We had now been in Tintar three moons. On rest days, we tried to visit Eefa and Bronwyn at the brewery, keeping note of her pregnancy’s progress and trying to pay Fletch’s wife and her sister for our pitchers of which they always brought us more than we ordered. We pooled our copper coins after our first moon’s pay and bought River her Tallowgill at the apothecary, promising to do so every payday, River and Quinn both thanking us.
“We can’t have you die on us,” Mischa had chided, her version of friendship.
It was on one of these excursions that I learned more about my husband. The seven of us were milling about the apothecary on a day of rest, coin in our pockets still after buying another jar of Tallowgill for River, the summer sun not quite high enough to be bothersome. We were in high spirits, planning to luncheon at the brewery and spend the afternoon at our leisure in the city center.
I was debating buying another vial of lavender oil, as it would clean out my pockets, when a woman approached me.
She said, “Are you Edie? Edie of Eccleston? Edie Angler?”
I straightened from the shelf I was inspecting, resigning myself to the idea that I should save my coin and turned to the left of me.
She was perhaps forty, full-figured and pretty with dark blonde hair and a pouting mouth. She was staring at my tattoos, on full display in the celadon green dress.
“I am she,” I said, trying to keep the wariness out of my voice and remain polite.
She sighed. “I am so impertinent. Forgive me. I have heard you have a tattooed hand and arm, that your hair was brown with red. I thought it had to be you. I’m Isabeau.”
I wanted to say ‘pleased to meet you,’ but was unsure if that would be true.
Isabeau continued, “I know this is rude, but I am an old friend of Alric’s. Would you grant me a minute of your time?” She smiled. “This is a friendly gesture, I promise you.”
Was every former lover of my husband’s curious and forward? “In private?” I asked.
“That would be best,” she said, her manner apologetic.
I looked over my shoulder to see Quinn looking at the woman with mistrust. “A moment,” I said, turning to the woman. “I will meet you outside in the square. By the fountain.”
“Oh, thank you,” she gushed and exited the apothecary.
I approached Quinn.
“Who is that woman?” she asked me, a line between her eyebrows.
“A friend of Alric’s who wants to speak with me. I’m going outside to speak to her. If I am not back in a short time, will you come for me?”
“I will watch through the doorway, friend. I do not trust anyone here. Anyone but us and those of Sister Sea.” Quinn crossed her arms over her thin chest. “I know we have not been harmed here, but it is wise to be on guard.”
I placed a hand on her arm. “I value that wariness in you.”
Outside, the square, it being a day of rest, was full of street vendors, crowds of shoppers, stalls, players of mandolin and harp, cups at their feet for tips. There was a fountain in the middle of the square with a statue of figures in the center, a woman covered in vines, a man covered in flames, a woman made of waves and a man made of abstract swirls of stone. Their arms were linked, facing outward. They were larger than life-size and impressive. On the lip of the fountain sat Alric’s old friend, Isabeau.
Keeping a full arm’s length between us, I sat down and turned towards her, grateful that the shadow of Sister Sea fell on me. The sun was not yet high, but it was summer.
“Thank you,” she said as I sat. “I do apologize. I really do. Approaching you like that. It is so familiar. But I promise you I have good reason!”
“Do tell. I do not mean to be cagey, but I do not know you.”
She bobbed her head in excitement. “Oh of course! I do understand. And again I thank you. And the noise of the rest day market will hide what I wish to say.”
Reluctantly, I moved closer. “I believe you can speak freely without being heard.”
She inhaled. “Before I begin, please know, and I must repeat it, please know that I am speaking to you entirely on your behalf and with fondness for Alric. I have no gain in saying this. I wish only to prevent you falling prey to a vicious rumor as I once did.”
I leaned closer to Isabeau, intrigued. “And, in advance, I thank you,” I said, trying to keep the panic out of my voice.
“I am from south Tintar,” she began. “The farther south you go, the less agriculture and the more marshland you find. It is a rough life. But families tend to stay. I did not want to pick berries or harvest cattails for flour. My family was poor and those were my choices, whether or not I married. It is terrible work. So, after trying that life until my twenty-second winter, I waited tables in a tavern and …whored myself to patrons instead.” She glanced at me, waiting for a reaction.
I said, “Understandable.”
