They both tried and failed to hold back their laughter.
“Alright, alright,” Vivienne conceded. “You win. Let’s grab some air.”
She grabbed her tote and stood, her head rushing at the sudden movement. They’d been sitting longer than she realized.
“Not just air. I was promised a pastry from Johanna’s,” Lewis reminded.
“Ah, but of course, my liege.” Vivienne sketched a deep bow.
Lewis rolled his eyes in response, swinging the leather strap of his satchel across his chest. “Now it’stwopastries. Let’s go, drama queen.”
* * *
Vivienne and Lewisstrolled through the library’s central hall, their footsteps echoing off the polished marble floors. As they passed the towering statues of Queen Metis and Ondrelis, Vivienne tilted her head back to take them in. Queen Metis stood proud and regal, a silent sentry over the library bearing her name. Beside her, Ondrelis, the god of wisdom and stars, gazed upward, his eyes fixed on the painted constellations of the domed ceiling. In the collection of tomes and scrolls, the largest on the continent, the statues always reminded her how much knowledge remained beyond her grasp.
She and Lewis pushed open the heavy wooden doors, their combined strength barely enough. The creak of the hinges gave way to a rush of a salty breeze wrapping around them like a current. Vivienne closed her eyes and filled her lungs with the briny air, loosening the ever-present tension in her shoulders. Lewis released a low sigh, his hair catching the wind and whipping across his forehead. They stepped into the golden light of the approaching evening. The sun crept low on the horizon, bathing the s-shaped coastline in glows of orange and pink glimmering on the water’s surface. The waves rolled against the shore below, barely audible over the city’s hum of life. Vanter spread out before them, the sprawling capital city of the Kingdom of Fendwyr nestled in the rolling hills rising from the sea.
“Never gets old, does it?” Lewis asked, gesturing toward the white stone castle perched high on the cliffs.
Vivienne shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “I don’t think I’ll ever get over Eirenden Keep at sunset.”
They began their descent from the Library of Metis on the steep path winding down toward the heart of the city. The smooth stones beneath their feet gave off a faint shine in the evening light, worn from centuries of people making the same journey.
"Don’t you need to head to the greenhouse first?” Vivienne asked, motioning behind her at the assortment of royal buildings.
Lewis rubbed the back of his neck. “Well… I don’tactuallyneed to go to the greenhouse," he admitted, "but I couldn't take another minute in that sauna.”
Vivienne pressed the back of her hand to her forehead in feigned betrayal. “You lied to me to get yourfreepastry faster?”
“I think you meanpastries,” he said with a raised eyebrow, "and I’d lie to anyone for free baked goods—so would you."
The rich, buttery scent of fresh bread and caramelized sugar reached them before the bakery came into view. Vivienne took a greedy inhale, the aroma triggering a cascade of memories: sticky fingers, shared laughter, and the kind, flour-sprinkled face of Johanna Peiskos.
“Race you!” Lewis called, already breaking into a sprint.
Vivienne barely had time to react before he took off, his boots clattering on the uneven cobblestones. “Cheater!” she shouted, hiking up her skirt to keep pace. The narrow street blurred in her periphery as she ran, her heart pounding with effort and the thrill of competition.
Lewis reached the bright blue door first, slapping his palm against it with a triumphant grin. “Still too slow, Viv,” he teased, his golden-brown eyes sparkling with mock superiority.
Breathing heavily, Vivienne stopped just short of colliding with him. “I let you win,” she shot back, sticking her tongue out.
“Sure you did,” he said, pushing the door open with exaggerated flourish, the bell above tinkling to announce their arrival.
The warm air rushed out to meet them, carrying the scents of vanilla, cinnamon, and the faintest hint of orange zest. Vivienne paused at the threshold, brushing her fingers over the yellow hand-painted lettering that read "Johanna's," surrounded by small paintings of jasmine blossoms. The elements had worn down the calligraphy as the seasons passed, but they'd always repainted the same letters and flowers. Vivienne found the consistency comforting as she stepped into the bakery behind Lewis, her eyes adjusting to the cozy dimness of the shop.
Johanna stood behind the counter, her stout frame wrapped in a flour-dusted apron, her cheeks rosy from the heat of the large oven. A basket of golden pastries rested in front of her, their glossy tops reflecting the lamplight. She looked up at the pair with a wide smile that crinkled the corners of her hazel eyes.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite troublemakers,” she said, her voice rich with affection. “You know I don’t even need the bell when I can hear you two barreling down the road.”
Vivienne smiled, leaning on the counter. “Do you have any of those ‘day-old’ pastries we could buy?” she asked, throwing a pointed glance at Lewis, who was all but drooling over the basket.
Johanna chuckled, pushing the basket forward. “Lucky for you, I happen to have just enough left over.”
Vivienne couldn’t help but notice how fresh they looked with delicate, flaky golden crusts and glossy filling. She exchanged a knowing look with Lewis. As a child, she believed Johanna’s insistence that these were leftovers she was willing to sell at a discount or give to them free of charge. As an adult, she saw them for what they were: small acts of kindness disguised as practicality.
Vivienne glanced around the shop, her gaze lingering on the worn wooden shelves empty of their usual loaves of bread and pastries by this time of day. Her thoughts drifted to the baker’s empty home upstairs. She knew Johanna and her late husband had wanted children, though fate had other plans. It wasn’t an unusual story in Fendwyr. Few families had more than one child, if any at all.
Theories abounded, of course. The natural philosophers blamed the sweltering summers and limited diets. The bankers pointed to economic hardship, while the more superstitious whispered about a curse. Vivienne didn’t put much stock in any of it; she wasn’t planning on children any time soon—perhaps not ever.
