“What, Haddy?” she said, dazed, still staring at the empress.
“Beer, you know… barley, hops… It’s a drink. We could really do with a barrel about now, don’t you think?” He waved a hand in front of Dunstan. “Maybe a warm place to rest. Perhaps a bite of food?” He snapped his fingers three times. “Hello?”
“Is that really the empress?” Armigil asked.
“Yeah, so she’s gonna be able to pay you if that’s what you’re worried about.”
This snapped her out of her daze. The old woman scowled at him and shook a finger. “Ya know better than that, ya overgrown skunk! ’Ow dare ya be callin’ me inhospitable! Whether she’s the empress or a tart dragged from the gutter, ya know they both would be equally welcome to a pint and a plate in Hintindar—at least now that Uberlin ’imself is gone.” She looked at Dunstan and Arbor. “And what are ya doing standing there and gawking fer? Throw some dough in the oven. Osgar, Harbert, get over ’ere and lend a ’and with a barrel. Algar, see if’n yer wife has any more of that mince pie and tell Clipper to cut a side of salt pork from—”
“No!” Hadrian, Arista, Mauvin, and Degan shouted all at once, startling everyone. They all began to laugh.
“Please, anything but salt pork,” Hadrian added.
“Is—is mutton okay?” Abelard asked, concerned. Abelard the shearer and his wife, Gerty, had lived across the street from the Blackwaters for years. He was a thin, toothless, balding man who reminded Hadrian of a turtle, the way his head poked out of his cowl.
They all nodded enthusiastically.
“Mutton would be wonderful.”
Abelard smiled and started off.
“And bring your fiddle and tell Danny to bring his pipe!” Dunstan shouted after him. “Looks like spring came a bit early this year, eh?”
Arista was being careful, having learned her lesson before. This time she limited herself to just one mug of Armigil’s brew; even then, she felt a tad light-headed. She sat next to Hadrian on top of flour sacks piled on the wide pine of the bakery floor. The floor itself was slippery from the thin coating of flour that the girls loved playing on. Allie and Mercy slid across the floor as if it were a frozen pond, at least until enough people arrived to make a good slide impossible. Arista thought about offering to help Arbor, but she already had half a dozen women working in her cramped kitchen, and after everything, it felt too good just sitting there leaning against him, feeling Hadrian’s arm curled around her back. She smelled the sweet aroma of baking bread and roasting lamb. She listened to the gentle chatter of friendly conversations all around her and drank in the warmth and comfort. It made her wonder if this was what Alric had found within the light. She wondered if it smelled of baking bread, and remembering, she was almost certain it had.
“What are you thinking?” Hadrian asked.
“Hmm? Oh, I was hoping Alric was happy.”
“I’m sure he is.”
She nodded and Hadrian raised his mug. “To Alric,” he said.
“To Alric,” Mauvin agreed.
Everyone in the room with a glass, mug, or cup—even those who had never heard of Alric—raised drinks. Her eyes landed on Allie, who now sat between Modina and Mercy nibbling like a bird on a hunk of brown bread.
“To Wyatt and Elden,” she whispered, too quietly even for Hadrian to hear, and downed the last of her cup.
“I wanted to say how sorry I am, Dun,” Hadrian told his friend as he handed out another helping of food. “Was it bad, what happened after we left?”
Dunstan glanced up to see where his wife was. “It was hard on Arbor,” he said. “I think I looked worse than I was. She had to do most of the work around here for close to six weeks, but all that is over. I’m used to getting my head cracked now and again.” Dunstan grinned, then stared curiously at Hadrian and Arista, sitting arm in arm. Royce had just entered and Dunstan glanced nervously over at him. “You better watch yourself. He doesn’t look the type to be understanding about such things.”
Dunstan moved away, leaving Arista and Hadrian looking at each other, puzzled.
Royce hesitated at the door, his eyes on the girls as they sat at Modina’s feet. The empress was one of the few in the room to sit on a chair. It was not her idea, but the Bakers insisted. He walked over and sat beside Hadrian.
“Where are your shadows?” Hadrian asked.
“You look concerned.”
“Just that if you’ve started another war, I’d like a heads-up is all.”
“The level of confidence you have in my diplomatic skills is overwhelming.”
“What diplomatic skills?”
Royce frowned. “They’re outside. I talked with them about space,” Royce said.
“You did?”
“They speak Apelanese. And I do know some elvish, remember.”
Royce sat back against the table leg, his eyes on Mercy as she giggled at something Allie whispered in her ear.
“Why don’t you go talk to her?” Hadrian asked.
Royce shrugged, his brow creased with worry.