“Rikard says nobody survives Lucan.”
“Your husband is too serious, don’t you think?” Carlijn’s curls bounced as she giggled. “I just want to have a little fun with friends before I’m condemned to a dreary life in Meravenna. You can’t deny me that.”
Hannalinde sighed. She didn’t think being a wool merchant’s wife sounded so bad. She would miss her friend, but surely there were new friends to be made in a new city. Perhaps some even played dice. But clearly, Carlijn had made up her mind that Meravenna was akin to a gaol sentence.
“I’d never forbid you from finding a friend,” Hanna said. “But I insist on being present when you see him, at the very least.”
Carlijn pouted. “I don’t need a chaperone.”
“Yes, you do! Ask your mother!”
Carlijn laughed. “Fine, maybe I do. Well, at least roll the dice with us. I don’t want to be stuck playing scaccus every evening. It’s such a bore.”
Hannalinde pretended offense, since scaccus was her favorite. “It’s not boring! Rikard loves scaccus!”
“Of course he does. I told you he’s too serious.”
“Then I guess I am, too.”
“Yes, you’re an old, pregnant, married lady now.” Carlijn came around the table to kiss her cheek to soften the teasing jab. “You’ll see. It’ll be fun.”
“That’s what worries me.”
Carlijn scoffed. “It shouldn’t. I know what I’m doing.”
She did not, in Hannalinde’s opinion. She was playing a very dangerous game, risking her betrothal to play games with a rakish gargoyle. But Carlijn’s face was bright and hopefuland alive, and Hanna didn’t want to start off their new living arrangement by ruining that.
“Fine,” she said. “But if he breaks your heart, I’m not responsible.”
Chapter 15
Hannalinde
With Carlijn’s influence, the days filled with laughter and evenings even more, and Hannalinde found she did not regret asking her to move in.
Rikard, who rarely participated in their game nights due to his obligations as Nadir, was eventually persuaded to invite Lucan to the eyrie, with Hanna’s promise that she would keep him in line while Rikard was at work.
Invariably, within an hour of sunset Lucan would appear, though never at a specific time. He always arrived at the eyrieas though by coincidence, with a modest gift for Carlijn in tow, perhaps a small round of cheese or a new game piece. Nothing inappropriate or too much like a lover’s gift, so Hanna could not object.
Tonight, it was a live cricket in a woven cage. He leaned in from the balcony and dangled it in front of Carlijn as a way of greeting.
She squealed with happiness, snatching it from him to examine more closely, and he grinned in triumph. “I wasn’t sure if human females like singing insects the way gargoyle females do.”
“They don’t,” Hannalinde told him, shuddering.
“This one does.” Carlijn held the cage to her ear and listened to the cricket chirp with an expression of delight so genuine that Hannalinde revised her understanding of her friend’s taste in both creatures and gifts.
“Good. It can serenade us while we play. Do say you’ll join us,” he begged Hannalinde. “It’s always more fun when you do.”
He was charming, she had to give him that. Lucan was charming with Carlijn, of course, because he had an eye on bedding her. He was charming with Hannalinde, too, though, complimenting her embroidery and asking after her health. He was charming with Cléa, who purred audibly whenever he complimented her, and with Roul, who pressed food and mead on him.
It helped that he was tall and elegant, with curly hair that fell across his forehead and polished horns that caught every flicker of lamplight. His whole personality and appearance made Hannalinde wonder if Rikard would be much the same if he hadn’t been wrecked by the war. If he’d laugh and flirt more readily.
To Lucan’s credit, he wasn’t the complete rake that Rikard had warned. He listened to Carlijn with attentiveness, and heremembered everything she said and referenced it later, which was either a sign of genuine interest or a technique so polished it had become indistinguishable from the real thing. He also had an incredible patience for games of dice, which Hannalinde did not share.
After a few rounds of play, she retreated to a comfortable corner, where she stitched and supervised their game until her lids grew heavy and she had to stifle a yawn.
Lucan chuckled at her unsuccessful attempt. “You can retire, dear Hannalinde. We’ll be quiet as mice out here.”
