“Pika,” Cas answered, smiling. “It’s a local dish.”
“I see the rice.” Lena inhaled deeply. “I smell the garlic. What else is there?”
Cas recited from memory. “Saffron, jumping beans, onions, peppers. Rabbit, usually, but sometimes they’ll have chicken or snails.”
“Oh.” Her excitement dimmed considerably. “I hope it’s not snails.” Then, “What are jumping beans?”
“Look.” The horses had brought them close enough to one pan to see the white beans, thousands of them, hopping straight up in the air at least a foot before falling back into the pan. “They grow in the mountains. Nowhere else. The heat makes them jump. So. Jumping beans.”
Lena was smiling, delighted. “I should have brought some parchment. I need to write this down.”
One of the men stirring the pika happened to look their way. He was the youngest of the three, Cas’ age, his face pitted with scars. Recognition came when he spotted Cas, followed by a wide grin. He waved madly with his free hand, shouting, “Cassiapeus!”
The recognition was mutual. Cas’ laugh had Lena turning to stare at him as though he had just sprouted antlers on his head. His hand shot up in greeting. “Cassiapeus!” he shouted back. Heads swiveled in their direction.
It did not take her long. “His name is Cassiapeus too?”
“He was born a week after me,” Cas explained. “His mother thought it would be lucky to name him after the lord’s new son. So we were both punished.”
Lena laughed.
“Are you hungry?” he asked her.
“Yes. I want to see those beans. You?”
Rueful, Cas nudged the palfrey toward their lunch. “Always.”
They ate their pika on their horses, leaving the market behind and wending their way toward the lake.
Lena was in luck. Today’s pika had come with rabbit, no snails. It was served in a bowl made of tightly woven leaves. Their spoons were also leaves, fashioned in some ingenious way into scoops. Both were meant to be thrown away after use. From the way Lena admired hers, Cas suspected they would be returning to Elvira with her as keepsakes.
Cassiapeus the cook would not take his money. “Next time,” he had told Cas, his kerchief and hair whipping in the wind. “Today it is welcome”—he offered Lena an extravagant bow, which made her smile—“and welcome home.” He placed both hands on Cas’ shoulders—Cas managed to control a flinch—then hustled off to tend to the queue that had formed in his absence.
“You are well loved here.” Lena had copied the way he dined on a horse. Reins and bowl in one hand, spoon in the other. A useful skill he had learned while traveling long distances. “It isn’t just Cassiapeus back there. Lord Ventillas has always been kind to me, but every time I’ve seen him, he’s been so serious, so sad. Last night when you beat up that poor statue”—she glanced over, caught his smile—“it was like looking at someone else. He was happy.”
“It’s good to be home” was all he said. They rode for a time in silence, until he pointed to her bowl with his spoon. “Do you like it?”
She showed him her empty bowl. “Very much. Thank you.”
“It didn’t cost me anything.”
“That isn’t what I meant. Today was a misery until now. Thank you for bringing me here. Your city is beautiful.”
He turned his head, smiled. “You are welcome.”
Lena tipped her head back as they passed beneath the aqueduct. “I wonder how far up it goes.”
“Ninety-two feet.” Cas reached out, fingers brushing the stone base.
“That’s very exact.” Lena craned her neck even more. “This is the first working aqueduct I’ve come across. The one near Elvira is a ruin.”
“There’s another one in the south. It’s even older than this one. The upkeep is prohibitive for most cities.”
“But not here?”
“We don’t really have a choice. It’s the lifeblood of our city, being so far in the mountains.”
Lena looked thoughtful. “Lord Ventillas is a soldier and an engineer. Is that what you are?”
Not quite. It was how he had spent his days, before. Helping to maintain the city walls, the bridges, the aqueduct, the roads. Scouting the outlying areas for signs of threat. Ensuring the food and water stores were plentiful in case of siege. It was what he had been taught to do since he was very young: watch over Palmerin in his brother’s absence, for he was the second son.
Cas said, “I’m not an engineer yet. I haven’t finished my training.” When he had left home, he still had several years of study to complete, overseen by Ventillas and Captain Lorenz.
Lena was frowning. “That’s hardly fair. You built a bridge while you were a prisoner. Surely that counts for something.”
It was the first time he could think back to his imprisonment and find something to smile about. “Good point. I’ll ask.”
Lena was looking past him. “That lake. Is that where . . . ?”
“Yes.”
They crossed another square, riding past the church where the prince’s naming ceremony had taken place, and made for the bridge. They stopped halfway across before dismounting. Cas shoved their empty bowls and spoons into his saddlebag. Two old women on horseback rode by, eyeing them curiously.
“Which one is it?” Holding the mare’s reins, Lena scanned the homes and shops across the lake, looking for the archer’s window.
Cas pointed. “That one there.”
She studied the attic window belonging to Master Dimas, then turned back to the bridge. “It only took one arrow? That is extraordinary. Not for the nurse, of course. Or my sweet nephew.”
“Can you shoot?”
“Badly” came her prompt reply, making him smile. “Can you?”
“Not as well as that.” Another look from window to bridge. “Ventillas could do it. He’s better with a bow and arrow.”
“Jehan could too.” At Cas’ skeptical look, she said, “It’s true. Rayan wrote about it in a letter. He’s seen her practice in your arena. She was trained by Brisa’s royal archer. Lady Mari was too.”
It took Cas a moment to recall the queen’s friend who had sailed with her to Oliveras. “Lady Mari who died?”
Lena nodded, saying absently, “She caught the pestilence outside Gregoria. They had to leave her at a hospital there. Cas, why are we here?”
“Because of the chickens.”
She turned a blank look on him. He waved a hand. Never mind. “I was thinking about something Ventillas said last night. That Master Dimas, the owner of that house, gave his servants the day off for the naming ceremony.”
Her brows drew together. “Yes?”
“You’ve met our stablemaster, Jon?”
Her expression cleared. “Of course. He’s a very nice man.”
“Jon used to work for Master Dimas. As a groom. He left his service because those who work for Dimas are not given time off, ever.”
“What? Not even a half day?”
“No.”
“Not even for a funeral?”
Cas shook his head. “Never.”