He looked up. “You do?”
“Yes, Alric. We share a bed.”
It was quick and faint, but he blushed.
“Put a drop of lightleaf oil in your water or your whiskey tonight. It will let you sleep.”
My husband shook his head. “It makes my tongue loose.”
“I disagree. I think it makes you talk as much as the average man.”
He looked back down at the floor. I thought him offended, but then he said, “You are merry tonight, wife.”
Because it was the opposite of how I had felt before he strode inside, I gave a laugh and stood. “I will allow you the room. Your day of rest is not yet over. You should do something restful. Promise me you will use the lightleaf.” I extended the cup to him. “Take it. You need to sleep.”
He gave a reluctant nod and reached out to take the cup. His fingers grazed over mine. They were callused and rough.
As I pulled away, I looked at him and noticed his eyes were on the cup. His eyelashes were against his cheek and he looked vulnerable. And I wondered how Vinia could have chosen another man over him? And then I wondered at my own thoughts. Why had the thoughtful Isabeau’s coy appeal made me jealous? Why did I want to meet Vinia in the baths in the morning and tell her that her cause was hopeless? I had but known this man little more than a handful of moons and he had been my captor for twenty of those days. And what I did know of him was like the strips of paint Helena and Maureen had peeled off of the throne room’s walls. They had not been able to discern what the first artist had rendered.
“When I return,” I said in mock matronliness, “I expect to find you abed and dreaming.” I knew not why I teased him. Maybe I needed to finally see a smile.
“You will find me dreaming, madam,” he said, sober eyes on me as he took a sip.
55. Tallowgill
Thrice more Cian had me pray at some farm or another with a pricked right thumb or palm in the dirt, praying to the goddess. Again, I would ask for privacy and again, I would ask her what I was supposed to do to identify my penchant. All three times, I grew somewhat despondent while praying, but I did not weep as I had the first time. While I was disappointed by my lack of magic, I found myself liking speaking to my new deity. And having been a professional scribe for all of my thirties, I found the administrative tasks in the antechamber to be doable. I was a fast learner and picked up the work easily. Hazel had me dealing directly with Tintarian farmers’ complaints on occasion and I found it stimulating but not overly daunting.
At night, I noticed less restlessness from my husband. By candlelight, he added a drop of lightleaf to a cup of water at night and swilled it quickly before climbing into our bed. Whether or not he knew I was watching him do this, I did not know.
I now stared Vinia in the eye whenever I caught her inspections in the baths. I maintained the stare with a cold smile on my face until she looked away. I had found her a source of mystery and some jealousy before, but now I disliked her for what she had done to Isabeau, who had seemed innocent if indiscreet. From my vantage point in the dining hall, I could see the far tables that sat peerage. The lady’s husband had the same streak of white hair as his sons. I could only observe them at a distance and could not hear their conversation. I wondered if he had heard the rumor that his daughter was not his.
Another moon had nearly passed after my conversation with Isabeau. I felt that our flock of women was settling in as well as could be expected. Catrin had become a fixture in Modwenna’s chambers, the old dowager leaning on her more and more and any snobbery Catrin had experienced from Tintarian noblewomen was decreasing due to this approval. River and Quinn fit in with the staff in the temple of Sister Sea, River eager every day to learn something new, becoming a bottomless well of information about the industry of fishing. Quinn, quieter in her contentment, listened to her lover speak and affirmed River’s tidbits here and there. Mischa continued to keep us updated with the activity of Jeremanthy’s office and amused us with stories of her purposeful flirting with infantrymen in front of Perch.
“What is your aim?” Helena clucked, slicing a plum. “You will end up having to marry the man. He will despise you by winter if you keep it up. You will both be in misery.”
“I know what I do,” Mischa said. “I am slowly driving him mad. There is an aim in that.”
We shook our heads at her, but I relished our collective humor and was grateful Mischa always gave us this, a chance to laugh.
“He is watching our table,” Maureen added.
“Fish man?” Mischa asked.
Maureen started to giggle. “Yes, Sergeant Fish is watching us. So are the captain and your betrothed, mother,” she said to me and Helena.
Helena and I looked at each other and continued to eat.
“It’s because they can tell we are laughing at poor Perch’s expense,” said Catrin.
“I do think it is humorous to watch men trip on their own feet because a woman is fine,” chirped River. “I can sympathize, but I have never acted a fool.”
“River,” Quinn groused.
“They know,” River said, waving her tin fork around our group. “They have all known the whole time. Haven’t you?”
“I have,” Mischa said, not to be seen as ever ignorant of anything.
“I did not, not right away,” answered Catrin. “But I do not care!”
