The halfling's expression brightened even more. "Lemon!" He smacked his hand against his forehead, leaving a perfect floury handprint. "Of course! Why didn't I think of it before? Lemon cake! It’s usually a spring flavor but paired with coconut or even a ribbon of dark chocolate…”
Pip’s words trailed off, and then he was whirling around his kitchen like an electrified sprite, pulling down bowls and muttering about lemon curd and coconut ratios. The halfling's excitement was so pure, so utterly removed from the darkness creeping under Vaskel's skin, that for a moment he could almost forget about the marks and the soul bind.
"Here!" Pip thrust a paper bag at him, as if remembering that the hellkin was still there. "Orange spice sweet rolls. My new winter flavor. The same recipe I sent in my last letter to my cousins in Elmshire. They aren’t lemon, but they have warming spices, so they’re like a cross between cinnamon rolls and lemon ones. Perfect for a snowy day, wouldn't you say?"
Vaskel glanced out the window, surprised to see that snow had indeed begun to fall while he'd been inside.
"How much do I owe you?" Vaskel reached for the coins tucked in a pocket of his vest, but Pip waved him off.
"Nothing! Consider it payment for the cake testing and the lemon inspiration." The halfling had already pivoted back to his workspace and was humming to himself, clearly lost in visions of the perfect wedding cake.
Vaskel tucked the warm bag under his arm, the heat seeping through the paper and working against the chill in his bones that had nothing to do with the weather. "Thank you, Pip."
"Thank you, my friend!" Pip called back, already elbow-deep in a mixing bowl.
Before he made it to the door, a figure bustled in and almost ran straight into him.
“Vaskel?” The elf threw back his fur-lined hood that was flecked with quickly melting snow. He wore emerald green robes lined with white fur and surprisingly practical, knee-high boots. His silver hair was pristine, as always. “What a pleasure to run into you, dear boy.”
Vaskel was a bit surprised to see Lira’s uncle in the bakery, but since the elf had arrived in Wayside he’d been trying to fit into the community more instead of sending his attendants to do everything for him.
“How are you?” Vaskel asked.
The elf fluttered one bejeweled hand. “Busy with wedding plans, of course, and trying to see how many Elven wedding customs Lira will permit me.”
"What are Elven wedding customs?" Vaskel asked, genuinely curious.
Erindil rubbed his slender fingers together. "Oh, they're magnificent! First, there's the binding of souls ceremony at dawn, where the couple exchanges vows in the ancient tongue while standing in a circle of moonflowers. Then the bride and groom put honey on each other’s tongues. Honey from a single variety of flower, so it’s incredibly delicious. That flower then becomes their flower, to be grown in their garden.”
He stopped himself, shaking his head with a rueful smile. "But that's all far too elaborate and fussy for Lira." He adjusted one of his many rings, the blue gem catching the winter light. “I agree, of course. Not to mention the fact that we’re far from Lananore. I don’t know where I’d get moonflowers here.” He sighed and smiled. “So, we’re keeping things simple. Just an outdoor ceremony with me escorting her down the aisle andGlen processing with the rings.” He snapped his fingers. “That reminds me. I need to talk to Tinpin about fashioning him a special harness. He’ll be most upset if he doesn’t match the rest of the wedding party.”
Vaskel kept his expression neutral, though an ostrich ring bearer in a custom-made harness might not be everyone’s idea of simple. “Naturally.”
"Tell me," Erindil said, his tone shifting to something more serious as he studied Vaskel with ageless eyes. "Does Lira seem nervous to you? About the wedding, I mean?"
Vaskel considered the question. Lira has seemed on edge lately, but he suspected it was nothing serious. "Just normal bride jitters, I think. She and Korl adore each other. Anyone can see that."
"Yes," Erindil agreed softly. "Love has a way of finding us when we least expect it, doesn't it?"
Vaskel wondered what the elf meant. Erindil had lived for thousands of years, so he’d presumably loved and lost many times before. Part of him wanted to ask the elf how he dealt with loss, but it seemed a dark shift after chatting about wedding plans.
“Well, I’d better get to the tavern before Sass sends out a search party.” Vaskel held up the bag of baked goods. “For the sweet rolls. Not me.”
Erindil laughed, patting his arm. “Yes, yes. How droll! I’m here to get some of Pip’s confections as well. Glen is quite taken with his sweet rolls.” The elf’s expression became stern. “Now the trick is hiding them so the rest of us can get a bite.”
“We also have to do that with Sass.”
Erindil threw his head back with laughter as Vaskel bid him farewell and ducked outside and into the falling snow. He pulled out one of the orange spice rolls from the bag. It was still warm, the glaze slightly melted, and when he bit into it, the flavors of citrus and cinnamon burst onto his tongue. He’d told Pip that his favorite sweet rolls were lemon, but these might be a close second. And the halfling had been right. They were perfect for a wintery day.
He continued chewing as he trekked toward The Tusk & Tail Tavern, glimpsing the former barkeep, Durn, sweeping away snow from the front of the chandler’s shop across the street, while his gnome wife dusted the lamps in the window. He raised a hand in greeting, which the broad-shouldered man returned.
The snow continued to fall, coating his shoulders and horns, but Vaskel barely noticed as he trudged along toward the stone bridge that led to the castle. Then a loud clang made him jerk to attention and the bakery bag slip from his fingers.
Ten
Vaskel scoopedup the bag from the pile of snow it had landed in, the citrus and cinnamon scent now overpowered by the smell of smoke that always hung around the blacksmith's forge. Metal clanged again metal once more, drawing his gaze to the two orcs who stood outside their shop despite the falling snow. They were working on an iron piece so large that Vaskel walked closer to get a better look.
Wrought iron had been twisted and shaped into an arch of delicate vines and flowers that bloomed and curved, creating a freestanding and four-sided bower that could only be for one purpose.
