Blake took her hand. ‘Clearly you have an advantage. Look at you.’
‘Wasting away and barren.’
Blake tugged her towards the door. ‘Not for long. I have eggs.’
Lyndal’s face lit up. ‘So the rumours were true. Praise Belenus. How many could we afford?’
‘None.’
Lyndal stopped walking.
‘Commander Wright took care of it,’ Blake explained.
Lyndal let out a breath. ‘Well, he’s playing a very expensive game. Might be cheaper in the long run to simply visit one of the taverns in the port.’
‘He was just being kind.’
‘He’s a defender. I’m quite certain he doesn’t know the meaning of the word.’
Blake regarded her sister. ‘He’s seen the daggers I keep beneath my skirts. I think he knows better than to go poking around under there.’
‘Perhaps it’s time you left those at home,’ Lyndal said, shaking her head.
‘Why?’
‘Because men prefer their women unarmed.’
‘And?’
Lyndal stared hard at her. ‘You do realise you’ll have to marry eventually or forever be at the mercy of our uncle?’
‘Well, defenders don’t marry merchants, so it doesn’t matter what Harlan thinks.’
Lyndal’s brow creased. ‘Harlan now, is it? What happened to Commander Wright? And I said nothing of marrying him.’
‘Can you imagine what a disaster that would be?’ Blake said, looking away.
Lyndal watched her a moment. ‘Well, nobility don’t marry merchants either, but that didn’t stop our parents.’
It was Blake’s turn to stare hard at her sister. ‘Was that supposed to strengthen your argument?’
There were rare instances of nobility marrying farmers, especially now that farmers had control over the food supply. Noble families with multiple daughters might sacrifice one to a lower class to improve their buying power. Farmers marrying merchants was becoming less common. It was seen as a wasted opportunity. Jumping two class divides, as their parents had done, was unthinkable.
Lyndal threaded her arm through Blake’s and resumed walking. ‘Let’s pray my cycle returns soon, or we might be forced to rely on you to save us.’
Blake feigned offence. ‘I can be very charming under the right circumstances.’
‘No you can’t. You’re unapologetically yourself, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.’
They stepped into the main room. Eda had returned and was peering into the basket of eggs.
‘Go on, then,’ Blake said to Lyndal. ‘Fry them up with salt and the rest of the onion from last night.’ She peered through the doorway at her wasting mother still sewing away. ‘I had some nuts at the market, so the eggs are for you three.’
Lyndal looked up from the onion she was slicing. ‘You said nothing of nuts. Did the commander buy them for you?’
‘Yes,’ she lied.
Five minutes later, the smell of fried onions and eggs filled the small room. Blake was salivating so much she could not remain in the house for fear of snatching food from her sisters’ plates. ‘I’m going to the forest to check for mushrooms,’ she announced, rising from the table.
