48. Anglers

The table at which we arrived was really two tables pushed together, full of men, boys and two women.

I easily identified the three men in their forties with big frames and reddish hair as Alric and Anwyn’s three older brothers.

Two buxom women must have been the two oldest ones’ wives and eight boys of ages from eight to sixteen sat with their parents.

A smaller man sat next to Anwyn but he lacked anything that said he was an Angler brother.

An old man sat at one end of the table, tall and broad-chested, but where he may have once been muscled, he was gaunt now.

Perch and Thatcher sat amongst the Angler brothers and gave me nods.

Smiling, Anwyn stood and embraced me, crying out “Edie!”

Instead of letting his twin do so, Anwyn introduced everyone at the table, beginning with his friend Vincent, the man he had been sitting with.

He then introduced their father, Frederic, who nodded at me.

Aines and Artho and their wives, Dora and Jacinda, and eight sons were all introduced next and then Arbis, the tomcat as Alric had described, which I could see why.

He had mischief in his expression.

Aines and Artho had inherited their father’s more blunt features while their mother must have been the parent who gave the twins their sharp bone structure.

Arbis was a blend of the two and attractive.

He looked from me to Alric and raised his brows at my husband.

We sat across from Anwyn and Vincent and a tin of beer was poured for me by one of the brothers.

Alric noticed I was not drinking from it and poured himself a tin cup of water and replaced my beer with the water.

I spared him a grateful look while I answered one of the Anglers’ questions about Eccleston.

The family peppered me with queries about our journey and whether or not I had known I had magic and what working in the temple was like.

The rest of the evening flew by in this way until we heard the scraping of chairs and tables being moved to make way for dancing.

A fiddler began playing and rhythmic clapping began around the brewery.

“My brother will not ask you to dance,”

said Arbis, leaning over Vincent.

“He does not know how.”

He looked to Alric next to me, baiting him to reply.

“Neither do I,”

I answered him and took the tin of beer out of Alric’s hand and sipped.

“You do not?”

asked Anwyn in surprise.

“I was raised in Perpatane.

I did not grow up dancing.”

I lied of course.

I had learned to dance from Mischa, especially group dances with clapping and circles.

“What a waste,”

Arbis commented, leering at me a little.

“The more women dance, the better you can see their figures.

Without being obscene.”

“You are never not obscene, brother,”

Alric said, taking the beer from me and drinking.

“They like to gripe at each other like this,”

said Vincent to me.

“I would say you’ll get used to it, but I have never.

It is like they are fourteen not forty odd winters.”

“He’s delightfully proper,”

said Anwyn to me, but smiling at Vincent.

“So, what kind of husband is Alric?”

Arbis pressed.

“I would think him… surly.”

I was certain Alric wilted next to me, his shoulders slumping.

Was he resigned to my being churlish about him as well as to him?

I squinted at Arbis.

“Hmm.

Surly, but charmingly so.”

Anwyn and Arbis began to laugh and from down the table I saw Thatcher looking at Alric, but I did not dare turn towards my husband.

I did not want to know his expression.

“Our father would bid you come sit with him,”

Aines said to me, having stood and made his way down towards our end of the table.

“Of course,”

I said with a smile on my face and took the water Alric had poured for me and followed Aines towards Frederic.

Aines gave me his seat next to the man and I sat next to his wife, Dora, who was leaning across the table to speak to Artho and Jacinda.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Aines take my place next to Alric.

“I have so wanted to speak to you, Edith,”

said the old man.

“Or is it Edie?”

“It is whatever you wish to call me, sir.

Most call me Edie.

Alric calls me Edith.”

“Edie.

Alright, Edie.”

He inspected my face as if he was trying to memorize it.

“May I speak frankly with you, daughter?”

The word ‘daughter’ made me wistful.

My own father had not used that word about me since I was a little girl.

“I pray that you do, sir.

Be as frank as you wish.”

His smile was small, but the crow’s feet at his eyes deepened.

The lines in his face were scored there.

His large hands and forearms were covered in burn scars.

“My boy is difficult.

His mother and I have never known his mind, but he is a good man.

I would ask that you— I ask you to be patient.

He is like his mother.”

“Like his mother?”

“My wife was a prickly woman,”

he said, fondness in his voice.

“She would call you a fool while she gave you the clothes off of her back.

It took a long time to woo her.”

“What was her name?”

I asked as quietly as I could over the music.

“Beatrix,”

Frederic said, placing his white-bearded chin in his hands.

“I am sorry you have lost her,”

I offered.

“Even if it was not recent.

It is a loss.”

He looked at me.

“I thank you.

I understand you were married before?”

I swallowed.

“Ten winters past.”

“Divorce is not common here, but it happens.”

His eyes watched my face.

“I am sorry, then.

I hope he was not a cruel man.”

I hesitated and then said, “It is better that we parted.”

“I see.

Tell me what you know of your magic.”

I gave him a dull account of my weeks in the earth temple, explaining I did not know my penchant yet, but he seemed impressed that Cian had recognized magic in me.