43. Anwyn

I dried off and dressed in my cyan dress, hair loose and wet around my face.

I made my way to the dormitories.

Helena was napping in her bed, but sat up when I patted her leg and moved over to accommodate me.

Mischa had obtained a wine made from fermented peaches from the kitchens and was passing out tin cups of it, hers and mine with lightleaf oil.

Maureen and Catrin carried on about an end-of-spring festival that was being held on that week’s rest day in the Pikestully city center that honored The Farthest Four.

Apparently, there would be dancing and drink.

Catrin suggested we visit Bronwyn and Eefa at their brewery.

Helena asked me if I would accompany her on the morning of this holiday to visit a dyer who sold gemstones and root vegetables with which she could add to her pitch for color.

I told her I would go.

River chimed in that she was excited to witness her first Tintarian holiday.

Mischa commented that it was likely a savage affair.

In lowered tones, Quinn and I discussed how much Tallowgill River had left.

A daily dose was needed, and she had enough to last her the rest of the moon, but not much more.

I promised her we would continue to pool our pay every moon and get her a jar.

Quinn looked worried, but I assured her.

All our needs were met.

River’s health was a priority.

As the sun set through the windows, I walked back across the landing and went to knock on our door, but heard Alric’s voice through the wood saying, “Vinia keeps trying to speak to me.

I told her if it was not about Opal, there is no purpose in it.

What else can I say to her?”

“What does she expect?”

came a man’s reply in a voice that was unknown.

“I am wedded to Edith.

I cannot— I do not know, Anwyn.”

Involuntarily, I knocked loudly.

My heart was skipping in my breast.

My friends had been right.

He knew Lady Vinia and they had likely once been lovers.

The door swung inside, and the ginger-haired man who had sat in the back of the temple on our wedding day and had winked at Alric stood in front of me, a tin cup in his hand.

Behind him, in the desk’s chair, sat my husband, also holding a tin cup.

A clay jug sat on the desk.

“I was hoping it was you,”

said the man.

He reached out and took my left hand and kissed my ranunculus tattoo.

“Pleased to meet you, sister.

I am your brother-in-law.

And may I say, you possess the scent of a goddess.

And you look like one!”

I blushed and blinked at him, lost for words.

He was taller and broader than his brother.

Alric’s sharp features were set in his face in a more inviting arrangement, the thinness of them more aquiline and less severe.

Alric stood, looking at anything but me.

He said, “Edith, this is my twin brother, Anwyn.”

“Whiskey?”

Anwyn said, reaching for the jug.

I shook my head.

“No, thank you.

I’ve had some wine tonight.

And I, too, am pleased to meet you.”

I pulled my slightly damp waves over one shoulder.

“He did not tell you he had a twin, did he?”

Anwyn said, topping off his cup.

I looked to Alric before answering, but he looked into his own whiskey.

“More importantly,”

Anwyn went on, “is that a vial of lightleaf oil on the desk and is it yours and if it is, can I have some?”

I smiled.

“It is and you can.”

Alric sat back down and muttered something.

Then he stood up abruptly and gestured at me to sit in the chair.

Anwyn misread his movement and took his twin’s place, unstoppering the vial to drip into his cup.

Alric rolled his eyes and went to lean against the fireplace.

Anwyn looked up from his cup and said, “Thank you! Edith or Edie?”

“Edie is fine,”

I said, not knowing where to stand.

I undid my belt and apron, lifting them off of me by the sagaris.

Alric stepped in front of me and took them off of my hands, having set his cup on the little mantle first.

He hung them over a spare hook on the far-right wall.

“You can hang these here,”

he said.

“Instead of on the chair at night.

Anwyn, give her the chair.”

“Oh, my manners are atrocious,”

said Anwyn standing, grinning at his twin.

I stuttered a thank you and took his place in the chair.

Anwyn, standing next to his brother, turned to me and said, “Have you plans for The Rush of Flowers, Edie? Our family tends to drink at Fletch’s wife’s brewery.”

I nodded.

“My fellow… the other women and I plan to visit it in the evening.”

I wanted to say fellow Ecclestonians, but we were now Tintarians.

“Come to the forge first,”

Anwyn exclaimed.

“You have to meet our other brothers.

And their wives and all of their infernal brats.

Our father wants to meet you.”

“Anwyn,”

Alric said, his tone full of warning.

I glanced from twin to twin, uncertain what Alric was saying to Anwyn.

I said, “I cannot, but thank you for inviting me.

I have to help a friend with an errand.”

“A friend with an errand?”

Anwyn asked.

I explained to him about the throne room’s mural and Helena’s need for dye.

“She can come to the forge when you are finished! We will want to meet her as well.

Thatcher is like another brother to us.

When are they to wed?”

“Anwyn,”

Alric said again.

“It is enough that you will see her that evening.”

The door burst open and Perch and Thatcher came in, each with a tin cup, Perch also with a jug.

They both stopped when they saw me in the chair, but chinked their cups with Anwyn’s and started regaling him with his twin’s earlier training yard exploits.

“I have asked you to knock,”

Alric said, but they spoke over him.

“You’ve come to outfit Hinnom with a new sword?”

Thatcher asked.

“Unless you speak the creed, stop using his first name.”

Alric pinched the bridge of his nose.

As if his brother had not spoken, Anwyn went into smithing details about a sword with a shark’s tooth design he was making for the king.

Perch complained that no common swordsmen would be able to afford anything from the Angler forge anymore.

I sat with my hands in my lap and watched them speak loudly but felt Alric’s eyes on me.

He was intent, taking in my drying hair and my freshly washed face.

He straightened and said, “Thatcher, can we gather in your room? I believe Edith is tired.”

They stopped speaking and stared at me and then at Alric.

Anwyn stepped towards the desk, collected the jug and leaned in, kissing my cheek.

“I will see you at The Rush of Flowers, new sister.”

In a whisper, he said, “I can see why he could not bring himself to kill you.”

Alric, likely unable to hear the second part of his twin’s words, glared at Anwyn.

The four of them left, shutting the door behind them, leaving me to wonder at this new aspect of my spouse.

He had a family, a brother that seemed to love him.

Alric had been correct.

I was tired.

I put on my nightgown and lay in the bed, but did not sleep.

Hours later, in the dark, I felt my husband’s body in the bed next to me.

“Your twin is very gregarious,”

I said, drowsy but still awake.

“How are you not asleep by now?” he said.

I felt a thrill when I realized his speech was just ever so slurred.

“I like Anwyn.”

“Everyone does.

I seem to surround myself with likable people.”

What did he mean by that? I wondered.

“Why did you want to be a soldier and not a smithy?”

After a beat, he said, “I was not strong enough to lift the hammer as a boy.

It was discouraging.

I am the smallest of my brothers.

They take after my father.

He is a big man.

I take after my mother.

She was tall but thin.

I do not know how she birthed five of us.”

Sensing his tongue was loose, I asked, “And are you younger or older or in the middle?”

“Anwyn and I are the last.

We have three elder brothers.

Aines, Artho and Arbis.

Aines and Artho are married with, gods, four children each.

Arbis is a tomcat who will never marry.

Anwyn is… Anwyn is his own man.”

“Your mother no longer lives?”

“She passed the winter I turned thirty.”

“I am sorry to hear this.”

There was another pause and then, “She would have liked you.”

I let out a surprised laugh and said, “Is that so?”

“She was devout to Mother Earth and taught me to be.

All of my brothers and my father have fire magic.

I have no magic and neither did she, but she loved the goddess.

She would be proud that—”

he stopped himself.

“She would have liked you,”

he finished.

We lay there in silence and then he said, “How long did you watch today?”

“Just long enough to see you put that young man on his back in the mud.

I almost felt bad for him.

Will you fight every single one of those hundreds of boys?”

“No.

Half of them will leave after today.

And I do not fight all of the contenders.”

“How do you choose the next one then?”

He sighed and rolled to his side, facing me.

There was less than an arm’s length between us.

“Our king started The Procurers… fourteen winters past now.

I was the founder.

He bid me pick nineteen other men.

We were skirmishing with the Helmsmen clans.

Of course, I chose Thatcher.

And Perch was a boy then, fresh in the infantry, but the best swordsman I had ever seen and I chose him and he became… like a younger brother to Thatcher and I.

Fletch can practically run up the side of the wall.

No man throws a punch like Stefan.

I want every one of them to be able to best me or be the best in some way.

I chose Luka last time because he can outrun anything on legs.

So, the Procurer trials are a series of challenges… to me.”

“So each contender challenges you to something?”

“A race.

Swords.

Archery.

Staffs.

Mostly fists.”

“And you beat them all?”

He positioned his arm under his face.

In the dimness, I could see the line of his cheek.

“It is a trial of intelligence as well.

Many see my thinness and challenge me to fisticuffs.

But I am quick.”

I turned my head towards him.

“Alric… are you in your cups?”

He huffed.

“I can hold my drink, wife.”

Then he sighed.

“Anwyn switched our cups.

I am not used to lightleaf.

I never take it.”

I stifled a laugh before it left my mouth.

“It aids in sleep.

And …lightness.”

“Yes, lightness.

I have heard your laughter from the dormitory.”

His voice was without judgment but I could not quite read him.

“Well, if you want a good night’s sleep, you can help yourself to my vial.

Mischa used to grow it in her garden.

And we used to smoke it from a pipe.

On rest days.”

There was another silence.

“Do you miss it?”

“Eccleston?”

“Yes.”

He sounded strained.

I turned my head back towards the ceiling.

“I should.

And I do.

I was happy there, but the days are full here and the people I love most are alive and they are down the hall from me.”

He said nothing for a long time.

I thought him asleep but he said, “What is your scent?”

I turned back towards him.

“Lavender.”

“Hmm.

Anwyn likes it.”