Amari’s gaze calmed as she took that in. She bit her lip, then nodded. “They will be so distracted by our outrageous behavior that they will not see the truth.”
Orval nodded. “We may have to endure scorn, but Lara will be safe.”
Dalan fussed. Amari squeezed Orval’s hand, then shifted to help Dalan with the nipple.
“So, what is a Walk to the Well?” Orval lifted Lara back into his arms; the tiny girl was already sleeping.
“A tradition of my people,” Amari shifted Dalan. “Hearths rarely have the water flow into homes as yours do,” she nodded toward his sink. “We have wells for our water sources. If the child survives ninety days, the parents take the child and walk to the well. Family, friends, and neighbors gather to rejoice. The child is blessed with the water and named before the entire community. It is a great event among my people.”
“Ninety days,” Orval mused. “And you said that Dalan was born a month before Lara?”
Amari nodded.
“So you have bought us time as well,” Orval gave her a grin. “We have the perfect reason not to show ourselves before your traditions dictate. Time enough to draft a contract, to let Lara here lose her birth cord, and wait to hear from the marcusi. Although,” Orval dropped his gaze. “Taking me on as a potential husband is a poor bargain for your courage, Amari.”
Amari sniffed, wiping at her eyes. “Orval, you offer protection and honor for myself and my son. I would accept your offer of a courting contract with gratitude and joy.”
Warmth flooded his chest as they exchanged a long look. Amari’s eyes warm and bright and so very lovely, that he— realized he was staring and dropped his gaze.
“Good, good,” Orval cleared his throat. “We can work on the wording between feedings.”
“Dalan’s finished,” Amari said. “I’ll change him and see him settled.”
Dalan fussed as she put him on the table and started to close up her tunic.
“No let me take him,” Orval said. “You can clean up in here, then come to bed.” Orval rose carefully, waiting for the pain in his leg to pass before gathering both babes in his arms. “I’ll read to you, shall I?” he asked Dalan. “Where’s that copy of theEpic of Xysonthat I gave you? Still tucked in your basket? Let’s go look.”
“My thanks,” Amari said as he headed for the inner door.
“I don’t see what for,” Orval cast her a glance over his shoulder and grinned. “I am leaving you with the dishes, after all.”
Amari’s laughter followed him out the door, filling his heart with quiet joy.
Chapter Fourteen
“There’s blood on your sleeve.”
Caris dropped the bound feet of the would-be assassin to look at her elbow. The prisoner grunted through his gag as his feet hit the dungeon cell floor.
“Oh, dear,” she cursed. “That will never come out.”
“It will,” Nora said as she dragged the prisoner further into the cell. “Just put it to soak in cold water when we’re done.”
The prisoner thrashed on the cold stone floor, trying to kick them. The noise fell flat against the damp stone walls.
“This is nice,” Avice held the lantern high as she lifted the wooden lid off the privy hole. “It’s not a cesspit. There’s flowing water down here, under the grating. Nice large openings. No stink. Remember that midden in—”
“I wonder where it flows out,” Caris said quickly, not wanting to remember that particular incident. “Is it a potential escape route?”
Avice reached down and tugged on the metal grille. “Seems strong.” She wrinkled her nose and wiped her hand on the stone wall.
Mira, who had followed them in, closed the cell door. “Won’t the body parts raise suspicion? She asked, frowning at the prisoner.
“Not if they’re small enough,” Nora was already loosening her laces. “I brought my knives and cleavers. Help me with this, Avice.”
Caris watched the wide-eyed prisoner, who was trying to talk through the gag. An older man who served at table, with a graying, pointed beard and a mostly bald head. She’d seen him about, of course, although she couldn’t remember his name. She did remember his annoying habit of humming under his breath as he went about his duties. He was struggling, but not effectively. “Poisoned cake,” she said, kicking his bound ankles. “What were you thinking?”
Mira settled on a stool in the farthest corner. From the look on her face, she was stewing on something. Caris left it to her. Sooner or later the worry would come spilling out of her.
