He pivoted to one side, my left, tucking that hand in the crook of his right arm. “I cannot abide another meal with soldiers. It has been weeks since I ate a meal with a person not drenched in sweat and dirt. I would ask you to dine with me. Half the Procurers have left for the city tonight. They start to celebrate the Turn early. But I am hungry. The hall will stop serving soon. Thatcher and his lady should be sating another appetite.”
There was a beat as we took in the noise made by Thatcher.
Alric frowned. “So unbelievably loud,” he said under his breath and guided me down the next stairwell. He began telling me quite bland updates of the Procurers’ training of their newly chosen man as we descended. Had the noise from the turret ruffled him the way it had me? Was that why he rambled? The man never spoke unless he must. Did he also wish that were us? Why was it the volume that he found distasteful?
And then I knew, with a surety in my belly, that this man, this tightly wound soldier, my methodical Procurer, my orderly, scrupulous husband did not take his pleasure like his brothers-in-arms. He took it with a rushed breath into a neck, a furtive, hasty exhale into his lover’s hair. He took it in the dark and he took it in secret. And that knowledge, more so than Thatcher’s growls of“that’s it, dove, that’s it,” or Perch’s fervid, midnight hollers, sent a thrumming through my blood.
I leaned into him, content just to be on his arm for now. I must bridge this gap. I must show him that our bed could beour bed. This fine man, as rigid as a harp-string, how would I pluck him?
76. Wishes
The Turn of Trees was more like a carnival than a celebration like The Rush of Flowers or The Gleaming. Tents with fortunetellers, puppet shows and gambling games were set up along the streets. Barrels of a somewhat bitter but tasty cider were everywhere, given to the city by the king and his brother, Pikestullians dipping tin cups into them liberally.
After our perusal of the various tents, as the sun dipped, the seven of us made our way to the brewery, wrapped in cloaks and in our winter boots. I was wearing my winter dress for the first time, a deep emerald with the same square neckline and circular skirt as my other dresses, but it was slightly thicker and meant for the cold. There was no snow on the ground yet, but I was warned by my husband and by Hazel, though the cold was brief, it was brutal. The brewery was full of people as it was a holiday and our regular table was occupied. We clustered near the counter, drinking in the heat of the crowd after a blustery walk through the city. River and Quinn spotted other sea temple staff and said they would return shortly, but they were soon absorbed into conversation. Helena, Maureen and Catrin went into the living quarters from a different entrance to see Eefa and her new baby, leaving Mischa and I to await an open table. We stood together with our tin cups of cider, watching the people of Pikestully pour in.
A group of men entered, some of the Procurers among them. I did not see Alric, but I turned away before I looked a second time, hiding what must be naked desire on my face. Once, I had been in control of my expressions, but I was undone at just the idea of him. I felt the need to cling to what scraps of dignity I had left as I thought of some way to truly have my husband before my death.
I had not seen my own face in some time, but I had taken Catrin’s little hand mirror, given to her by the queen and examined myself in it before we entered the city. I was still pretty. I had lines at the corners of my eyes and two between my brows. The line of my jaw was not as clean as it had been in my twenties, but I was without jowls. My mouth was small at the corners but my lips were as ripe as a girl’s with the little dip in the center of the top one. I thought my eyes and nose were nothing exceptional, but all of my features together made for a pleasing appearance. I reminded myself that plenty of men had called me beautiful. And then I had, with bittersweetness, thought of my husband’s dislike of the word. I had handed the mirror back to Catrin.
“Here comes the fish man,” Mischa said, turning her back to him.
“Must you antagonize him?” I said, playfully. “He was the one who intervened in the chapel.”
“I should be nice to him because I owe him my life?”
I smirked. “You should be nice to him if you want to be nice to him and mean to him when you want to be mean to him. I will judge you not.”
“This is why we are kindreds, my Edie,” she said, tilting her head over her shoulder.
“He is not looking in our direction.”
We both faced away from the entrance of the brewery.
“Godsdamn it,” she griped.
I laughed as we sidled up the counter, smiling at Fletch’s sister-in-law, who, without so much as a word to us, swept by, smiling back, and set two fresh tins of ale in front of us. Before we could pay, a copper coin was set on the counter by a man next to me.
“Oh, there is no need,” I began as Mischa said, “cheers.”
The man smiled down at me. He was strapping and had an easy handsomeness, perhaps in his thirtieth winter. “Beautiful women should never pay for drink.”
“Thank you,” I said, unsure of what else to say.
“Ale and flattery,” Mischa said, “a dangerous blend.” Her eyes were flirtatious.
I knew she saw him as a tool to unleash Perch’s envy and I smiled to myself.
The man thought it was for him and his eyes roved over me.
I knew I looked well because I had taken the time to do so. My husband had been gone when I woke. I had forgotten to ask what he planned to do on The Turn of Trees and I bathed that morning, wondering if he was spending his holiday with his family, a little hurt that I had not been invited as we had now become companions to each other. I dismissed my worry and set myself to preparation instead. I had dressed for the night in the dormitory with Mischa, her cajoling me into some plum wine with lightleaf in it. I found shears in the women’s baths and trimmed my hair by a finger’s length, allowing for the slight wave in it to show even more. I wore it down, parted in the middle, the top portions braided and tied together at the back of my head. The rest of my hair flowed over my shoulders, framing the neckline of my dress which was a fraction more fitted than my other dresses, the tailor having cut the cloth for the bodice a hair too short. This accentuated my breasts just the least bit and more so if I tied my stays tightly. I had done so, hoping to see Alric later and spark something like what he had felt when he had pleasured himself in the men’s baths. My winter cloak was loosely tied around my neck, the tie resting just below my hagstone, the black cloth flowing behind me.
“And how goes your Turn of Trees, ladies?” the man asked, his eyes on me. “Did you seek out a fortuneteller and did she tell you you would meet a man tonight?”
At this, I did laugh. “You are brazen, sir.”
“You did not answer my question,” he replied.
“I do not seek my fortune,” I said, sipping at my ale and realizing it was a strong brew. Between this, the wine, lightleaf and cider, I would soon be in my cups.
