“But is it close?”
The Gatewarden smiled thinly, and then turned away, calling over her shoulder as she strolled back into her office, “Tit for tat, Viv. I’ll let you know when you’re feeling more forthcoming.”
Viv waited until the bakery closed and Maylee was taking in the sign that hung on the door. The dwarf blinked at her in surprise, cheeks flushed and flour-flecked.
“Hey, you,” said Viv, with a small wave that felt ridiculous.
“Hey, hon,” replied Maylee. There was nothing reserved in her smile, as open and whole as though Viv hadn’t knelt before her on the boardwalk and bruised everything just the night before.
Viv felt the relieved shame of happiness over a problem deferred. “I had a couple of things to ask you.”
“C’mon inside then.” The baker held the door for her. Vivbrought up Fern’s idea and then her own, and it was easy and natural in the yeasty warmth and yellow glow, with the clatter of her assistant cleaning the bowls.
After that, their conversation moved on to other things—stories from the road, the foibles of customers—as Viv helped scrub down the counters and clear the fireboxes. And for a while, the future didn’t matter. And that was fine.
35
Viv rode on the back of the coach as it rumbled over the dirt road heading north along low sea-cliffs. She felt like Tamora fromHeart’s Blade, with one hand gripping a bar along the roof and one foot on the backboard. Satchel’s bag hung over one shoulder, slapping at her hip. Neither she nor Fern had been comfortable leaving him alone, not after the symbol on the bluff. Besides, he seemed delighted at the mere prospect of hearing Greatstrider’s voice.
Her arm stretched and flexed, absorbing every shock of the road, and she found herself grinning at the wind in her curls. She breathed deep the fresh salt air.
Fern poked her head out the coach door. “Are yousureyou don’t want to ride in here? Or on the buckboard?” Potroast’s head followed hers out, squawking in agreement.
“I’m fine,” she hollered back. “Too small in there, and horses hate me anyway.”
The rattkin shot a glance between Viv’s hand on the hilt of her sword and the grin on her face. “Heart’s Blade, huh?” she called.
“What? Um. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Fern laughed and disappeared back inside. The coachman spared a look over his shoulder at Viv but didn’t slow the horses.
In the distance, on the back of a series of ascending hills, Zelia Greatstrider’s estate came into view within a girdle of trees that definitely weren’t native to the area. As they drew nearer, Viv spied manicured hedges and a fountain ringed by a groomed drive.
“Fancy,” she said to herself, and started to have a few misgivings about the worthiness of the gift she’d brought.
When the coach came to a stop, Viv hopped down and skirted widely around the blinkered horses. The coachman opened the door and folded out a step for Fern and the gryphet to climb down, then reached inside and withdrew a basket covered with muslin and passed it to Viv.
“Just wait here for a bit, all right?” she said, pressing a handful of extra coins into his rough palm.
Fern and Viv both stared along the length of the edifice before them with frank amazement. It was two stories tall, fronted with dozens of arched windows and a set of marble stairs that spread out wider than Maylee’s bakery. The roof was armored in blue tiles, the eaves braced with extravagant scrollwork, the doors massive and tangled with a profusion of delicate iron leaves. Water from the fountain behind them pattered into a glassy pond.
Viv whistled. “Pays to write, I guess?”
Fern chuckled. “I don’t thinkanywriter sells this many books. There’s a quote in one of Tensiger’s books about elves. ‘If you live a thousand years and haven’t made yourself wealthy, you’re either a fool or a monk.’ I don’t think Zelia is a monk.”
“She’s athousandyears old?”
Fern shrugged. “No clue. Maybe it’s inherited? Anyway, I’mnot going toask.” She narrowed her eyes at Viv. “Wearen’t going to ask. Right?”
“Couldn’t imagine it,” said Viv, who had, in fact, imagined it.
Potroast was already up the stairs, squatting next to the door, while his stubby tail switched back and forth across the marble.
“Somebody’s eager,” said Viv, mounting the steps. Without hesitation, she banged one of the enormous iron knockers set on a plate on the doorframe.
They didn’t have to wait long for the door to open, but when it did, it wasn’t Zelia Greatstrider.
He wasn’t as tall as Viv, but he was big and powerfully built. Gone to gray, but not gone to seed, with a neat silver goatee and a handsome jaw. He wore a simple shirt and plain, functional trousers, and didn’t look much like Viv’s idea of a butler or footman. From the size of his shoulders, the way he held his hand at his hip, and the loose curl of his fingers, she would’ve bet anything he’d spent more time with a blade belted there than not.
