“I have to tell you, Thrain’s description of the coconut and sea lime scones quite intrigued me. I’d never heard of sea limes before. They aren’t something I’ve found in Wayside or in Elmshire.”
“I believe they only grow on certain islands,” Cali told him, thinking back to her time on Claw Island.
The halfling held up a burlap sack that looked strikingly like the one Thrain had brought off the pirate ship. “Thrain brought a sack of sea limes back with him and was kind enough to share them with me.”
“So that’s what was in the sack.”
Pip barely registered her amused comment. “I have a lovely recipe for lime pie, of course, but I thought I could come up with something a bit more portable.” He produced a tray from beneath the counter with a flourish, revealing neat rows of yellow-green bars, their tops dusted lightly with sugar. “Sea lime pie bars.”
Cali accepted one and took an eager bite. The tartness hit first, bright and sharp, before melting into something sweet and buttery beneath. The rich crumb crust melted in her mouth and cut the tang of the sea lime perfectly.
“These are amazing, Pip,” she mumbled through her mouth of crumbs.
His face lit up, and he wrapped two more bars in wax paper before placing them in her paws. “Take them, take them. The sea limes came from your journey, after all.”
“Thanks,” Cali said, as she backed from the bakery with sticky paws.
Continuing toward the tavern, she passed the bridge and was nearing The Tusk & Tail, nibbling contentedly on her second bar, when a familiar warbling sound drifted toward her. She paused, then changed direction, following the noise toward Erindil’s encampment between the back of the tavern and the stream.
She hadn’t seen the elf the night before, and it struck her as strange, though perhaps no stranger than anything else about him. Certainly, no stranger than his elaborate encampment and his personal battle ostrich who appeared wholly unsuitable for any kind of battle.
The ostrich in question lay curled inside his own high-peaked tent, the silk flaps drawn back and tied with gilded tassels. His lavender feathers rose and fell with each warbling breath, his spindly legs making erratic pedaling motions. Glen was clearly deep in some fantastical ostrich dream.
As they’d discussed before she’d left, the wrought-iron arch from Lira and Korl’s wedding had been moved from inside the tavern to behind it. It now created a formal entrance to the encampment, although there was nothing informal about the site.
Cali walked under the arch and crept past Glen toward the largest tent, just as its gold-fringed flap parted and Erindil stepped out.
The elf looked as regal and composed as ever, even if his robes were long and edged with white feathers and the rings glittering on his fingers were enormous.
“Ah,” he said, spotting her and smiling broadly. “My favorite archer returned to us.”
Erindil motioned for her to join him around the fire, where opulent chairs and velvet settees made it look less like a campfire and more like a royal parlor. Even the flames seemed charmed, since they didn’t emit smoke or burn down to cinders.
“You weren’t at the tavern last night,” Cali said, settling onto a plush, tufted ottoman as he lowered himself into the gilded, high-backed chair that made him look every bit the elven prince.
“Time has a way of slipping past me,” he said, with a small, unbothered shrug. “I apologize. I lost track of the hour, and then the evening, and I’m afraid by the time I noticed, it seemed rather late to make an appearance.”
That didn’t surprise her. An elf’s concept of time was quite different, since he had so much of it. Cali offered him her remaining sea lime bar.
“Pip made these using the sea limes Thrain brought back from our journey,” she explained.
His brows peaked ever so slightly. “Sea limes, did you say? I haven’t tasted sea limes in an age.” The elf took a bite, and his eyes fluttered shut. “Delectable, as always. The delightful halfling baker may be one of the chief reasons I haven’t yet left this little village.”
Cali laughed, then leaned back, bracing her paws on the emerald-green velvet. “Bonnie told me about your history with her grandmother. What she knows, at least.”
The elf studied her for a long moment, as if weighing something. “It’s true that I knew her grandmother before she became the first Bonnie One-Eye. Back when she was as young as your Bonnie.” A faint, knowing smile touched his mouth. “She was bold and brash, and much like her granddaughter, I imagine. I hope you’ll forgive me for not telling you before you left. I felt it was Bonnie’s tale to tell, if she chose to do so.”
Cali’s cheeks warmed. She fought the urge to correct him and say that the pirate wasn’t “her Bonnie.” She reminded herself that he wasn’t a mind reader able to pluck secrets from the air, despite what it might feel like. He was only old and observant, and entirely too perceptive for her comfort.
“Did you also know she has two perfectly functioning eyes?” Cali asked.
Erindil stroked a hand down his chin. “I assumed she did. It would be incredibly bad luck for every woman in her family to lose an eye in battle. The same eye, mind you.”
“People do crazy things for family.” Cali gave the elf a pointed look, as she flicked a gaze around the elaborate campsite he’d erected behind his niece’s tavern.
Erindil mumbled through another bite of the sea lime pie bar, either oblivious to her point or ignoring it.
“I’m glad you’re still here,” Cali said. “I know you’d originally only planned to stay until Lira’s wedding.”
