60. Company

I had dozed against him and was surprised how quickly we returned to Pikestully.

When we reached the stables, he dismounted and guided me down from Maggie, his hands on my waist.

“I think your people and mine are at the same place,”

he said, withdrawing his hands.

I replied that he was likely correct, but that I wanted to bathe, eat my luncheon and nap.

“You go on,”

I said.

“It is your day of rest too.”

“Let us both clean ourselves.

I will get something from the kitchens for us and then you can sleep.

We can head down to the city center in the evening.”

“You are not going to train this afternoon?”

I asked as we entered the Shark’s Keep, him carrying my belt and sagaris for me.

“No.

I want to keep an eye on you.

And if that cut is deeper than it looks, I want you to see a physician at the infirmary.

And be careful when you bathe.

I do not want you to drown because you are tired.

Ask one of the women in the baths to look out for you.”

We went our separate ways to bathe and because he insisted on walking me to the door of the women’s baths, I could not sequester myself in Gareth Pope’s bath and pleasure myself as I had intended, but I did not mind.

I treasured his worry.

When I returned to the room, he was gone.

I let my hair down and changed into the celadon dress and sat on the bed, thinking I would just rest there shortly, but I fell asleep and woke to his knocking on the door.

I bade him come in and he did, bearing a plate of nuts, fruit and smoked fish and a pitcher of water.

He set it on the desk and offered me a hand to sit up and stand from the bed.

As I sat in the chair and picked at a fig from where he had set the plate on the desk, he said, “Let me see your face,”

and took my chin in his hand without waiting for a reply.

“It is not deep,”

he pronounced.

“That happens in the face.

It bleeds profusely even with shallow wounds.

It should heal soon, but I will get you a salve.”

“It has stopped bleeding,”

I said, my eyes on his mouth, grim with concern.

He pulled away from me and sat on the bed, his elbows on his knees, hands folded.

I held out the plate to him.

“You should eat as well.”

We ate and then I returned to the bed and slept again.

I woke to him next to me, asleep with his arm thrown over his face.

Resisting the urge to stare at him, I rose and wove my hair into a loose braid.

Alric kept a jar of chew sticks on the desk and I took one out to chew away the salt of the smoked fish from my mouth.

When he woke, we left the keep and walked into the city center under the blaze of a late afternoon sun.

I remarked that Father Fire beat down on us today.

Alric remarked that I sounded like a lifelong Tintarian.

We split when we reached the brewery, me finding my table of women, him joining the Procurers, Arbis and Anwyn at a table.

My cut had occurred right on my eyebrow and once it had stopped bleeding, it blended in with my brow and so I had no need to explain anything to them.

For this, I was grateful.

I wanted to keep my discovery close to my chest and ponder it.

I was not ready to discuss it.

At the end of our table, other scribes from Sister Sea sat, chatting with a cheery River.

Quinn sat next to River, reserved but not withdrawn, occasionally adding something.

Maureen had stepped behind the counter to help a now visibly pregnant Eefa and her employers.

My niece looked happy and was laughing with Eefa, who seemed content now.

I rejoiced at this turn in her.

I doubted the creation of that child had been a good thing.

But the child would be.

“I am bedding him tonight, girls,”

Mischa announced to Helena, Catrin and I.

“Fish man?” I asked.

She inclined her head towards the table of Procurers.

“I have him right where I want him.

And I have decided I really need a good swiving.”

“Gods, Mischa,”

said Helena, but she was not as upset as she wanted to be.

Catrin had placed a hand on her chest.

“And how will you go about this?”

she asked.

“I will ask him to bed me,”

answered Mischa.

“I am not a woman men turn down.”

“Because they are afraid of you,”

I offered.

“Quiet, Edie,”

she said and drained her cup.

“I have watched you use the same approach.

You are just more subtle about it.

I am a straightforward woman.”

“You are a terrifying woman,”

I replied.

They had begun to push tables aside and a fiddler began to play and soon the brewery was full of dancers as well as patrons.

Catrin stood.

“I am going to relieve Maureen so she can dance if she wants.”

Maureen returned to us shortly and it was like old times, the four of us at a table.

As the night went on, I sipped only a little at my cider, still feeling weak at the exertion from that morning, but I was lighthearted.

Our table was near a window that overlooked an alleyway and through it, I noticed men outside.

They would leave the brewery to piss in the street and then return.

When Perch made such an exit, Mischa stood and followed him.

Over the sounds of clapping hands, fiddling and patrons talking, through the window we heard Mischa say, “I have decided I need a man’s prick in me and it may as well be yours.”

There was a pause before Perch, only a little out of breath, said, “Very well, betrothed.”

The three of us looked at each other and then Helena, astounding me more than she had ever done, said, “That is about to be the most satisfying screw of her life.”

“Mother,”

Maureen breathed.

A witch cackle, not unlike the one I had heard my goddess make while kneeling out in that field of rocks poured from me.

I held my hands over my mouth, but that only seemed to make it worse.

And then Helena joined me in laughter, but more ladylike.

Maureen continued to gape at us, in particular her parent.

Just as I was able to breathe again, Helena looked at her child and said, “Come, girl, how do you think you came to be?”

Maureen looked like she might faint and I fell apart laughing again.

The back of my neck pricked and I looked up across the brewery to see Alric and Thatcher watching us, bemused.

A third wave hit me and our laughter started all over again.

Towards the end of the evening, I stood to return our pitchers to the counter.

Maureen was dancing with Luka, who had stuttered his request for a turn on the floor.

Helena had scooted down the bench towards River, Quinn and the Sister Sea scribes, answering their excited questions about her mural.

Catrin, behind the counter, was collecting emptied cups and pitchers and staring at the door of the brewery where a man had just entered.

I did not recognize him at first as his clothing was drab and he had grown some beard, but I then understood the man to be Prince Peregrine.

“You should ask him to dance,”

I said, turning to her.

“Edie, that is—”

I interrupted her.

“That is a good idea? Is that what you were about to say?”

“He is a prince,”

she protested.

“And you are as beautiful as any princess and twice as kind.

He could not do better.”

Her face was flushed and she shook her head at me.

“Edith?”

I turned to see my husband standing next to me.

“Can I walk you back?”

There was nothing I wanted more, but I looked to the table with Helena.

“I believe my sergeant is hoping to ask his betrothed the same,”

explained Alric.

“You are suggesting we make ourselves scarce so as to encourage this?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Thatcher asked me directly to leave with you.”

I felt disappointed, but said, “He is clever.”

Alric gave me a look.

“He is an idiot.

He is an infatuated idiot.

But it just so happens, that I would like to leave and I would appreciate your company.”

My disappointment dissolved a little.

On the way home, a group of young men clearly coming from one tavern and heading towards another stumbled by, one of them jostling me.

“You will have a care for my wife, lads,”

Alric ordered, his hand at my waist.

They turned and in the swaying lantern light from an inn’s doorway saw who spoke.

I could tell they were scared of him, so I said, “There is no harm done.

Have a good night!”

And we walked away, further towards the Shark’s Keep.

Alric stood outside the room while I changed into my nightgown, crawling under the covers, turning away towards the wall and leaving him his lone candle to change by.

Both of us pretended not to hear Perch’s grunts of ‘oh, fuck’ through the left wall.