I felt disappointed, but said, “He is clever.”
Alric gave me a look. “He is an idiot. He is an infatuated idiot. But it just so happens, that I would like to leave and I would appreciate your company.”
My disappointment dissolved a little. On the way home, a group of young men clearly coming from one tavern and heading towards another stumbled by, one of them jostling me.
“You will have a care for my wife, lads,” Alric ordered, his hand at my waist.
They turned and in the swaying lantern light from an inn’s doorway saw who spoke.
I could tell they were scared of him, so I said, “There is no harm done. Have a good night!” And we walked away, further towards the Shark’s Keep.
Alric stood outside the room while I changed into my nightgown, crawling under the covers, turning away towards the wall and leaving him his lone candle to change by.
Both of us pretended not to hear Perch’s grunts of ‘oh, fuck’ through the left wall.
61. Thatcher
The next morning, we were all but Mischa at our regular table in the hall when she joined us, surprisingly in fresh clothes. She sat down next to me across from Helena and Maureen, without any greeting and began to butter toast.
“Well. We are in suspense,” said Helena, checking that Catrin, River and Quinn were engaged in their own conversation. “We missed you in the baths this morning.”
Mischa looked up from her toast and across the hall to where Perch was ushering recruits away from their breakfasts and towards the training yard. “I’ll tell you this, my dears. That man is big all over. All over.”
Helena and I began to laugh and Maureen stared at Mischa.
“Oh, come now, you’re about to reach your majority,” Mischa snapped at her and pushed the toast into her mouth. She turned to Helena and me and smirked. Crumbs flying from her lips, she said, “I mean that is a stallion that was made for riding. I pray I never tame him.”
Helena snorted into her tea.
“My face hurts from laughing,” I whined.
“I am not a little girl anymore, you know,” Maureen said. “Iamabout to reach my majority and I know what goes where.”
“Wait? How did you all know?” asked Mischa, ignoring Maureen.
“We heard you tell him you wanted his prick in the alley,” said Maureen, scowling.
“Oh,” said Mischa, cowed. “Who all heard?” She glanced down our table.
“Just the three of us,” Maureen begrudgingly assured her.
“Well,” said Helena. “I told Thatcher.”
We looked at her. “You did?” I asked.
A pinkness stole over her delicate face and Helena said, “He asked what was so amusing and I told him. He thought it was terribly amusing too.”
“Why are you blushing?” asked her daughter, her tone more curious than accusing.
Helena looked at Maureen. “Are you truly ready for plain speech?”
Maureen nodded.
Helena folded her hands behind her tin cup. “Well, he approached me at our table, as I was alone because my friends had abandoned me and my daughter was dancing with a young man.” She glanced at each one of us, like a mother hen corralling her chicks. “He asked me if I wanted him to walk me back to the keep and I said yes. Then he asked what had caused such unbridled mirth in our Edie—”
“He did not use the term ‘unbridled mirth,’ Helena,” interjected Mischa.
“Please let her finish.” I elbowed Mischa.
