76. Wishes

The Turn of Trees was more like a carnival than a celebration like The Rush of Flowers or The Gleaming.

Tents with fortunetellers, puppet shows and gambling games were set up along the streets.

Barrels of a somewhat bitter but tasty cider were everywhere, given to the city by the king and his brother, Pikestullians dipping tin cups into them liberally.

After our perusal of the various tents, as the sun dipped, the seven of us made our way to the brewery, wrapped in cloaks and in our winter boots.

I was wearing my winter dress for the first time, a deep emerald with the same square neckline and circular skirt as my other dresses, but it was slightly thicker and meant for the cold.

There was no snow on the ground yet, but I was warned by my husband and by Hazel, though the cold was brief, it was brutal.

The brewery was full of people as it was a holiday and our regular table was occupied.

We clustered near the counter, drinking in the heat of the crowd after a blustery walk through the city.

River and Quinn spotted other sea temple staff and said they would return shortly, but they were soon absorbed into conversation.

Helena, Maureen and Catrin went into the living quarters from a different entrance to see Eefa and her new baby, leaving Mischa and I to await an open table.

We stood together with our tin cups of cider, watching the people of Pikestully pour in.

A group of men entered, some of the Procurers among them.

I did not see Alric, but I turned away before I looked a second time, hiding what must be naked desire on my face.

Once, I had been in control of my expressions, but I was undone at just the idea of him.

I felt the need to cling to what scraps of dignity I had left as I thought of some way to truly have my husband before my death.

I had not seen my own face in some time, but I had taken Catrin’s little hand mirror, given to her by the queen and examined myself in it before we entered the city.

I was still pretty.

I had lines at the corners of my eyes and two between my brows.

The line of my jaw was not as clean as it had been in my twenties, but I was without jowls.

My mouth was small at the corners but my lips were as ripe as a girl’s with the little dip in the center of the top one.

I thought my eyes and nose were nothing exceptional, but all of my features together made for a pleasing appearance.

I reminded myself that plenty of men had called me beautiful.

And then I had, with bittersweetness, thought of my husband’s dislike of the word.

I had handed the mirror back to Catrin.

“Here comes the fish man,”

Mischa said, turning her back to him.

“Must you antagonize him?”

I said, playfully.

“He was the one who intervened in the chapel.”

“I should be nice to him because I owe him my life?”

I smirked.

“You should be nice to him if you want to be nice to him and mean to him when you want to be mean to him.

I will judge you not.”

“This is why we are kindreds, my Edie,”

she said, tilting her head over her shoulder.

“He is not looking in our direction.”

We both faced away from the entrance of the brewery.

“Godsdamn it,”

she griped.

I laughed as we sidled up the counter, smiling at Fletch’s sister-in-law, who, without so much as a word to us, swept by, smiling back, and set two fresh tins of ale in front of us.

Before we could pay, a copper coin was set on the counter by a man next to me.

“Oh, there is no need,”

I began as Mischa said, “cheers.”

The man smiled down at me.

He was strapping and had an easy handsomeness, perhaps in his thirtieth winter.

“Beautiful women should never pay for drink.”

“Thank you,”

I said, unsure of what else to say.

“Ale and flattery,”

Mischa said, “a dangerous blend.”

Her eyes were flirtatious.

I knew she saw him as a tool to unleash Perch’s envy and I smiled to myself.

The man thought it was for him and his eyes roved over me.

I knew I looked well because I had taken the time to do so.

My husband had been gone when I woke.

I had forgotten to ask what he planned to do on The Turn of Trees and I bathed that morning, wondering if he was spending his holiday with his family, a little hurt that I had not been invited as we had now become companions to each other.

I dismissed my worry and set myself to preparation instead.

I had dressed for the night in the dormitory with Mischa, her cajoling me into some plum wine with lightleaf in it.

I found shears in the women’s baths and trimmed my hair by a finger’s length, allowing for the slight wave in it to show even more.

I wore it down, parted in the middle, the top portions braided and tied together at the back of my head.

The rest of my hair flowed over my shoulders, framing the neckline of my dress which was a fraction more fitted than my other dresses, the tailor having cut the cloth for the bodice a hair too short.

This accentuated my breasts just the least bit and more so if I tied my stays tightly.

I had done so, hoping to see Alric later and spark something like what he had felt when he had pleasured himself in the men’s baths.

My winter cloak was loosely tied around my neck, the tie resting just below my hagstone, the black cloth flowing behind me.

“And how goes your Turn of Trees, ladies?”

the man asked, his eyes on me.

“Did you seek out a fortuneteller and did she tell you you would meet a man tonight?”

At this, I did laugh.

“You are brazen, sir.”

“You did not answer my question,”

he replied.

“I do not seek my fortune,”

I said, sipping at my ale and realizing it was a strong brew.

Between this, the wine, lightleaf and cider, I would soon be in my cups.

“Perhaps I can tell it to you,”

the man offered, his gaze on my bosom.

I turned to my side and found Mischa gone.

I looked over my shoulder and found her saucily looking up at her betrothed, who glared down at her but had one of his hands on her waist.

I still did not see Alric amongst their grouping.

“Do you look for someone?”

the man asked.

I turned back to him.

“I do.

I thank you for the ale, sir, but—”

“If it is your man, he is unwise to leave you alone in a brewery full of men.”

I drew my brows together, sipping again at my ale, unsure of what to do.

“Unwise?”

“It is reckless to leave a woman such as you in a place such as this.”

I felt as if the drink and the lightleaf were taking effect all at once.

The delightful lightness that descended on me, making my time with friends relaxed and helped me sleep, now made me long for Alric.

I did not want to stand here speaking to this man, however handsome.

I was not used to such advances anymore.

In my Eccleston days, I had been approached and sometimes, it was welcome and sometimes not.

But in the nearly nine moons since our abduction, I had been marked as the captain’s wife.

No knowing man would dare.

But my tattoo was covered by my dress, except for my ranunculus on my left hand, which the man either did not know signified who I was or had not seen.

I did not know what to say, so I said, “You have a silver tongue, sir.”

“I wish that lovely mouth would say my name.

Shall I tell it to you?”

A hand came around my waist, pulling me back into a lean, hard body that I now knew well, the palm spread across my belly.

“Thank you for keeping my wife company,”

came Alric’s voice, flattened with irritation.

I prayed he was not upset with me.

“No disrespect meant,”

my flatterer said, his body now straightening.

“A happy Turn of Trees to you, lady.”

He nodded to me and left.

I turned, my body still caged by my husband’s right arm.

I looked at his face, no discernible expression on it and I found myself wishing for the smallest portion of jealousy from him.

I feared his irritation was more for me drinking with a stranger and not behaving in a wifely manner than actual possession.

And how I wanted to be possessed.

My wish was rewarded.

Pulling his mouth to one side, my husband said, “It would seem you need a wedding ring.

Is plain silver acceptable?”

The lightleaf was now running rampant through my body.

It was in my toes, making them feel exceptionally cosy in my boots.

It nipped at my nerves in the most pleasurable way.

My fingers were tingling around my tin cup, my breasts ached and my mouth felt aflame.

I gave a breathy exhale that could have been a laugh.

“You are like a snarling wolf guarding a kill you have yet to bite.”

His right hand had remained when I turned, now resting on my back and his left had been fisted on the counter but he now held it over the lower half of his face.

I hoped he was disguising a smile.

“You are a bard, madam,”

he said, pulling his hand away, but there was a softness in his lips.

We stared at each other for a moment.

And then he said, “Are you asking for a kiss, wife?”

All of my blood was in my ears, pulsing, pounding.

It felt like we were the only two people in the room, in the city, in the known world.

We were the only two people to have ever lived.

“Do you want to kiss me, husband?”

That breathtaking face, in all its harsh lines, grew serious.

A hint of pain was in his eyes.

His brows drew inward and he gave a sigh before he spoke.

“If thought and deed were the same, then I have kissed you already, Edith.

Countless kisses.”

There was hunger in his gaze.

There was hope.

I could not breathe.

I could not think.

By some miracle, I said, “So what is one more?”