Michael Sullivan - Percepliquis

“Is that really the empress?” Armigil asked.

“Yeah, so she’s gonna be able to pay you if that’s what you’re worried about.”

This snapped her out of her daze. The old woman scowled at him and shook a finger. “Ya know better than that, ya overgrown skunk! ’Ow dare ya be callin’ me inhospitable! Whether she’s the empress or a tart dragged from the gutter, ya know they both would be equally welcome to a pint and a plate in Hintindar-at least now that Uberlin ’imself is gone.” She looked at Dunstan and Arbor. “And what are ya doing standing there and gawking fer? Throw some dough in the oven. Osgar, Harbert, get over ’ere and lend a ’and with a barrel. Algar, see if’n yer wife has any more of that mince pie and tell Clipper to cut a side of salt pork from-”

“No!” Hadrian, Arista, Mauvin, and Degan shouted all at once, startling everyone. They all began to laugh.

“Please, anything but salt pork,” Hadrian added.

“Is-is mutton okay?” Abelard asked, concerned. Abelard the shearer and his wife, Gerty, had lived across the street from the Blackwaters for years. He was a thin, toothless, balding man who reminded Hadrian of a turtle, the way his head poked out of his cowl.

They all nodded enthusiastically.

“Mutton would be wonderful.”

Abelard smiled and started off.

“And bring your fiddle and tell Danny to bring his pipe!” Dunstan shouted after him. “Looks like spring came a bit early this year, eh?”

Arista was being careful, having learned her lesson before. This time she limited herself to just one mug of Armigil’s brew; even then, she felt a tad light-headed. She sat next to Hadrian on top of flour sacks piled on the wide pine of the bakery floor. The floor itself was slippery from the thin coating of flour that the girls loved playing on. Allie and Mercy slid across the floor as if it were a frozen pond, at least until enough people arrived to make a good slide impossible. Arista thought about offering to help Arbor, but she already had half a dozen women working in her cramped kitchen, and after everything, it felt too good just sitting there leaning against him, feeling Hadrian’s arm curled around her back. She smelled the sweet aroma of baking bread and roasting lamb. She listened to the gentle chatter of friendly conversations all around her and drank in the warmth and comfort. It made her wonder if this was what Alric had found within the light. She wondered if it smelled of baking bread, and remembering, she was almost certain it had.

“What are you thinking?” Hadrian asked.

“Hmm? Oh, I was hoping Alric was happy.”

“I’m sure he is.”

She nodded and Hadrian raised his mug. “To Alric,” he said.

“To Alric,” Mauvin agreed.

Everyone in the room with a glass, mug, or cup-even those who had never heard of Alric-raised drinks. Her eyes landed on Allie, who now sat between Modina and Mercy nibbling like a bird on a hunk of brown bread.

“To Wyatt and Elden,” she whispered, too quietly even for Hadrian to hear, and downed the last of her cup.

“I wanted to say how sorry I am, Dun,” Hadrian told his friend as he handed out another helping of food. “Was it bad, what happened after we left?”

Dunstan glanced up to see where his wife was. “It was hard on Arbor,” he said. “I think I looked worse than I was. She had to do most of the work around here for close to six weeks, but all that is over. I’m used to getting my head cracked now and again.” Dunstan grinned, then stared curiously at Hadrian and Arista, sitting arm in arm. Royce had just entered and Dunstan glanced nervously over at him. “You better watch yourself. He doesn’t look the type to be understanding about such things.”

Dunstan moved away, leaving Arista and Hadrian looking at each other, puzzled.

Royce hesitated at the door, his eyes on the girls as they sat at Modina’s feet. The empress was one of the few in the room to sit on a chair. It was not her idea, but the Bakers insisted. He walked over and sat beside Hadrian.

“Where are your shadows?” Hadrian asked.

“You look concerned.”

“Just that if you’ve started another war, I’d like a heads-up is all.”

“The level of confidence you have in my diplomatic skills is overwhelming.”

“What diplomatic skills?”

Royce frowned. “They’re outside. I talked with them about space,” Royce said.

“You did?”

“They speak Apelanese. And I do know some elvish, remember.”

Royce sat back against the table leg, his eyes on Mercy as she giggled at something Allie whispered in her ear.

“Why don’t you go talk to her?” Hadrian asked.

Royce shrugged, his brow creased with worry.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.” Royce stood up. “It’s a little warm in here for me.”

They watched him gingerly step around those on the floor and slip back out. Hadrian looked at Arista.

“Go ahead,” she told him.

“You sure?”

“Of course I am. Go.”

He smiled, gave her a kiss, and then stood to chase after Royce.

Arista sat for a moment looking around her at all the friendly, rosy faces, talking, laughing, smiling. The bowls of steaming pottage were coming off the open hearth and making their rounds. Abelard, seated on an overturned bucket, was rosining his bow and plucking strings on his fiddle while he waited for Danny, who sat beside him finishing up a plate of lamb. The place was filling up and sitting room was getting scarce. Despite the crowd, a wide berth was maintained around Modina, who planted herself in the corner across from the door, smiling more brightly than Arista had ever seen her. Only the girls dared come within an arm’s length, but every eye in the room repeatedly glanced her way.

Arista stood up and found Arbor throwing a round loaf in the oven. She leaned against the counter and wiped her head with the back of her flour-covered hands. “That’s the last of it,” she said, and smiled at her. “I was worried about you,” she told Arista. “We both were.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes! The way you left that night, and then when the soldiers came-we were afraid for you. The village was in turmoil that whole week. Men came through here four times spilling the flour and searching. I didn’t know what they wanted you for-I still don’t.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Arista said. “That’s all over and everything is going to be different from now on.”

Arbor’s expression showed she did not know what to make of that.

“Say, do you still have that dress I gave you?”

“Oh yes!” She looked down at Arista’s robe. “You’ll be wanting it back, of course.” She started to leave and Arista took her hand.

“No, that’s not why I was asking.”

“But it’s okay. I took real fine care with it-never wore it once. I just looked at it a few times, you know.”

“I was just thinking you should try it on, because I think you’re going to be needing it.”

“Oh no, I’ll never need a dress that fine. Like I told you before, there’s no chance of me going to a fancy ball or anything like that.”

“That’s just it,” Arista told her. “I think you will-that is, if you accept.”

“Accept what?”

“I’d like you to be the maid of honor at my wedding.”

Arbor looked back at her, confused. “But, Erma, you’re already married to Vince.”

It was Arista’s turn to look puzzled and then she laughed aloud.

Hadrian caught up with Royce at the footbridge. It was dark, but the moon was bright and he spotted his friend’s dark figure leaning over the rail, staring into the dark waters trickling below.

“Crowd getting to you?” Hadrian asked. Royce did not reply. He did not even look up. “So what will you do now?”