her ground and not depended on so many panicky lies, she wouldn't have had to run to Clara for help. What fools ever got the idea that a woman who stared into pools of water could give them useful advice?
"You made this mess, Merrigan," she said as she reached the crest of the small hill and could see down the slope to the decent-sized town of Smilpotz. "Now it's up to you to fix it."
JUDGE BRIMBLE'S LARGE, recent inheritance was the talk of Smilpotz. Merrigan sat on the steps of the bakery, enjoying a freshly baked roll and a lovely, cold cup of milk, and listened to the gossips who had gathered on the steps of the apothecary next door. The people discussing the same subject on the steps of the millinery across the street were even louder. Being turned into an old woman had taught her the joys of being nearly invisible, and the wealth of information that came from listening to people who talked far too freely for their own good. Merrigan had observed that some people proved the reliability of their information or opinions by raising their volume. She wasn't sure if she should be comforted or worried that it was the same among peasants as it was among courtiers.
The louder voices across the street informed her that Judge Brimble wasn't happy with the tailor who ran the best of the two fabric shops in town. His apprentice had gone home to tend to his dying father, so it was just the tailor, his wife and daughter to handle all the orders. The mayor's daughter was getting married in a fortnight, and the tailor was halfway through a large order of clothes for the bride, and for the wedding party. No matter how much the judge offered to pay him, he couldn't put aside the order because then he wouldn't finish on time.
The gossipy old women on the steps of the apothecary changed their chatter, in competition with the millinery gossips. The judge was far too talented at making people miserable if he didn't get what he wanted. He had already hinted the tailor's young daughter was just the sort of confection he liked. After money, fine clothes, and food, of course. Brimble would find some way to threaten the tailor's family until they either turned over their daughter to placate his injured pride or abandoned the wedding clothes.
"Poor child," one silver-haired, hawk-nosed old gossip said with a sigh. "Someone should do something. Judge Brimble is getting too big for his britches. In more than one sense!"
That set off a chorus of giggles among them.
Merrigan gritted her teeth. When she was younger, she had lost several serving maids to the predations of nasty old courtiers who insisted on having sweet young serving maids for their wives. Even worse, her father never believed her when she insisted the girls were going into dangerous situations. He always accused her of being selfish, and five serving maids just to attend to her needs were far too many.
The foul-tempered wives with delusions of grandeur always seemed to drive the serving girls away in no time at all. Then to make matters worse, they generated false stories that the girls had fallen in love and left to get married and settle down in the country. When Merrigan tried to find the girls, certain they needed rescuing, those vicious old nobles started rumors that the girls had actually gone into their employ to escape serving her.
Well, here was one serving girl Merrigan could rescue. Technically, the tailor's daughter wasn't a serving girl, and hadn't fallen into danger yet. It was just a matter of time. Merrigan wondered if she could remember that spell Nanny Tulip had taught her, for enchanting collars so they choked their wearers at the appropriate time. She had learned that spell after her mother died and after Nanny Starling fled in disgrace, and her own sisters and brothers grew critical and ignored her. Nanny Tulip had taught her about minor magics and how a princess deserved to be treated. She helped her wreak small bits of revenge on anyone who slighted her or treated her as if she didn't have a brain in her head.
Unfortunately, Merrigan hadn't used the spell in years. She hadn't needed to,