The Baker's Wife--complete Page 8

“He won’t send me to the Dogs?”

  “No. He tends toward mercy.” Sitting down, he pulled out a piece of charcoal and began to sketch something in his book.

  It might be a better fate, she thought, remembering Lejer’s attitude toward her lately. I don’t even know what I’ve done wrong.

  Sighing, she reached out a hand and began to cast an unlocking spell. Liar, she thought. You know exactly what you’ve done wrong.

  “You’re letting other thoughts intrude,” Parlay said, in his first bit of advice since she’d begun practicing. “Whatever they are, you’d better not cast until they’re taken care of.”

  Surprised, Krysilla retraced her casting in her head.

  “It’s not something you can mentally figure out,” Parlay continued, still sketching. Probably the stones, she decided. “It’s in the feel of the cast. Once it’s in, it’s next to impossible to get out. Better to stop and let your head clear first.”

  Krysilla knelt on the ground and folded her arms tight against her chest. “What do you think he’s hiding?”

  “Oh, the usual things noblemen would want to hide.”

  “You said I’m involved.”

  “And you’ll learn what that means tomorrow. There’s no need to worry about it until then.”

  Krysilla stared at the locks, then turned back to Parlay. “What are you sketching?”

  A smile crept back onto his face. “Something that’s even more dangerous for you to know than the secrets of Lord Felldesh.” He paused and looked at her then, as if he were sizing her up once more, but differently now. Before, he seemed to be judging her character as a faithful wife. Now, he seemed to be judging her faithfulness in all things. His smile grew, and he looked back at his book. “Do you think you’ll succeed?”

  “No.” She knew that very well. “Do you still want me to try?”

  “Of course.”

  “Why? I can see in your face you don’t expect me to understand even the basics of a lock Lord Felldesh would commission, and yet here I sit practicing for something we both know I can’t do yet and under enormous risk.”

  “That’s the keyword,” he said, a fire entering his eyes that seemed at once strange and compelling. “Yet. Given time, what do you think you might accomplish?”

  She looked back at the locks and the book. “I don’t know.”

  “And that’s the beauty of it. Untapped riches, there in your grasp, uncounted and waiting. All you have to do is try.”

  “This isn’t about the locks, is it?” Unsure what she might see, she looked back at him. Up to now, she had expected a minstrel who stole the hearts of unwary women. What she saw now was something she couldn’t even begin to grasp, but that made her feel far more nervous than her upcoming attempt at lockpicking. And yet, she couldn’t help but feel even more fascinated by him. He seemed, in that moment, more like an Ornic than she’d dared imagine, full of secrets and whispered power, ready for display if anyone dared challenge him.

  And then it was gone, and only Parlay the minstrel laughed. “Of course it’s about the locks. My employer will be most displeased if I don’t deliver as promised.”

  “And who is your employer?”

  “You ask far too many questions for a goodwife who only wishes to please her husband.” His tone held no judgment. Still, she felt miserable. Lejer hadn’t entered her thoughts once in this whole conversation. Agitated, she rubbed her hands on the tops of her thighs and stared at the locks once more. “Have you tried on your dress yet?” Parlay asked.

  “No, but it looks like it will fit.”

  “Well, it doesn’t need to be perfect. Considering your class.”

  Annoyed, she added, “It laces up the side. I’m sure it will fit well.” No, she realized, I’m not annoyed at him. There’s something hidden between us here and it feels like he wants me to find and open it. As if this secret were one of these locks. What annoyed her was that she could almost see what he might truly want. It wasn’t her body. He would have already tried to seduce her if it was that. But she was afraid of what the truth might be. Her soul shivered at the thought of it, and she felt the need to run back to the ovens and bury herself once more in the tedium just to escape it.

  “I won’t turn you in, if that’s what you’re afraid of,” he said, and this time his voice had a compassion to it, an understanding that touched her.

  “You said you would.”

  “I said whatever I thought needed to be said in the moment. But if it’s causing you undue concern, don’t trouble yourself any further. Your secret is safe with me.”

  “And if I refuse—”

  “You won’t.”

  The spark of defiance that had grown in Lejer’s presence fanned to life. “What if I don’t show tomorrow night?”

  “Of course you will. You don’t trust my promises.”

  Before she could stop herself, she felt a smile on her own face. “What if I did?”

  “Then you’d be a fool. No one trusts me, not even those closest to me.”

  Enthralled, she turned away from the locks. “But you’re a liar, and could be lying to me now about your trustworthiness.”

  “Are you saying I could be more trustworthy than I appear?” Parlay raised a single eyebrow in amusement. His good humor faded, though he was no less polite as he went back to sketching in his book. “I’m afraid I must finish this before the light is gone.”

  Krysilla’s good humor vanished as well. Talking to him was too easy. “I have to go.”

  He looked up again in surprise. “You just got here.”

  She hesitated, then decided to be honest with him. “Lejer hasn’t been too happy with me lately. It’s my own fault, stepping back from the bakery and—” she shook her head. “I need to go back.” She began putting the locks back in the box.

  Parlay got up and began helping her. “Is it hard work, running a bakery?”

  She chuckled at his unintentional understatement. “Terrible work. You have to be up before dawn to light the ovens, and then you’re baking the bread of the village as well as your own and whatever you hope to sell to those who can’t make the loaves themselves. And with New Moon, we had double the amount today, along with the Felldesh order.”

  “Do you enjoy it?”

  “No.” The word was out before she realized she’d said it. Eyes wide, she knew she couldn’t take it back. “I have to get back to the cart.”

  His eyes narrowed at that. “Why did you bring it?”

  “I’ve been letting Lejer think I’m out doing deliveries. He’ll start to wonder what kind of deliveries those are if the cart’s still missing when it’s dark.”

  “Not tonight.” Parlay closed up the box, eyebrows furrowed in thought.

  “Lejer always knows if the cart isn’t there.”

  “He’s busy with all the orders, isn’t he? And I imagine he’ll want to double-check on the Felldesh order, seeing as it’s so important to him.” He picked up the box and walked toward the stones.

  “Still...I will see you tomorrow.”

  He shook his head and set down the box, still holding the book. “I’ll walk with you,” he said, eyeing the locksmithing book for a moment before setting it down as well.

  “There’s no need—”

  “There’s every need.” He opened up his bag and put the book, along with the book he’d been sketching in, the charcoal stuffed inside it, closing his eyes as if feeling out a particular spot inside where he should place it, though she couldn’t tell where that might be from the outside of the bag. “Carts attract attention, and we can’t have that this time. Not when we’re so close to picking the lock.”

  “I already told you I can’t.”

  “And I think I made it clear that I believe you.”

  She folded her arms over her chest. “Do you expect Lord Felldesh to catch us and open it himself?”

  Parlay laughed and hefted the box of locks. Opening the bag as wide as possible, he placed it with one hand supporting
it in the same manner as the book. “I expect you to be as blunt as possible, no matter what happens. I expect you to be honest.”

  “And how is that going to help us if we’re caught?”

  “As I keep saying, you’ll see.”

  He closed up the bag and Krysilla’s eyes widened. The bag looked as if nothing at all had been put in it.

  If Parlay noticed her reaction, he didn’t show it. Picking up the bag, he slung it over his shoulder, then put on his cloak, fastening it at the throat. From behind the stones he picked up his fiddle case and slung that over his shoulder on top.

  “Do you only carry it in hand when you have a fever?” she asked, more interested than she should be by the secrets he kept.

  His smile revealed nothing. Striding into the forest, he said in a soft murmur, “You ask too many questions, goodwife.”

  “It doesn’t seem to matter. You answer none.”

  All she got in return was a playful glance that entranced her all the more. He led the way back to the cart, though she had been the one to hide it. When they got to it, he frowned deeply. “You didn’t cover it?”

  “I thought that might make people suspicious, if I didn’t do a good job of it. Better to leave it and have a ready answer.”

  He nodded. “Can you take me back to your house?”

  Her heart stopped beating for a moment. “Why?”

  “So that you can go home unobserved, of course.” He hopped into the cart and wrapped himself in the burlap. “Ah, this brings back memories,” he said and laid down.

  “I can’t take you home. Lejer’s there.”

  Parlay’s voice came from inside the cart, partially obscured by burlap, “That’s precisely why you need me to come with you. You can tell him you were in town and stopped at Lily’s to chat. If he’s there. Which he won’t be. Now, start pushing before you lose the cart.”

  Krysilla huffed for a few moments, then, muttering dark warnings against minstrels and their sanity, grabbed the bar and began to push.

  The hum of magic surrounded her and she stopped.

  “I thought you needed to hurry home.”

  He’s Ornic. Has to be. “What are you doing?”

  “You can feel that.” It wasn’t a question. “It’s a variation on the invisibility spells we use at performances.”

  A variation. “I didn’t know minstrels were allowed to vary the spells.”

  He looked up at her from under the burlap, aquamarine eyes wide with mock terror. “Are you going to turn me in?”

  It was difficult not to smile. She began pushing again. “And what if one of the Dogs catches us? What will you do then?”

  He disappeared once more under the burlap. “I shall do as the Ornic lords of old and burn them where they stood until all that was left was ashes.”

  Though his tone was light, she’d seen too much of his views on magic to think his words funny. “You shouldn’t joke about such things.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because there are reasons for the laws against using magic, especially fire.”

  “Laws you’ve disobeyed on more than one occasion.”

  “That doesn’t mean I think the principle is wrong.” In the stories, the Ornic lord was the most difficult to kill. He could call down fire from heaven, and rain from the clouds. At a gesture he could ask the wind to lift whole armies, and bury them in the earth before they could find their feet. Only the Ornics who became Tothsins could defeat them. “There are some magics that no one should ever try.”

  “Because the whole world will burn up,” Parlay finished for her. “Personally, I don’t see where this world is much better.”

  She stopped the cart at that one. Breathless at his audacity, it took a moment for her to say, “Tothsin beliefs are what keep us safe.” She began pushing again, eager to get home now.

  “Do you really think that, or are you just repeating the words the Disciples preach?”

  “Yes, I believe it.”

  He appeared once more from under the burlap. “You never answered my question.”

  “And you never answered mine.”

  “Are you happy? Do you really think a life as a baker’s wife is what you were created for?”

  “It wasn’t to play with locks.”

  “And yet, that’s what you do. I’ve seen the way you work magic. You want me to believe you’ve rarely touched a lock, but the truth is that you can’t keep your hands from it. You’re no expert, but you’re no novice, either. You just haven’t been formally taught.”

  “What if the Dogs hear you?” she muttered, looking around.

  “There are none on this road today. My employer made sure of it.”

  She stopped and let go of the cart, eyes wide and heart beating faster than she thought possible. “No one but the King commands the Dogs.”

  “Grab hold before you lose it.” This time, for once, Parlay was dead serious.

  Taking hold of the wood again, hands shaking, she said, “You’re not the King.”

  “Of course not.”

  “The King is your employer.” The words came out breathy and weak.

  “Are you shocked?”

  “What are you then? What house do you rule?”

  He tilted his head back in surprise. “Is my playing that awful?”

  “What house? Tell me or I—”

  “Or you’ll what?” His eyes had narrowed and she could feel her intended threat melt away before the returning threat she saw in his face. “Turn me in to the Dogs? If you’re correct and I work for the King, that won’t do you any good. In fact, it might turn back on you.” He settled back under the burlap. “My secrets are my own, goodwife. You’ll have none of them until I’m ready to give them.”

  He said nothing more for the rest of the journey.

  If he was a lord, she decided, she shouldn’t be surprised that he used magic so easily. But that terrified her all the more, given what he said. There were rumors of a few who still believed in the Ornic way of things, of magic used by those who could wield it, not by those who had right to it by trade or marriage. The Dogs caught them, and stories abounded of how they died, screaming in agony for the crowd.

  She focused as best she could on pushing the cart. A cart with a possible lord inside it who wanted the power the Ornic lords wielded. Who else could it be but a noble, one who wished to stay in the King’s good graces? They were the only ones who used other magics so casually. Given time, perhaps he would leverage this to increase his own power, just as the Ornic lords once did. What other object could he have in mind?

  And she was involved.

  That’s not possible, she told herself. I have no interest in getting caught up in the business of lords and kings. I’ve done nothing to warrant the attention of one.

  And yet, that’s exactly what had happened.

  The implications of a lord asking her to break into another lord’s secret room, under the protection of the King himself, made her beside herself with concern by the time they got back to her house.

  And yet, Parlay peeked out from under the burlap as if this were the most usual thing in the world. “Don’t mind me. I’ll leave before he looks through the window for the cart. If he’s here.”

  “Of course he’s here.” Pausing, Krysilla considered her words from before. “I won’t turn you in.”

  He laughed. “You can’t.”

  “Even if I could, I wouldn’t. I’m sorry I implied that.”

  “Oh, I’m sure I’ll hear far worse from you soon.”

  At the sound of that ominous prediction, she looked down to see Parlay looking up at her with a mischievous grin. He said, “Better go in before Lejer, who isn’t there, starts to wonder why you’re talking to empty space.”

  Even though the last thing she wanted to do right then was obey, what he said made sense. She went inside and looked back to see that, yes, the cart didn’t appear to be there.

  Lejer wasn’t home. She straightened the house, ate, a
nd stayed up to wait for her husband, more out of curiosity than because she missed him. The idea that Parlay could have guessed he’d be gone combined with his statement that she was involved.

  What he meant, she decided, is that Lejer is involved. But how? He’s the most conservative of any of us.

  She went to bed with these thoughts, and couldn’t sleep. The watch sounded outside as the night progressed. First, then second. Then she heard the front door open and the sound of Lejer moving around the kitchen, as he had for these past seven years when he came home late and usually drunk.

  He came to bed reeking of ale. It smelled like he’d drunk the whole tavern this time. Krysilla breathed through the covers. But she forgave him for it, as a good wife should. Fire knew she had sins of her own. More than that, Lord Parlay knew.

  There was no sleep for her that night.

  ***

  Krysilla hugged herself in the chill night air and hoped she hadn’t wrinkled the material of Lily’s dress. The entire day had been nothing but silence between her and Lejer, who’d stayed at the house longer than she’d expected. Terrified she’d end up hiding in her room if she saw her image, she refused to look in a mirror while Lily braided her hair into what she said was a pleasing style, not even when she’d finished and exclaimed how lovely Krysilla looked.

  It didn’t matter how she looked. She felt like a wreck. No amount of pretty would improve that.

  Before her loomed the great doors of the Felldesh manor. She’d never been here, and was glad of that now that she’d seen it. Even swung wide open, the doors, taller than any man she’d seen and wider than two carriages side by side, seemed ready to shut on anyone deemed unworthy to enter. As she passed them into the enormous manor, she felt undone locks within them.

  Her nervousness faded as she took note of the spell. It curls, she realized, and followed the curls as they intersected with each other. She might have stopped to examine them more closely if Lily hadn’t guided her to the center of the room to meet some other women from the village.

  I’m not here to make friends, she remembered while she briefly made small talk. “I’m afraid I must go and pay my respects to the hostess,” she demurred when it looked as if the conversation might go on until the musicians showed.