But do not break.
“This is my favorite of all of them,” said Weyland when he finished reading. “I hope I can capture it.”
Alison was certain that he would. But as enthusiastic as Weyland was about the poetry book, he was much more skeptical about officiating the wedding.
“Do I really seem like the right sort for that?” he asked. “You can have the anvil. I’ll even take it to the town hall for you.”
“You wouldn’t have to do much. I’m writing my vows, so you’d just need to read the standard ones for Keir…”
Alison looked into her friend’s face as he grew even more red than usual. On the one hand, he didn’t want to tell her no. But on the other hand, he really, really wanted to tell her no.
“Never mind, Weyland. You’ve done enough for us. I do think the anvil would be fun to have though.”
That meant she’d need to find Gwenla to ask her. It was mid-afternoon; maybe she’d run into her collecting Finnli from the schoolhouse on the way back.
She parted ways with Rinka, who was due in Fossholm for some sort of meeting regarding their college construction plans. But before she could find Gwenla, she ran into someone else: DC Lord Wexenas.
“Hello, detective. I hear you’re looking for Mr. Craig.”
DC Lord Wexenas looked around him as if he hadn’t noticed Alison coming despite his keen elvish senses. “Ah, I remember you. Ink theft, wasn’t it? Are you in cahoots with Craig?”
“What?” Alison regarded the young elf. He’d pulled his golden hair back into a more sensible bun, and he had a small scar on his forehead, but he otherwise seemed as much of a fool as he had been last spring. “The ink wasn’t even stolen, remember? And no, I haven’t seen Mr. Craig since he tried to overcharge me for my roof repair.”
“Just what someone harboring a fugitive might say—”
“Forgive my colleague here,” said DCI Tirrin. The old dwarf constable seemed even more exasperated than the last time Alison had seen him. “He’s been stuck behind a desk most of the year. What did you say about Mr. Craig overcharging?”
Alison filled the detectives in on what she knew of Mr. Craig, ignoring DC Lord Wexenas’s obvious skepticism and her own questions about what he’d done to earn so much desk work.
“As a local, do you have any ideas about where he’d hide?” asked DCI Tirrin.
A local. No one had called Alison that before. And it wasn’t even coming from the delusional Lord Wexenas.
“There aren’t many good hiding places in winter. The stables near the inn, maybe, or the dwarven mine up the mountain, if he could convince them to have him.”
“Thank you,” said DCI Tirrin. “By the way, are you the one marrying Dr. Ainsley?”
“You mean this is the future marchioness?” asked DC Lord Wexenas, his mouth hanging open in disbelief.
“I am,” said Alison. She drew herself up into her most future-Marchioness-of-Caernock stance. It may not have been impressive in height, but she hoped it seemed exceptionally smug.
“Oh, forgive me, my lady,” said Lord Wexenas. “I knew not of whom I was speaking with.”
“That much was obvious,” said Alison.
Lord Wexenas was really getting fired up now. “My lady, we’ll do everything in our power to keep you safe from brigands and scoundrels and—”
“Yes, yes, I think she understands,” said DCI Tirrin. “Good day, ma’am. And blessings upon your marriage.”
Alison thanked the constables and set off once more to find Gwenla, dodging the ‘lectric installers who had made it to the streetlamps on the Herot’s Hollow High Street.
Gwenla wasn’t in any of the shops or at the schoolhouse, or at the inn or the post office. Alison finally found her outside her cottage tending the garden.
“See here?” asked Gwenla, pointing to thin green stems rising out of the earth in clumps. “Know what they are?”
“Daffodils,” said Alison. “Is it really time again?” They had been blooming when Alison first arrived.
“They’ve got a ways to go before they flower, but spring will be here soon enough. I spotted some snowdrops in the churchyard. It’ll be lovely by the time the wedding comes.”
